Every twenty-four hours, electronic listening devices scan sensitive areas and, as they scan, so the giant memories of computers, at hundreds of installations, will strain to pick up particular trigger words and phrases. In parts of certain cities which are considered sensitive, if you talk to your girlfriend about Semtex, or accidentally speak a code word or phrase used by known terrorists, your conversation will almost certainly be monitored until the listeners decide your idle chatter is harmless.
Only human beings can install the small, very powerful listening stations at prescribed points; and other humans insert the key words and phrases into the computer databases. After that, the machines take over, making decisions to transcribe conversations, pinpoint their locations, even name those who are talking by identifying voice prints.
More human beings analyse these transcripts, sometimes at leisure, more often at speed, lest the advantage is lost.
Just over a month after the Son of Takashani incident, two men met in a villa overlooking the Mediterranean. They were smooth-skinned, immaculately turned out, and, to all intents and purposes, businessmen taking coffee on a vine-covered patio from which they had an uninterrupted view of spectacular beauty: cypresses, olive groves, rough grazing land for sheep and goats, the twinkling sea, and, in the distance, the baked red and white roofs of a small village. Neither of the men could have known that a powerful receiver was hidden in that village which looked so peaceful and secluded.
The receiver scanned an area of some fifty miles, shooting a million or so words a second, spoken in streets, bars, private houses and on telephones, through one of the COMSATS and on into the computers of two large listening-posts. One of the computers picked up an entire phrase, spoken by one of the two men as they drank their sweet coffee.
The phrase was, “Health depends on strength.” It was spoken as a toast, and the computer memories metaphorically sat up and took notice as the four words were repeated. They had only recently been inserted into the word scan programs.
“Health depends on strength,” the younger, dark-haired man smiled as he lifted his cup towards his older companion - a sleek, olive-skinned fellow with broad shoulders and a distinguished grey flecking his temples.
“WIN was a spectacular disaster,” the older man said. There was no hint of criticism in his voice, only a trace of distaste.
“I apologise,” his companion bowed his head slightly, “I had great confidence. The training was exceptional “And cost a small fortune “True. But it does prove that if we are to take all of them, when they’re aboard what they like to call Birdsnest Two, we require a much more subtle approach. Even if we had doubled, or maybe trebled the force for WIN there would have been carnage. Birdsnest Two is geared for any kind of attack. They would have taken out our hang-gliders long before they came within 500 feet of the target. Also it will probably have to be done in hard winter weather.”
The older man nodded, “Which means the attack can really only come from within.”
“You mean we should have people on board?” The dark-haired one sounded alarmed.
“Can you think of a better way?”
“It’s impossible. How can you infiltrate such a service at short notice? We’ve less than twelve months to go. If that had ever been an option we’d have used it, saved a lot of time, and also a great deal of money.” On the tapes that were finally studied, the listeners strained their ears through a long pause. In the distance came the sound of an aircraft high and a long way off. Nearer at hand, a dog barked angrily. Then the older man spoke “Ah, my friend, so often we go for a complex solution; how would it be if we made this more simple? One man. One man aboard Birdsnest Two would be all we need, for one man could unlock the gates, and let others in. Or even someone in the retinue, a discontented Flag Officer, for instance. One is all we require. A single Trojan Horse.”
“Even one would be .
“Difficult? No, not if he is already there, in place.”
“But we have nobody who.
“Maybe we do have somebody already in place; and maybe even he does not yet know it. Your people are skilled, surely they could tell who this man is, and bring pressure to bear?”
Again a pause, complete with the barking dog. Then “Compromise.
Yes, an obvious solution.”
“So obvious that you had to waste the lives of twenty mercenaries, not to mention the finance of training and equipping them. Now, go and find the agent we need. Officer, or enlisted man. Crew or visitor.
It doesn’t matter which. Just find him.”
M tossed the transcript back onto his desk and looked up at his Chief of Stall Bill Tanner, who appeared to be studying the old Admiral’s face as a strategist would examine the terrain of battle.
“Well,” M said. It was a grunt from the throat rather than a word clearly spoken. “Well, we know who these people are, and we know the target, what we don’t know is the full objective.
Any comments, Tanner?”
“Only the obvious, sir.”
“Meaning?” M was in an unashamedly bellicose mood today.
“Meaning, sir, that we can have things altered. We can have the brass hats moved at the last moment. Put them on a cruiser instead of Birdsnest Two . .
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tanner, we know Birdsnest Two’s HMS Invincible, so say Invincible.” HMS Invincible is one of the three remaining aircraft-carriers - capital ships - of the Royal Navy: in fact three of the largest gas turbine-powered warships in the world.
All are designated as TDCs - “Through Deck Cruiser” of the Invincible class, and all had gone through major refits of electronics, weapons and aircraft capabilities since the lessons learned in the Falklands war.
With only the slightest pause, Tanner continued, “Put them in another ship … at the last minute . .
“What other ship? A destroyer, or a frigate? There are three of them, Tanner. Three top brass, complete with their staff. I’d say around twelve or fifteen bodies at the least. Use your sense, man, they’d have to share bunks on a frigate or destroyer, and that might be all very well for the Russkies, but I cannot see our American friends, or Sir Geoffrey Gould taking kindly to that.”
“Call it off’ sir?”
“I think there would be rumblings everywhere, including our wonderful Press and TV Defence Correspondents. They’d be asking “why?” before we even concocted a story. In any case, Landsea “89 is essential. All our combined exercises are essential, and what with this wretched business of glasnost and perestroika, NATO feels it’s doing the decent thing. Letting the Russians in on our war games, eh?”
“We’re not supposed to call them “war games anymore, sir “I know that!” M thumped his desk heavily. “It’s the thin end of the wedge, though, letting the Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Fleet in on a combined exercise as complex as this.”
Bill Tanner sighed, “At least our people won’t have to dodge their spy shiws all the time. You know, sir, even Churchill thought a sharing of information might be a good thing.”
“That, Chief of Staff, was before the First World War. It was also a sharing with the Germans. Russians are different creatures.
I’ve made no secret of the fact that I don’t approve of it.”
“Quite, sir.”
“I’ve been very outspoken with the Joint Intelligence Committee, though a fat lot of good it did me. All friends together, now - so they say. One idiot even quoted Kipling at me: Sisters under their skins and that kind of stuff. No, we have to do something positive.
Tanner had walked to the window, and stood looking out at the rain beating down on Regent’s Park. “Bodyguards, sir?
Well-briefed bodyguards?”
M made a grumbling noise. Then - “We know what these people’re after, Tanner, but we don’t want to tell the world, if only because we don’t know the reason why. Bodyguards would mean widening the circle of knowledge, and as you very well know that’s the first rule in our business - keep the circle small.” He stopped suddenly, as though struck by a new thought, then said, “No!” loudly, and not to anyone in particular.