Читать книгу Dirty Little Secret - Jon Stock - Страница 22

Ian Denton had taken the decision to represent MI6 on his own at the COBRA meeting. The committee was sitting through the night, but key players had dispersed for a few hours’ sleep, replaced by deputies. Now, though, heads and chiefs had all been recalled, with the exception of Marcus Fielding. Nobody objected to his absence.

‘Marcus has assured me that Dhar is not being held at Vauxhall Cross,’ the PM began, glancing at Denton. ‘I passed that information on to the President. Daniel Marchant is being held at Fort Monckton. I passed that on too, but I can’t say the President was reassured.’

The mood was worse than Denton could ever remember at a COBRA meeting. ‘I’ve checked with security at the Fort,’ he said, hoping to inject some optimism. ‘They’ve got strict orders to keep Marchant on site. Extra security has been put on his door.’

‘Did you sense any shift in Washington?’ the Foreign Secretary asked.

‘None,’ the PM said. ‘We remain an irrelevance. And we must be prepared for the Americans to act unilaterally. The President’s words, not mine.’

‘Any progress on where Dhar was calling from?’ Harriet Armstrong, Director General of MI5, didn’t look up, but her question was intended for the Director of GCHQ.

‘An MI6 facility, that’s all we know,’ he said, shifting awkwardly in his seat. ‘Although we were obviously involved with setting up Six’s comms network, it’s a private-key encryption. Nobody else can access it. That’s how these things work. And I’d be lying if I said we were enjoying the full support of the NSA on this one.’

‘I may have something,’ Armstrong continued. ‘An incident in Gloucestershire was red-flagging on the grid as I arrived. A SAR helicopter made an emergency landing earlier tonight at Kemble in Gloucestershire. All three crew are missing. Local police are liaising with RAF Valley in Anglesey.’

Denton looked up. He had taken a train to Kemble once, a few years ago. What had been the occasion? A private lunch, to mark Stephen Marchant’s appointment as Chief of MI6. Tables covered with white linen in the apple orchard, a jazz band, competitive croquet. He had never felt so out of place. The journey from Kemble station to the Chief’s house had taken less than five minutes.