Deception

THIRTY-NINE

It was nearly eight in the evening before Harry was able to pin down Major Dundas at Fort Knox. When he finally came on, the officer sounded efficient and brisk, yet there was an undertone of reserve, as though he was not altogether pleased at having to assist a British subject about an American deserter. Harry put it down to pride and launched into his request.

‘Sorry to bother you with this, Major,’ he said smoothly, after an exchange of names and positions, ‘but we have reason to believe that one of yours is helping channel British deserters to new identities and lives in exchange for information.’

‘What kind of information?’

‘The sensitive kind: technology, security, intelligence, armaments. . anything they can sell.’

‘They?’

‘A group called the Protectory.’ Harry gave him a summary of what they knew without adding any names. ‘They approach deserters from strategic regiments or specialist units and offer a deal: a new life in exchange for whatever information they will trade.’

‘Sounds quite a scheme, Mr Tate. And where do they sell this “strategic” information?’

‘To the highest bidder. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who they are.’ Harry wondered if he was getting through to this man. Dundas sounded less than enthused. His next words confirmed why.

‘I guess you don’t at that. Thing is, these are British military personnel, right?’

‘That’s right, but-’

‘Selling British military data?’ The level of interest had dropped instantly and the implied focus for Dundas was clear: a British problem remained just that. British, not American.

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ said Harry, who understood his reasoning, ‘or how long it may last. One of their targets said he was introduced to an American working with the group. He was wearing a One-oh-One Airborne tattoo, eagle’s head and banner, and was referred to as “Turp”. We suspect this man is high up in the pecking order.’

‘Well, sir,’ Dundas replied eventually, ‘I can tell you now, there are more men out there wearing the flying eagle tattoos than ever served in airborne. Same with Vietnam vets who wear the right tags and tell all the right stories. Some of them never even enlisted, but they like to claim some kind of credit on the backs of the men who did. What makes you think this Turp character is for real, anyway?’ His voice had drifted off now from professionally interested to openly sceptical.

‘It takes a soldier to recognize another one, Major. The target thought he was real enough.’

‘That doesn’t mean he’ll target American personnel.’ The response was automatic, and Harry wondered what it said about Major Dundas’s open-mindedness to the men and women he was responsible for processing — or his perspective on America’s military partners.

‘If he does, they’ll have a field day. You want to bet against them coming across another Bradley Manning?’

The line clicked and buzzed as Dundas digested the implications of that. It was a brutal argument to use, but the revelations that a member of the US army had systematically released classified information which eventually found its way on to the Internet had been a hard pill for the military establishment to swallow, and the reverberations were likely to go on for years. Even someone like Dundas must know that it could happen again.

Before the major could put him off, Harry continued, ‘All I’m asking, Major, is if you would be good enough to get one of your staff to see if the name Turp comes up in your records. Then we can close off that avenue of investigation. It sounds like an abbreviation of a real name to me, wouldn’t you think?’

There was a lengthy pause. Harry was counting on Dundas, sceptical or not, finding it hard to refuse such a simple request.

‘I guess that’s true, Mr Tate. Let me put you on to our Lieutenant Garcia and she’ll run a quick check. I sure hope you find what you’re looking for. You have a nice day, now.’ There was a click and Dundas was gone as suddenly as he had come on. His voice was replaced by a young woman’s, asking how she could help.

‘Lieutenant, my name’s Harry Tate, attached to the Recovery Office in the Ministry of Defence, London. I think we work in the same line of business.’

‘Sounds like we do, Mr Tate. What’s the problem?’ Garcia sounded businesslike, but her tone was a good deal warmer than that of her boss.

Harry gave her the details. While he was talking, he heard a burst of conversation in the background at the end of the line, then the sound of a door closing. A man’s voice said something close by and there was an intake of breath as if Garcia were mouthing something in reply. Another rumble of background conversation was followed by a door closing, this time with a firm snap. Garcia said, ‘Uh. . thank you, Mr Tate. I’ll have to get back to you on that.’

‘Is there a problem?’ Harry’s antennae were twitching. Something told him that Garcia had just received a visitor, most probably her boss, Major Dundas. She sounded distracted. What the hell was going on?

‘Uh, no. . not really. I’ve been advised that our system’s down for a routine maintenance check, so I’m not able to access those files right now. We should be up and running again later. . say in an hour?’

Harry gave her his email and phone number, then thanked her and rang off, puzzled by what had sounded like a blatant delaying tactic. If what he’d heard about the amount of money being thrown into the Department of Defense for IT systems was true, they should have an answer very quickly. But instinct told him that wasn’t going to happen.

An hour and a half later, Lieutenant Garcia still hadn’t called back. Harry gave it another twenty minutes, then called Fort Knox and asked to be put through to the lieutenant’s extension.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the receptionist after a few moments. ‘I’m afraid Lieutenant Garcia’s in conference.’

‘Can you interrupt it? It’s very urgent.’

‘I’m afraid not, sir. There’s a strict protocol on this session: no calls allowed.’

‘I see. The system’s still down, then?’

‘Sir?’ The receptionist sounded puzzled. ‘There’s no problem with the system. I’ve been on it all day and it’s fine.’

Harry thanked her politely and cut the call.

Someone wasn’t telling the truth.