Second Chance

Chapter Nineteen: Jihad

Pyramid Heights

London, United Kingdom

1^st August 1940

Foreign Secretary John McLachlan knew that there was someone in his apartment before he even entered the lobby. Decades of television melodrama aside, even the relatively light security situation, post-Transition, was capable of preventing assassins, reporters and idle members of the public from bothering government ministers. The four people who’d come to see him hadn’t exactly been invited – their MP had interceded – but he had cleared their way into his apartment.

“They’re in there, sir,” a security guard said. Pyramid Heights had its own security force, SAS-trained, and the guests would have been searched before they were even allowed to enter the main centre uninvited. McLachlan took a breath and stepped into his apartment.

“Good evening, dad,” the young man waiting for him said. All of McLachlan’s planned remarks vanished in an instant as he rushed forward to embrace his son, the young man who’d left his family a long time ago. He hadn’t seen him in four years; all the little pains within his heart tore open.

“Steve,” he breathed, holding his son. “It’s good to see you.”

“Shahan,” Steve/Shahan corrected. He’d changed his name four years ago. “I’m Shahan now.”

“You’ll always be Steve to me,” McLachlan said. “Is… she here?”

“Yes, she came as well,” Shahan said. “Are you ready to meet your daughter-in-law?”

“I suppose,” McLachlan said, with a twinge of the old pain. His son’s… conversion had shocked him; he’d blamed it on the girl he’d fallen for and eventually married. People in their station didn’t marry people of her station, let alone adopt her religion. The former might have been acceptable; the latter definitely was not.

“Sameena,” Shahan called. McLachlan looked up as his son’s wife came into the foyer. She was from an Indian family; her skin was dark brown, with long dark hair. He supposed that she was pretty; he’d never looked at another woman after his wife died.

“Good evening,” she said, a little nervously. McLachlan lifted an eyebrow; she was clearly pregnant.

“Good evening,” he said, as calmly as he could. “Steve’s child?”

She nodded. McLachlan felt tears running down his cheeks. “Welcome to the family,” he said finally. “Steve, are the others here?”

“I asked them to wait in the next room,” Shahan said. “They understand the… delicacy of the situation.”

“I should hope so,” McLachlan said. “You know just how close you came to being handed over to… them.”

In 2010, the House of Saud had been forced to accept the Wahhabism practice of Islam by the growing currents of what ill-informed observers called fundamentalism. Not only was more and more oil money being devoted to terrorism, but there were new and very unwelcome restrictions on who could travel to Mecca; a fundamental Muslim obligation. It was no longer enough to be a Muslim; one had to be follow Wahhabism. In many ways, it had proven to be the turning point of the war on terror; many Muslims became devoted to defeating the evil and restoring the ideals of Islam, and the Jihad to Recover the Holy Cities had been in the forefront.

The House of Saud had demanded, in no uncertain terms, that the JRHC be disbanded and its members extradited to Saudi Arabia to stand trial. The then Prime Minister, grimly aware of growing anti-Saudi opinion, had refused; MI5’s quiet cooperation with the JRHC against terrorism had won them friends and allies. Amid rumours that the JRHC was training Jihadis to fight in Saudi, Howard Smith had discovered that there was no manoeuvring room at all; parts of the establishment were using the JRHC as a bargaining counter.

After all, how could one extradite the son of the Foreign Secretary?

“I suppose it would have been too much to expect you to have come for a pleasant meal and then a chat,” McLachlan said calmly, as he took his seat. His son and his wife sat on the sofa, holding hands; his other two guests took their chairs. Noreen Adam, member for Brixton and unofficial leader of the Muslim Party, and Sheik Kashif Hussian, the semi-official leader of Britain’s Shia Muslims.

“We would have preferred to make a formal contact,” Noreen agreed. McLachlan had read her security file; she was middle-aged and unmarried, almost unique for an Asian woman. Rumour suggested that she was barren, or had a sexual disease, but there was no proof of that one way or the other. McLachlan suspected that they were just rumours by her political opponents. The BNP was quite determined to ruin her career, whatever it took.

“As you know, Dad,” Shahan said, “I have been involved in the campaign to recover the Holy Cities of Islam…”

“You founded it, organised it, funded it and ran it,” McLachlan commented.

“And we were hoping that some kind of peaceful solution could be worked out,” Shahan continued. McLachlan shook his head; the growing tension between Saudi on one side and a strange alliance of democratic Iraq and very undemocratic Iran would lead to war, or would have done. If the two nations had any reason to actually work together, there would have been war by now – or by 2015.

“Unfortunately, the Saudis were proving bloody-minded,” Shahan said, without missing a beat. “We were preparing… some actions of our own, but we were very limited by what we could fund and deploy, as I’m certain that you’re aware.”

“Steve, as interesting as this is, I am a busy man,” McLachlan said. “We are at war with Nazi Germany, which is adapting quicker than we dared fear. V1’s are not supposed to show up for four more years, but the plans would have been in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, a copy of which seems to have fallen into their hands. Hell, schoolchildren could build one, given time and materials.”

A distant explosion underlined his words. “We have to negotiate with powers that are getting used to the idea that we have a sudden technology advantage, many of whom are scared to death. We have to produce new weapons. We have to build democratic governments in Egypt, Libya, Algeria and Tunisia. We have to overcome centuries of mistrust. Steve, what do you want?”

“We want to recover the Holy Cities,” Noreen said. “At the moment, they are in the hands of Ibn Saud and his band of barbarians. You know what they’ll do in the future – if you allow them to do so.”

“You want us to recover the Holy Cities for you,” McLachlan said slowly. “I admit that the idea of removing the House of Saud before it ever becomes a threat is tempting, but what will you do with it?”

“We can build a democratic Muslim state that will be a strong ally in the Middle East, decades before the first genuine democracy was established,” Shahan said, leaning forward. Sameena put a hand on his shoulder. “There are thousands of Muslims in Britain who would be willing to go to this state and build.” He smiled. “We could make the desert bloom with life again.”

McLachlan nodded. The House of Saud, frightened of boosting its population, had resisted establishing a desalination plant in their nation. His mind ticked over and over; if his son was right, they would solve two problems with one stone. On the other hand, he suspected that many of the Muslims would return to the UK when they realised how difficult it would be. That would create a security nightmare; they’d refused to allow any new tourists or immigration in order to prevent security breaches.

“We would also be willing to go,” Hussian said. “This will be a joint endeavour; Sunnis and Shias, working together as equals.”

“Perhaps,” McLachlan said. “You do realise that I cannot promise anything? I will have to discuss the matter with the Prime Minister. There is also the danger of becoming involved with America; they had interests in Saudi at the time. Tell me something; what’s our guarantee that you won’t create yet another disaster area?” He looked up at Noreen. “Even in Iraq of 2015, women are often regarded as second-class citizens. How do we know that we are not condemning British citizens to a life of hell?”

“You exaggerate,” Noreen said.

“Not by much,” McLachlan said. “Another question; how much are you expecting us to provide? We might provide transports and weapons, if a brigade of troops or so can be spared we might send them, but we don’t have the resources to embark upon a long-term project.”

Shahan didn’t hesitate; he’d taught him well. “All we ask for is transports, although if you’re offering troops and supplies we would be delighted to have them. We have quite a collection of building equipment from various Muslim companies that has been pledged to this… endeavour.” He smiled. “Among other things, we would also be building a 747-capable airport, like the one you have planned for Algeria.”

McLachlan scowled. His son must have a source within the Foreign Ministry. “We do need to get the airlines up and running,” he said. “We don’t have enough transport yet. And I admit that it would be helpful, particularly if you invested your new funds in building infrastructure that could help the region to develop.”

“If you do this for us, the Prime Minister will be supported by the entire Muslim Party,” Noreen said. “I imagine that nineteen certain votes in the Commons will be very helpful.”

“Perhaps,” McLachlan said. He steepled his fingers. “I will discuss matters with the Prime Minister,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to spend some time with my son and his wife.”

Noreen bowed slightly. It had become the accepted way of signifying respect when handshaking wasn’t respectable. “I hope to be hearing from you,” she said, and led Hussian out of the room, leaving the McLachlans’ alone together.

10 Downing Street

London, England

2^nd August 1940

“Production of radar-guided anti-aircraft guns has now reached a steady rate of three hundred guns and thousands of rounds of ammunition per day,” Anna Hathaway, Secretary of State for Defence, reported to the War Cabinet. “Although there are glitches in some of the communications network tying civilian and military radars into the gunnery net, we can feel confident that we can afford to give the RAF a much-needed rest, at least some of the pilots.

“As per request from the Contemporary Forces, we have shipped dozens of the new guns to Malta, sweeping the skies of any Axis aircraft that dares to come too close to Malta. I am happy to report that interdiction of Axis shipping lanes is total; we have cut Germany off from North Africa. With the new radar systems, communications network and surveillance drones, we have total coverage of the Mediterranean Sea.”

Hanover smiled to himself. “Splendid,” he said. “General Cunningham?”

“We have pushed into Algeria, having overrun Tunisia, and are making progress towards Algiers. The Vichy French don’t like us much, but fortunately their weapons are junk and we can just smash through them. We’ve captured enough German ‘advisors’ to prove that the invasion was necessary; Hitler was apparently forcing the French to join the Italians and invade Egypt.” He scowled. “There’s a lot of pent-up anti-French feeling; we’re having to separate the pied noirs and the natives from time to time. There have even been several rebellions in the rear.

“For the moment, we’re interning Frenchmen along with Italians,” he continued. “Their ultimate fate, of course, is in your hands, but leaving them in Algeria seems likely to lead to their doom.”

Hanover nodded. “Major Stirling?”

The young army officer stood up from his seat at the rear of the room. Hanover had already considered simply confirming his rank; his de facto position as Head of the Oversight Committee seemed to require someone with more gold braid.

“The Germans have finally managed to work out lists of who betrayed Hitler,” Stirling said. “Unfortunately, the momentary confusion in the German ranks was insufficient for us to take more that local advantage of it; the Germans clearly move with efficiency and considerable brutality. From what we can determine, through SIGINT and some other sources, the vast majority of current traitors were simply shot in the head and dumped. Those who would have been future traitors have either been shot or condemned to penal battalions.”

He hesitated. “Some of them seem to be being held in France, so we’re working on finding out who and why,” he said. “Unfortunately, there are other problems; who would have thought that the Encyclopaedia Britannica would cause so much mischief?”

The weak joke prompted some smiles. “The Germans have apparently increased their production of aircraft, although it’s hard to be certain as our records came originally from them. What we are certain they’ve done is streamline their production; in the next couple of months we expect that their production will skyrocket. Oil remains their problem, but they are apparently pushing ahead with bio-fuels and supplies from the USSR. Unfortunately, we lack sources in Russia to confirm what Stalin is doing.

“Worse, they have mastered the production of V1 automated missiles,” he said. “While they are old and slow, they are capable of launching hundreds of them in one volley and the RAF has to shoot them down before they get over land. Some of them are loaded with a primitive fuel-air explosive; we’re watching for ones with biological weapons.

“It’s hard to be certain about what Hitler’s long-term intentions are,” he concluded. “They’ve cut their radio traffic to almost nothing, and they’re using code phases to conceal their plans from us. What is certain – and this comes from Ireland – is that they’re meddling in Spain, trying to force Franco into invading Gibraltar. They have apparently given him some of the future data, including the fact that Gibraltar would never go back to Spain. There’s also evidence of communications with Turkey – and some suggestion that the Balkans will get an offer they can’t refuse soon – and hey will have overland communications through Russia with Japan.

“It’s very difficult to predict with any accuracy what Herr Hitler will be able to develop,” he concluded. “The Oversight Committee was divided on the question of if he’ll be able to produce nukes, but with the future information it becomes a near-certainty. He might also try for biological and chemical weaponry, both of which would make our defence problems far worse.”

“Thank you,” Hanover said. “Finally, John?”

McLachlan grinned. “Finally, we have circled the world,” he said. “We have established relay stations, new ones, in Africa, Kuwait, Ceylon, India, Singapore and Australia. There was considerable shock from the Contemporary Nations and units; the Viceroy of India was not too receptive to a request that he attend an imperial conference, and that he brings the leaders of the nationalist movements with him. Fortunately, Admiral Cunningham convinced him to come.

“The Australians and new Zealanders didn’t argue, not once they saw the devastation we inflicted upon Germany,” he said. “They want, for the moment, some of our ships to be deployed down under, and they were very grateful for the technical database that their ambassadors brought. So, hopefully, we should have a full house; even South Africa has agreed to come.”

Hanover locked eyes with him for a moment. “We’ll discuss that later,” he muttered.

McLachlan nodded. “It’s hard to be certain if President Roosevelt will win the election in November,” he said. “Thanks to our arrival, he suddenly has more challenges to cope with. There have been several waves of violence across the country; directed at Germans, blacks and Japanese, once the news of the war got out. Tokyo is aware of this and very unhappy at the insult.

“He’s also had to drop Wallace and replace him with Truman,” he continued. “That damaged his standing within the Party, and affronted Wallace’s allies, all of whom are loudly denying being communists. Ambassador King has nearly been killed twice; he is also being approached by black American organisations for help. Several of the former Marines, black Marines, have disappeared into the black regions, apparently to formant trouble.”

“The Americans, on the other hand, are also looking forward to recovering their personnel stationed here and some of their equipment. That does present a problem – we can’t tear Feltwell out of the ground – and some of the personnel have requested asylum. However, we should have at least a thousand Americans who want to be repatriated, so that can be done quickly.

“Finally, one piece of good news,” he concluded. “Our new companies within the United States are doing very well indeed; a complete basic mobile phone network should be up and running in a month or two. Even if the Americans refuse to join the war, we should be able to fund purchases of American goods through trade.”

“Excellent,” Hanover said. “This meeting is dismissed.”

“You were very abrupt then,” McLachlan observed, after the room had been cleared. “Something the matter?”

“I could tell that you had something you wanted to tell me,” Hanover said. “What is it?”

“I had some visitors last night,” McLachlan said, and outlined the meeting. “That’s their offer; they want us to help them conquer Saudi and in exchange they will help us with oil and supplies.”

Hanover steepled his fingers in thought. “Is it worth the risk of clashing with America?” He asked finally. “The Roosevelt administration was always anti-colonial, and we don’t need a collision with them, do we? On the other hand, we do need the oil, we do need the bases, and it’s a neat place to dump our unwanted Muslims.”

He scowled. “Taking the place won’t be a problem,” he said. “Hell, we could always give them Matilda tanks and some other contemporary stuff; they won’t meet any real opposition until Iraq, which is in a state of unrest. Having friends in the region will be very helpful, won’t it?”

McLachlan nodded. “We are going to need friends in the Middle East,” he said. “By now, the Shah has begun the task of wiping out those who would challenge his rule, now that he knows we’re going to invade. Or would have invaded, or something. There’s also the report of Soviet tanks moving into Georgia, positioning themselves to threaten Turkey – or Iran.” He glared down at the sheet of global reports. “You’d think with all our technology we could do better than ‘vague reports.’”

“If the game was easy, anyone could play,” Hanover said wryly. “Have your office contact the JRHC group, in the name of the intelligence we shared. Tell them that we’ll provide them with transport, and have some up and coming guy from the MOD go through a plan with them, with a proposed launch date of one month.”

He smiled tiredly and examined the map. “With the new secured airfields, we can fly smaller aircraft, Tristars for example, around the world. The Americans and Australians promise that they’ll have airports capable of taking bigger jets soon, which should improve our communications still further. The leaders of the dominions and the colonies are coming here for the conference in a week, and we have to be ready for them. They will be sceptical; we will have to be careful what information we give them.”

He picked up one final sheet of paper. “The issue of the American… internees is quite serious,” he said. “I think its time to put C Section to work.”

McLachlan gaped at him. “Prime Minister – Charles – is that necessary?”

“Perhaps,” Hanover said. “You know what’s at stake.”

McLachlan lowered his eyes. “I know,” he said grimly. “I do understand. I just wish that there was a better way.”