A Gentleman's Game

8

London-Vauxhall Cross, Office of the Deputy Chief of Service 17 August 0959 GMT Crocker hadn't closed the door to the Deputy Chief's office before Donald Weldon was offering him a red file folder.

"Read," Weldon said.

The folder was labeled "Most Secret," but the operation designation line had been left blank. A bar code had been assigned, stuck to the lower-right corner of the front of the file, and the tracking boxes along the front were empty but for four entries: C at 0723 that morning; Weldon at 0808; Rayburn at 0858; and Weldon again at 0949.

Crocker knew what it was without opening it, but he did so anyway, to be certain of the particulars. Within were two sheets, clipped together, neatly typed. The first was a directive from the Prime Minister, authorizing SIS to undertake action as described in the concept of operations following. Despite the nature of the operation, Crocker noted that the PM had omitted any reference to retaliation or retribution. Instead, he'd declared the proposed action as one of self-defense and protection vital to the Crown and its holdings.

The second sheet was the conops, as prepared by the Intelligence Oversight Committee, including the Prime Minister, C, and various other members of the FCO and Cabinet, as well as the Chief of the Defense Staff. It was, even given the vaguely legal nature of its language, short to the point of being curt: it ordered SIS Director of Operations Paul Crocker to immediately plan and execute the assassination of Dr. Faud bin Abdullah al-Shimmari.

Minor provisions were given, all of them standard. The operation was to be carried out with due care to prevent collateral damage to secondary targets, but only in furtherance of primary mission objective; requisite concealment of authorizing agency and operative(s), inclusive; declassification date declared fifty years to the day of mission completion. The mission completion date was open-ended, and Crocker presumed that was Rayburn's doing, considering that Faud was most likely at his home in Jeddah, and there was no way in the world they'd be able to hit him there and get away with it.

There were things that were different about this conops, though, things that it took Crocker a moment to realize. There was no equivocating, no double-speak. It was as blunt a directive as he had ever received, in that sense, and the message was clear: Kill Faud, we don't give a damn how. Even the clause excusing collateral damage "in furtherance of primary mission objective," the Government's way of saying that if an agent had to, perhaps, machine-gun three of Faud's closest friends on the way to target, well, it was a pity, but it would be forgiven.

At the bottom of the page were the signatures of those who had authorized the action, including the Prime Minister and C.

Crocker flipped the folder shut with one hand, dropped it back onto Weldon's spotless desk with a frown.

The Deputy Chief folded his hands across his broad middle. He wasn't so much an overweight man as a stocky one, built like the support column one found in underground car parks, with the addition of a liberal head of graying brown hair. Neither of them made enough to afford the tailors that men like C did, and Weldon, like Crocker, purchased his suits at Marks amp; Spencer. Unlike Crocker, who stayed religiously in the black, blue, and gray spectrum, Weldon went more to the browns.

"Directive came down this morning, as you can see. You're to undertake the operation immediately."

"I'm not going to send a Minder into Saudi."

"I repeat, Paul, you're to undertake the operation immediately. According to D-Int, Faud is at his home in Jeddah. Poole can take him there."

Crocker shook his head. "I'm not putting a Minder into Saudi to perform an assassination. I'd never get him out again."

"With proper planning-"

"It's Saudi Arabia, not Croydon, sir. Travel in the country is restricted, even to nationals. We'd have to give the Minder cover that would not only get them into the country, but get them from Riyadh to Jeddah, and then out again."

"There are other routes out of the country."

"To where? He's supposed to take a boat across the Red Sea into Sudan or Egypt? Or do you think he should tab overland to the UAE, maybe to Jordan? There are too many things that could go wrong."

Weldon's hands slipped down, then came up again to rest on the desk, now in the form of fists. "Your job is to undertake and execute a successful mission, that's all."

"Safe egress is part of a successful mission."

"Not a vital part."

"I beg to differ with you, sir, but if you'll direct your attention to the concept of operations, we've been directed to conceal the origin of issuing body. Poole dead in Jeddah becomes a very big clue as to who is responsible, don't you think?"

"Not if his cover holds."

"It won't hold after he's dead, not if they know he's the one who pulled the trigger. They'll go over his movements with a microscope, and eventually they'll find their way back to us."

Weldon's fists tightened, then relaxed.

"It's academic, anyway," Crocker continued. "Egress isn't the problem. Travel restrictions in Saudi are so tight there's a good chance whichever Minder we put into the country would never make it to target in the first place. And since I've only got three of them, I'd rather we get it right the first time."

"It's been two weeks since the attacks, Paul, and the Government is impatient. C won't suffer you dragging your feet."

Crocker glared at Weldon, biting back his immediate urge to snap a response.

"The clock is running," Weldon added unnecessarily.

"I will not initiate an operation that's been half-planned solely to appease C," Crocker said. "And begging your pardon, sir, but neither should you. You should be defending me on this, not urging me forward."

"C is of the opinion that you coddle the Minders. Stalling on this will not help alter that."

"They are not coddled." Crocker didn't bother to hide the acid in his voice. "The mere fact that I've lost two of them in the past eighteen months should make that perfectly plain. I have three Special Operations Officers, sir, three highly trained, highly committed agents, and any one of them, from Lankford to Chace, would march straight to Jeddah right now if that's what I ordered. They all know their job."

"But do you know yours, Paul?"

"I'll see that the mission is completed."

"See that you do." Weldon pushed the folder toward Crocker, then sat back in his chair.

"And to hell with the Minder who falls in the process," Crocker muttered, and taking the folder, departed the Deputy Chief's office for the safer confines of the sixth floor.