Typhoon

29

It was getting Joe to Shanghai that posed the problem.

First, Waterfield had to go to Guy Coates with a proposition. Did he want to help Her Majesty’s Government fight the good fight against Chinese tyranny and oppression? He did? Oh good. In that case, would Quayler be prepared to open up a second representative office, this one in Shanghai, staffed by Joe and two local Chinese, all of whom would be on the books with the Secret Intelligence Service? The British government would pay, of course, but Quayler would have to find somebody else to man their operation in Beijing. Joe’s done this sort of thing before, so there’s nothing to worry about. No, he wasn’t working for the Ministry of Defence in London. That was just his cover. I’m sure you are a bit surprised. You’ll have to clear the idea with your board of directors? Fine. But Guy Coates must be the only member of staff privy to what’s going on. You want an extra sixty grand? Not a problem. Least we can do in the circumstances. Just sign here where we’ve printed your name at the bottom.

After that, it was just a question of Joe handing in his notice, citing “ethical problems with the so-called War on Terror,” and serving out his final three months at Vauxhall Cross. To anyone who would listen, he complained about the “iniquity” of Sir John Scarlett’s appointment as “C” and suggested that the former head of the Joint Intelligence Committee had struck a deal with No. 10 whereby he would be handed the top job in SIS in return for massaging the dossier on Iraqi WMD. After that, most of Joe’s colleagues became convinced that he had lost his marbles. Which was precisely Joe’s intention.

“We’ll have to throw a leaving party for you,” Waterfield said.

“Really? Isn’t that taking things a bit far?”

“Not at all. Make sure to invite a few Yanks along from Grosvenor Square. That way, word might slip back to Langley. The more people that get to hear about Joe Lennox’s crisis of conscience, the better.”