Islamic State: England

Leading Characters

Dan (Danforth) Glover, SIS (MI6) Senior Agent.

Felicity Wigglesworth, Inspector in charge of Lower Meddlington Constabulary.

Main Supporting Characters.

Constable Percy Blodwell, rural community officer.

The Director of SIS, only referred to as The Director.

Group Captain Thomas (Tom) Wigglesworth, station commander of RAF Trimingham.

Margaret, his wife, Felicity’s mother.

Alison Porter, Intelligence Officer, MI6.

Stella Nicholas, neighbour of the village office.

Veronica Sadler, Intelligence Officer, MI6.

Ayesha Hussein.

Sir Jack McBridle, Marshal of the Air Force, and Head of the Chiefs of Staff, UK.

Colin Talbot, the designated liaison at GCHQ.

Derek, Liaison for GCHQ Bude.

‘Sinjun’, Brigadier Lawrence St. John Brown, SAS.

Other Characters

Harry McBride, Dan’s Commander and line manager.

Director Matthew Green of Peterborough Land Registry.

Chief Inspector George Lovell, Felicity’s line manager.

Superintendent John Stonehouse, Lovell’s boss.

Martin Edwards, Junior Agent, MI6.

Stan Parfitt, rural beat bobby for Wymondham.

Karen Wheeler, takes over from Felicity at Lower Meddlington.

Minor Characters

Cathy Collins

Her youngest son, Chris.

Her eldest son Kevin.

Kevin’s friend, Neville.

Simon Walters, murdered agent.

Charlie Sidebotham and Ben Hinckley, retired policemen who assist Dan monitor the aerodrome.

Brian, the village innkeeper.

Gwen, the head bartender.

Dick Slayton, Percy’s opposite number to the east.

Chad Pickering and Phil Chandler, HM Land Registry staff who assist with property ownership.

Doug Simmons, Department Head at GCHQ.

Bernie, Head of GCHQ Bude.

Linda Snowe, NCA Director.

Alf, the villager with a Transit van.

Sid, the builder.

Detective Superintendent Terry Meads, Manchester Police.

Charity: Sylvia Cartwright and Norman Harper, run Asians in Need. They are married in Islam, but not in UK law.

Wymondham Police: Chief Inspector Walter Cartwright-Harper, Inspector Benaris Khan.

Asian Characters

Waheed Hussein, Ayesha’s brother.

Mohammad, Ali, and Hussein, directors of Anglo-Asian Holding, a property management company.

Ali Bros. Solicitors, Partners Ali, Ali, and Ali.

Valinder Jahlide Ali is the businessman and director of both.

Siri and Sana, the Boko Haram suicide girls.

Places

The Village where Dan creates his base of operations is never named.

Huntley Spa Aerodrome, where flights are monitored.

Abbreviations

SIS: The Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6.

GCHQ: The heart of British Intelligence information gathering.

EDF: The English Defence Force; an extreme right wing, racist, political party that argues with fists and hobnail boots.

NCA: National Crime Agency; the British FBI [formative].

Met: The Metropolitan Police of London.

AAH: Anglo Asian Holdings [fictional].

FGM: Female Genital Mutilation.

PC: Politically Correct. Also: Police Constable.

CO: Commanding Officer, RAF.

Brum: Birmingham City.

Background Information

Islamic State: England is set in the contemporary world of today.

§

The large villages of Lower and Upper Meddlington are purely fictional, as is Huntley Spa Aerodrome. They are located due west of Norwich, Norfolk, accessible only by local roads. The villages are thirty minutes and the airfield forty-five minutes away from the city by car on B roads.

The Village used as a base of operations is never named, and is fifteen minutes by car from Lower Meddlington.

Lower Meddlington, the larger of the two, is almost classified as a town, especially due to new housing and shopping centre.

§

The accent when spoken is largely that of Anglians the author has known in his lifetime, supplemented by fitting phrases from other nearby parts of the country. The dialect is tuneful, if relatively slow in delivery, with a strong accent on extended vowels. One such example is the spelling 'Ooh', often said in a surprised or questioning way with facial intrigue.

Chapter 1 ~ Plane Spotting

A rural village in central Norfolk, England, late summer.

Where on earth have you been, Christopher Collins? Your dinner’s going cold. Quickly now, go and wash your hands, then come to table.

Yes Mum. Chris’s mind worked on excuses as he slowly washed his hands. His thoughts were interrupted.

Will you hurry up, I’ve been keeping dinner warm, waiting for you to get home.

His mother was serving his father when he sat down to eat. A lot of everything dear, it’s been a long and strenuous day. His eyes fixed his youngest son. Nothing for the boy until he tells us what he’s been doing. Well? Out with it, and it had better be the truth this time.

Shamefaced with eyes cast down, Chris had no option but to tell the truth. He pensively mumbled, The airfield. I was watching the airfield. A big plane came in to land, and a lot of people got out and went into a hangar.

Is your mind away with the fairies again? His father swiped the bread plate away from the boy's reaching hand. I asked for the truth, so what is it?

But Dad, that is the truth. It was an Airbus A300.

Utter nonsense. Nothing has flown in or out of that old aerodrome since it became an industrial park two years ago, and when the small flying club was closed.

Well go and have a look for yourself. I bet it’s still there. You’ll see it from the top of the hill.

That’s enough. His father’s face grew red. I’ve heard enough of your tall stories. Go to your room at once, no food for you until you learn to tell the truth.

But Dad… Chris’s words died as his father gathered his bulk and began to rise from his chair. Chris dreaded a beating and ran for the safety of his bedroom.

This is so unfair, he muttered to himself. I was telling the truth, and still they don’t believe me.

Downstairs he heard his older brother, Kevin arrive home. Sorry I’m late mum, but I missed the bus, it was early again.

Never mind about that, you sit here and I’ll serve. I kept this piece of meat especially for you.

Thanks mum, you’re the best. What, no Chris? Is he late again?

He was late, and told us some cock-and-bull story about watching passenger planes landing at the old Huntley Spa aerodrome. He refused to tell us the truth, so I sent him to his room. Now, how was sixth form today?

Breakfast the next morning was quiet. Chris seemed reclusive, so Kevin asked him, Why were you late last night.

I told them the truth, but they didn’t believe me. A passenger plane landed, and hundreds of people got out. They went into a hanger. It was an Airbus A300, but I don’t know which model.

Shut up Chris, another of your porkies. What were you really doing?

I just told you. Nobody believes me. I’m saying nothing more.

Kevin tried to get more information out of his younger brother, but he remained silent. That was unusual. Usually Chris’s wild imaginings became more vivid, but not this time.

Their mother called out from the kitchen. The school bus is coming, you’d better hurry.

Kevin jumped up, grabbed his bag, and kissed his mother on the cheek. I may be a little late again tonight mum.

His mother stepped away and searched his eyes with her own. Out with it, who is she? I remember being young once myself.

Gulp. Er, d, duh, durrr, just a friend. His mother continued to watch him with her piercing blue eyes, until he admitted, She’s just a friend from school. I sometimes carry her books home. She lives near the bus station, so it’s only a small detour.

Be careful. I know all about young girls nowadays.

Thanks mum.

As he ran out of the door, Chris pulled his satchel over his arms and hugged his mother. Thanks for leaving the plate out for me last night. It was cold, but great food. I didn’t lie.

With that he broke away, trying to stop the tears, knowing his mother must have seen them. He ran after his brother, who was holding the school bus for him.

The weekdays passed, Chris remaining unusually silent, and always on time for evening meal. If asked, all he would say was, I told you the truth, and you didn’t believe me. End of story. Then he’d turn away, or talk about something else.

On Saturday afternoon, Kevin went to see his friend Neville, who lived half way up the hill. They were the only two of the same age in the village. The Post Office and general store closed some years before, only the pub remained, mostly as a weekend eatery for tourists.

When I leave school, I’m going to work in the big city, somewhere there are lots of people and things to do. What about you Kev?

Dunno. I was thinking about going to Uni in Norwich, but haven’t a clue what to study.

What? Uni’s boring, and nowadays only the rich or foreigners go there. Why not come with me to London?

London?

Yeah. It’s where things happen.

Not me. I’m going to get good qualifications and a decent job. Something professional with good pay, holidays, and where I can make a difference in life.

You sound like my father. This morning, he suggested I train as an air traffic controller, he says it pays very well. You retire at fifty-nine, but where’s the fun in being stuck up a control tower all day and night?

Kevin was quiet for a moment, as he thought the job sounded good. Deciding to check it out himself, he changed the subject slightly. You’ll never guess what Chris came out with on Tuesday. He says there are jet planes flying into the drome. Passenger planes.

He had expected Neville to laugh, but instead he sat back with a thoughtful look on his face. What is it Nev?

Nothing. Well, sometimes when I can’t sleep, I hear the noise of a large jet, and it’s quite close, maybe just over the ridge.

Well I never heard nothing.

Ah, but you wouldn’t. You live in the valley. Here we get to hear some of what happens on the other side of the hill. Next time, I’m going to check it out. Want me to call you?

Only if you see something. This is one of Chris’s tall tales. Forget it and get your head down. Now what’s happening with you and Lizzie?

That evening Neville couldn’t sleep. Lizzie had accepted a date with him, his first, and he didn’t know what to do. Distracted, and anywhere but sleepy, his mind took a while to recognise the sound of a large jet getting closer.

Within seconds his mind snapped back to his conversation with Kevin, and he sprang out of bed. He, too, wanted an answer to the question raised.

Donning his clothes quickly, he grabbed a torch, and headed up the winding trail that led between trees and bushes, to the top of The Mountain. It was a mere eighty feet high, but the only feature for miles around. The vast plains looked as if God had used a steamroller to flatten the surrounding land.

Nearing the summit, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a jet engine winding down, and ran the last few paces. Before him lay the old aerodrome, and he caught a glimpse of landing lights along the runway, before they were switched off.

It was half a mile away, across a straight, if narrow country road. What drew his attention was the passenger aircraft pulled up near one of the hangers. People were getting out; there seemed to be hundreds of them.

He took snaps on his mobile phone, zooming in and out, before finding a better vantage point to his right, the east, and setting the camera to video mode. The images were not particularly good, but showed the people exiting the craft. Some were children and he recognized women wearing burkhas, because they looked like walking drapes in shadows.

Determined to see the all of it, he hardly registered the lights being turned off, as he fell asleep where he was. Just after four a.m., he was woken by the sound of a jet engine, and saw the runway lights on, the aeroplane taking off. He grabbed his mobile, but the battery was dead. Cursing, he watched as the plane left, the lights went out, and everything returned to normal. He staggered home to bed, asleep on his feet, and was up late for breakfast.

Kevin came round mid morning, and Neville showed him the pictures and video. Damn. The little shit was telling the truth. That’s a big plane, and look at those headscarves. Moms and girls, right? What does that mean?

That they’re Muslim. They are landing in secret at the dead of night, and have not passed through customs.

Maybe they didn’t need to, they could be from another part of England.

I guess. But why come here? It doesn’t make any sense. We live in the outback of nowhere. I know. I’ll give you a call tonight, if they come again. And bring your latest smart phone for when mine dies. The boys turned to planning, and imagining what was afoot.

Kevin’s phone rang at five-past two. I hear the jet. Get moving. This time it was Kevin who was half asleep, as he floundered out of bed, and donned the nearest clothes. He grabbed a bag he had prepared in advance, and was halfway out of the door, before he remembered his phone. He raced upstairs and put it in his pocket, intending to run to the top of The Mountain.

And just where do you think you’re going at this time of night?

His mother’s words brought him up short, and he turned, saying, Chris was right. A passenger jet landed here last night, and another is about to do so. Gotta dash––get the info.

He waved with his phone, and left his mother speechless. He ran out of the house, sprinting at first, before dropping down into a sustainable running gait. As he closed on the path leading up to the highest point, he glimpsed a flashlight above him on the trail, Neville presumably.

Kevin arrived less than a minute behind his friend, who was already filming. That’s a passenger plane!

Yes it is. I checked the internet today, and know it is an Airbus A300 B4. It can carry about two-hundred and fifty people, depending upon internal configuration.

They’re going into that hangar, is that the same as last night?

Yes. Quiet, I’m counting.

Kevin was startled by a noise nearby, and stood to ward off a threat. Instead he found himself greeting his mother. So where are the girls? The booze, the drugs? Her yes scanned the surroundings, before aligning with the boy’s direction of sight. Oh … that’s a plane. A big plane. People are getting off it. Oh my God! Chris was telling the truth.

She settled to watch, trying to understand what she was seeing. Had it been the middle of the day, she may have had a better handle on the images she saw. But she witnessed a passenger plane where none should ever be.

When all went dark, Neville stated, Two-hundred and eighty people at least, they are cramming them in. There doesn’t seem to be much luggage. Maybe they’re local?

I dunno. That forklift is removing some large boxes, and that seems odd for a passenger plane. I’m staying here to see what happens. This time I will film it all.

Me too, said Kevin.

Cathy Collins looked at the pair of them and said, I need to sleep. Call me if anything happens––I’ll be in the car, just down below.

You drove here mum?

Yes Kev, sometimes it is better to use brains than brawn. See you in a few hours.

Cathy received the call at 4.30 a.m., just less than two hours later. She was in time to see the jet take off, and took pictures of it on her smart phone. They talked about what could be going on, bizarre imaginings without substance.

Tired to the core, Cathy Collins rose to leave. I’ll give you a lift if you come with me now. Well done, by the way.

Kevin left with his mother. He didn’t think it wise she be alone in the dead of night, on a forested hill. Neville stayed, but came running up to them before they entered the family home.

Come quickly, I just saw a coach leave, and it’s heading west. Here’s the video.

A glance was all she needed, and Cathy ran for the car. The teenagers scrambled in as she changed from reverse to forward, and they left. Text your brother an apology and tell him where we are, she said as they turned onto one of only two roads out of the hamlet, headed east.

Why not go west mum, it’s the shorter route?

Yes dear, but the slowest. That lane is dreadful, especially at night. This way we hit the main drag much sooner, where I can quickly catch up. You’ll both understand, once you get your licenses.

Okay mum, you know best. But tell me this, who are these people? What are they doing?

I can’t say for sure. They may be illegal immigrants, refugees, freedom fighters of Islamic disposition, ne’er-do-wells, freeloaders, or frightened families fleeing oppression. I see women and children, the elderly, and I see soldiers, not cohesive family units. Your thoughts?

Neville responded, The men are on a jihad, they have rifles.

Kevin answered, But the women and children? They are fleeing persecution.

Are you sure? Maybe they are plants. What if they were sent to plead family rights, in order to bring over their ‘brothers’, ‘uncles’, and ‘cousins’? All young men are of fighting age, armed with Kalashnikov’s.

No man, you’re stupid. These are regular families, okay, without the men. So what?

Because it is the men who go to war. This is an invasion.

So I guess you mean that all these women and children will end up being suicide bombers. Get real Nev.

Why not?

Because the world is not like that. Most people are decent.

Yes, in the West. Do you know what they do to their women?

Cathy spoke out. That’s enough, the both of you. You have few, if any facts, so this is irrelevant. Evidence boys. Proof. You have nothing except hearsay and grand ideals of conspiracy. Where are your facts?

The rest of the journey was spent adapting views of conspiracy theory, none of which rang true, but were not entirely hollow either.

The road was straight as an arrow, if narrow. It ran on for miles; the large fields nearby, flat as a pancake. Cathy closed to a quarter of a mile, and switched off her headlights, using only sidelights for cursory view. She was following the large seater coach directly in front.

They continued in formation for several miles, until the coach began to change speed, as if the driver were looking for somewhere particular in the dead of night. Cathy backed off, afraid their tail would be discovered.

The coach continued its unusual pattern, until it braked sharply. Somebody with a rifle got out and guided the coach to rest. Cathy killed all the lights, and on tick over, crept as near as she thought safe.

We’ll scout ahead and get good shots, mum.

Stop! Let me switch off the interior light first … Okay, but don’t get too close. As the boys leapt into action, her heart was torn. Was she being a sensible mother? After all, this could well be a wild goose chase, or their lives could be in danger. Nevertheless, she got out her mobile, and began filming, zooming to catch what was about to happen.

Two more men got out, touting Kalashnikov’s or something similar, dragging a man with wrists tied behind his back, struggling in vain. A heated exchange took place, before another man, presumably the leader, got out, pointed a handgun at the man’s forehead, pressed it into the skull, and pulled the trigger.

The body began to fall forwards, as Cathy zoomed in to maximum. It would not be the most defined image, but it would be the best. No sooner had she locked on the image, than the man was flung violently backwards, and over the side of what appeared to be a bridge.

The men with guns held them to their shoulder, sights to eye line, as they checked around the coach. Finding nothing, they withdrew, and in short time, the coach headed on its way.

Cathy gave a huge sigh of relief, doubled when both young men came back to the car. They were elated; she was disturbed. She had never witnessed a murder before.

They talked for several minutes, before she edged the car, still using only sidelights, to where the coach had been. There was nothing, no bullet, no body, nothing.

Kevin said, It was a pistol, and none of them searched for the casing, let’s find it. It took a while, but they found the casing, and a lot farther away than they expected. Cathy took a tissue from her bag, and carefully wrapped it up so as not to disturb evidence or possible fingerprints.

They scanned for anything in the river, either floating, or underwater: nothing. The boys split up, taking one side of the river each, and they went as far as they could, but there was no sign of life, or death.

Returning to the car, Cathy stated, We are going home.

But mum, we need to follow the coach. Neville enthusiastically agreed, but Cathy put her foot firmly down on the accelerator; soon her car was headed in the opposite direction.

She explained, We have just witnessed an execution, the first and last I ever hope to see. This is a war situation, and sometimes, especially when nobody else knows, it is better to get word back, than have that information lost through trying too hard.

No Misses Collins, we need to know where that coach goes to.

Yeah Mum, same for me.

Children, quiet. Think some more. Only we three know something is going on. You want to be executed like that poor man? I do not. Get the information back to those that know what to do with it.

But Mum…

Silence. This is what is happening, like it or not.

Well at least let’s call the police. The body can’t be far away.

Yes it can, actually. As soon as the river gets to Falls Reach, a tributary comes in, it gets deeper, and there’s an undercurrent. A body can disappear, and wash up near the sea months later.

I still say call the police. We got the videos.

Cathy watched the boys in the mirror, and listened as they continued to argue. She took the shorter, but more time costly route back, and stopped the car just short of Neville’s home.

She turned to look at the pair, her eyes looking directly into theirs by turns. This is how we do this. Save your pics and videos to somewhere safe. I’ll have a discreet word with the local police. End of story.

Not old plod Percy Blodwell. You cannot be serious. We need forensics, a search party of cops, divers, scouring the river. We just saw a man killed, mum.

Neville was in full agreement, until Cathy asked, And what would be the result of that?

They’d find the body, mum.

Doubtful. I’ve heard of several people lost to that river. What else?

Even if we don’t find the body, Misses Collins, we draw attention to the locality. They would probably investigate the old aerodrome, and then we would get answers.

Yeah Nev, the national media would be all over it. Nice one. We’d get our pictures, interviews on the main news channels. Cool.

Cathy reasserted her authority. Yes they would, at least for a day or two, before the next big headline comes along, and we are forgotten about. You want media exposure. Then what will they do after all interest has died? Come on, I’m waiting …

You mean the airbase, the coach people … come after us.

Yes. You got it in one. I am not going to let the pair of you sacrifice all of our lives for a few seconds' fame and glory. This stops here, stays here, and nobody else knows. And no posting anonymously on the net. Deal?

She held her palm out eliciting high fives from both boys, even if it was not freely coming.

Cathy’s life had become complicated overnight. She made a call early the next morning. Lower Meddlington Police, I’m Police Assistant Gordon, how may we assist you?

For no reason, except an impulsive reaction, Cathy gathered herself quickly. I know this is stupid, and probably not a crime at all, but could you ask the beat officer to call round today?

What is the nature of the crime Miss?

Misses, Misses Cathleen Collins, he knows me well. The crime, well, my garden gnome has been stolen, and I wonder for his safety. I hear they travel all over the world, even sending postcards and holiday pictures back. Please, can you help me?

Let me check, Misses Collins … Yes, the beat officer is due in your village today, and I have annotated he contact you. Is there anything else we can help you with?

No, thank you. That’s more than enough, thought Cathy as she wandered, distracted, into the kitchen. She boiled the kettle, made tea, and dozed. It seemed only minutes passed before there came a rap upon the front door.

Awakening, Cathy took a large swallow of cold tea, and opened the door. She welcomed the police officer inside, gushing with uncertainty, to make him a fresh pot of tea, returning with biscuits also.

So, what can I do for you, Misses Collins? A missing gnome I am told.

The question came against the flow of chatty, inane conversation, and she stopped short of putting the digestive biscuit to her mouth.

Laying the biscuit down, and leaning forward she stated, The gnome was just a ruse. I need to share a secret with somebody. I think, hope, you are the right person.

Go on, Misses Collins, I offer you utter discretion.

Hmm. We’ll see. Let me show you something. As Percy viewed the images, Cathy explained what had happened.

Percy was an old hand, just shy of retirement. He had never had a big case, and at that current moment of his career, didn’t need one. He looked up from watching the videos, inspecting the still shots, and removed his glasses. As he settled back, he asked for more tea and quietly munched a biscuit. His bushy moustache caught a few crumbs which he casually brushed aside.

In time he spoke his thoughts aloud. These aeroplanes, this bus, the execution, I see the three streams of information, and still I cannot believe it. Why here? There’s nothing hereabouts.

Then you already have your answer, Percy. The only link is the aerodrome.

"No. All I have are unanswered questions. You are correct when you say that filing a murder complaint, thus calling in all and sundry will prejudice the case. They’ll stop operating for a while, and take recriminations on those they believe to be involved; they aren’t afraid to pull a trigger. I’ll need to verify this with the kids when they return from school.

Regards landing the plane, that would normally be reported to the Border Force’s East Anglia Command. I am loathe to do that, at least initially, in this matter. We don’t even know where the aircraft originated from. Besides, they would go in gung-ho, and I think a more cautious approach is required.

So, what’s your tack?

On my days off, I’m a keen angler, so I propose to drop some bait, and see who bites.

You mean you are going to release this information to the press?

No Cathy. I am going to file a low-key missing person’s report, with the photo you took. It will percolate through the nationwide systems and databases. Let’s wait and see if we get a response.

Chapter 2 ~ Missing Person

On Tuesday morning, back from the ranks of the injured, Agent Danforth Glover, SIS, was enduring a seemingly never-ending bureaucratic nightmare. His desk telephone rang, and he picked up immediately. Hello?

Dan, pop into my office for a moment.

Intrigued, Dan hurried to see his line manager, Harry McBride. Come in Dan, take a seat. Tell me, how is your recovery coming along?

Rather well. I still get the odd twinge where the bullet grazed my femur, but I’m off painkillers, and the new, harsher physio regime is helping a lot. I hope to return to the field soon.

Good. That’s exactly what I’d hoped to hear. Harry drummed his fingers on the file in front of him, before opening it and removing a picture. Passing it over he said, You know who this is?

The picture of a man had been enhanced, and Dan recognised him at once. Simon Walters. He’s been deep undercover in Syria for over two years. Last I heard he was in Raqqa.

The controller leaned forward conspiratorially. He was still there on Friday.

Harry placed another picture before Dan. This picture was taken last night, early hours. Somewhere in the wilderness of East Anglia.

That’s a bullet hole in his forehead. He was executed.

"It would appear so, and that is all we have. GCHQ picked it up as a missing persons report, filed by one Constable Percival Blodwell of Lower Meddlington Police. It would appear, he initiated the action himself. When it hit our database a flag was raised.

You are one of our best field agents, especially where hidden clues need to be found. Leave as soon as you are ready, say within the hour, and find out what the hell is going on.

Yes Sir! It’ll be great to get back to doing some real work. I don’t know how you stick all this office bullshit, it’s been driving me crazy.

Back at his desk, Dan Glover finished his immediate work, cleared his desk and sat back to read the file he had been given. There was little to it. His last act before leaving was to call Lower Meddlington Police, and make an appointment with Constable Blodwell for late that afternoon.

He took a company pool car, and swung by his home to collect an overnight bag and field kit. He added a body bag just in case. Soon he was on his way, headed for the wilds of East Anglia.

Wilds? He’d never imagined anywhere so flat and lacking life. Lower Meddlington was a small town consisting of a few hundred houses with signs of a modern housing estate to the east. It was like a time warp: no modern shopping centres, no shops of national chains, just private bakeries, butchers, and general stores. The only road had a war memorial in the middle of it, the police station nearby.

He parked outside, surprised there were no yellow lines. Getting out to lock the car, Dan watched a mum, toddler by the hand, stop and chat with a shop keeper sweeping his steps. Dan momentarily wondered if this was not a better age, than the one he currently inhabited.

Several minutes later, Dan was greeted by an aged cop with rotund belly and cheerful demeanour. Constable Blodwell at your service. How may I assist you?

Dan Glover, SIS. The pleasure is all mine. Is there somewhere we can talk privately, like out on the street?

My patrol car, but first I need to verify your ID. I presume that is acceptable.

Of course, knock yourself out.

A few minutes later PC Blodwell handed the ID back to Dan Glover. You check out on the database, which I knew you would, but I have learned to verify everything. Come.

They left via the rear entrance, Percy continuing to do most of the talking. MI6 eh, I was right to be cautious. I wondered who would respond to my missing persons report. So quickly as well. This must be important. Ah here we are. Jump in the passenger side. We have much to discuss.

Percy rolled down the windows as he got in and switched the radio off. He unconsciously fluffed his moustache and said, So why send you from MI6. I was expecting a special police unit, maybe MI5. I thought you guys only worked abroad.

Not so, although most of my fieldwork has been in foreign lands. We work in UK in relation to international threats, and we suspect this may turn out to be one.

Why do you say that?

Because the man in the picture was deep undercover in Syria on Friday. He turned up here on Monday, and was presumably executed. Not far from here, I would guess. Tell me all you know.

Percy sat back and ordered his thoughts, before speaking candidly. I have three people who witnessed the execution. Yes, that is what it was. Here, let me show you on my phone. The quality isn’t too good, but it’s clear enough. Turn the sound up and you’ll hear the gunshot.

Dan studied the video and related snapshots several times, but his mind began working in earnest when the copper said, I also believe I know how he came to be in this country. Look at this video.

Dan whistled when he saw the passenger aircraft, and noted the different timestamps. Percy went on to explain everything from the beginning, closing with the words, You’ll want to meet the informants of course.

Yes, as soon as possible.

Percy made the call. Cathy, I’ll be with you in twenty minutes, with a special guest who is most interested in what you and the boys discovered. We need to speak to all four of you, in private if possible … okay, seven-thirty it is. Call me when your husband has left for the oil rig. I presume he’s still working week-on, week-off? ... Good, in that case we may as well eat at the pub to kill the time.

A problem? Dan enquired.

No. Mister Collins is a good man, a hard worker, but surly at times, bordering on threatening. Best he not be there. You’ve a place to stay?

No, not yet. That’s the least of my worries. I’ll sleep in the car if needs be.

We have a couple of hours to kill, so let’s find you somewhere to stay, and then go the village pub near our destination for a meal.

Sounds good. Does the pub have any rooms to let? I like to be at the heart of the action, as it were.

Percy swayed back and sideways to fix Dan’s eyes with his own. Not officially. It depends upon which side of the law you come from––modern or old school.

I have zero interest in petit laws. Jezzz, the places I’ve lived, the things I have seen. I could tell you a few stories to make your teeth curl. If they are making a bit extra on the side, then good luck to them. I can pay in cash, and I mean pound notes. Make the call, this will go nowhere, my word of honour.

Percy smiled, he was beginning to like Dan Glover, which caused him to offer one more piece of advice. Ooh, ‘round these parts, well they ain’t ever seen a suit of haute couture like yours.

Jeans, tee, and trainers or Chino’s, polo, and casual shoes?

The former would be better, most of the time. You got a car … Okay, I’ll drive you round to the front, then follow me.

The old pub in Cathy’s village was otherworldly, and with Percy’s assistance, Dan was soon settled into their best room. It was more than adequate, with en suite bathroom, and quiet. Dan paid in advance for two nights’ dinner, bed, and breakfast, before joining Percy in the bar. The place welcomed them with wooden beams, and oak panels. A short time later they were called to dinner, which was most enjoyable. Afterwards they both chose cheese instead of dessert. They were finishing up when Cathy called.

A few minutes later, they were seated around her kitchen table. I’m Dan Glover, SIS, or MI6 to most people. I am here because of this photograph, but before I tell you why, I need a word with each of you, in turn, in private. Once I have your own perspectives, we will form a team. Let’s begin. Chris, you were the first, so where can we talk?

Cathy complained, This sounds like interrogation…

Her words were interrupted. Nothing of the kind. I promise you, just a friendly chat. I need to hear this from your own lips, without interference from others.

Percy spoke in support. This is correct practice, Ma’am. We call it one-to-one.

Sorry, we’re new at this. It’s okay. Use the living room, I’ll put the kettle on.

Chris was only a few minutes, and came bouncing into the kitchen. Wow! This is so cool, having double-O seven in our home!

He started humming the Bond theme, as Neville was called next. Cathy also rose. Christopher Collins, will you please desist. You are to stop this nonsense right now.

When Neville came out he was smirking. That guy is really good, he got me to remember something trivial that might be important.

Percy added, That’s why we do it this way, otherwise you would all already know. It can cause false memories, or conflict of testimony.

After all were interviewed, Dan took a few minutes to check his notes, regardless of the fact he had recorded each interview. His observations were about the person, and other aspects of the case, not directly related to the words spoken. He was a very good profiler.

Once satisfied, he rejoined the others at the kitchen table. Dan became proactive in debate, and managed to winkle out a few snippets of information that may, or may not, prove relevant. Percy nodded towards Dan, and assisted where he could.

As conversation began to drift, Dan regained focus. We are a team, and I need to see the airfield. Can we all go there now, the place where you took those pictures?

Percy said, The top of The Mountain, yes; the aerodrome, no. It is surrounded by military style fencing, with cameras, too. We would need a very good reason to go there. I tried earlier today, and was turned away at the gate by security, uniform and all. They told me it was private property, and would not let me in without a valid reason. I could have invented something, but thought better to leave them alone. But they are hiding something. However, I did learn they have a few small jets parked at the far end of the field.

Dan rose from his sitting position and said, Let’s go.

Reaching the top of the hill, Dan immediately dug in his jeans pocket, and put a headband with eyepiece around his head. It had telescopic vision, both day and night modes. He saw a runway capable of landing far larger jets, and four pre-war hangars with thick, blast-proof walls. The other buildings were modern, and there seemed a lot of them. Nothing moved; there were no lights.

His brief surveillance complete, Dan stated, "We are done for tonight. Tomorrow morning we will establish a permanent monitoring station here. I was thinking of a small tent well to the east, and another a little way below for sustenance and sleep.

I can bring in the equipment we need, but not the staff. Percy?

Well, I could take leave, although I retire in seven months, and was saving up to shorten my time. I could apply for a week…

Nonsense. I’ll sequester your services to SIS for the duration. That okay with you?

Yes, but…

Good. Now who have we got to man or woman this twenty-four seven? Dan stopped speaking, and looked at Cathy.

She spluttered, Well I guess so, but I have a family to keep.

Kevin offered, We could skip school and man it.

Percy cut to the chase. I know of a couple of recently retired police officers, old school like me. Good friends through the years we served together. They’d be no good at gunfights and chasing suspects, but they would be ideal for logging everything coming in, or going out of that there aerodrome. Oh, and since they are getting creaky, a hut with proper seats, not a tent. Want me to make the calls?

It may have been the flashlights, but Dan’s eyes seemed to sparkle. That sounds damn fine, Percy. Make the calls first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ll throw in a little pay, tax-free. We’ll need to have a word with the local inn, discretion being the most important aspect. Cathy, Kevin, Neville, and Chris. We usually man these positions with two people, say one needs a toilet break at precisely the wrong time. You get my drift? So we will work on what works in practice, make it up as we go along. Any problems?

Neville was slow to speak. I have my first date with Lizzie tomorrow night. I’ve never had a date before, but I guess I can put it off.

Dan said, Nonsense. Go, enjoy your date, but come back here before you go to sleep. No problem.

Dan gave them each his dedicated mobile number, included them in the operation, and made them swear total secrecy.

The group departed a short time later, most envisioning wild plans of espionage. Dan was level-headed, and after the others went their ways, said to the last remaining, Percy, care to share a beer with me? I need to understand the locality, what is normal, and not normal around this neck of the woods. I’ll pay for your room if that’s okay, presuming your better half doesn’t object.

I’d need to call her, yes. I’ll leave a message on the home landline––on a whist drive she is, and won’t be back till late.

After a slightly beery night, the first in ages, Dan surfaced to the insistent ringing of his second mobile, the one he had dedicated to the case. The clock read 02:23 hours. Dan, this is Nev. Get your arse up here pronto, the plane is coming in.

Chapter 3 ~ Keeping the Lid on Things

As Dan sprinted towards the top of the hill, he got out his phone and set it to video recording. He was filming as soon as the airfield came in sight, and caught the plane touching down.

Still concentrating on the video, he said, Thanks Neville, this is great. I got the plane’s number with the aid of the runway lights.

They continued to chat and film. The runway lighting died. With his eyepiece, he could make out the passengers. Some getting out are freedom fighters, but most are civilians. I counted two hundred and eighty two in all, although some would be crew.

Keep filming Dan, the luggage and cargo are next.

The luggage container was put down inside the hangar the passengers entered, before other boxes were offloaded. Dan recognised some of the crates, but said nothing. He followed the forklifts, but came back to the personnel hanger frequently.

Dan moved slightly away to get a better view of the interior, tracking with his eyepiece, and began speaking quietly, staccato into the phone. "Three flight crew. Three militia. All taken to another building.

Twelve militia, also carry Kalashnikov’s, taken to a different building. They appear to be new to the place. See their heads turning, taking it all in? Inside the hangar, the luggage container is being hurriedly unpacked, and it would appear names are being called. Yes, people are coming forward, collecting their belongings. Some are being seated in a Volvo coach. It is silver with a medium blue stripe down the side, cannot get the registration number at this distance. Hangar doors closing, so that’s all. No, wait, the jet is being cleaned and refuelled, a maintenance crew are checking the craft over as well.

Dan continued to film until all was quiet and the lights were turned off. He spoke quietly for some time with Neville and took a power-nap, before sending the boy home to sleep. Dan resumed filming at four-twenty, when the lights came back on, and an SUV dropped off six people at the aircraft steps, three crew and three militia.

Supplies were being loaded into the cargo hold, before the hangar doors opened, and the luggage box returned to the plane. A few minutes later the engines came to life, and after presumed system checks, the aeroplane began to taxi towards the runway; it would take off in the direction it landed from.

With the plane gone, Dan got his first clear view of the hangar internals, where rows of camp beds were arranged in line. There were hundreds of them, and people were grouped in busloads, complete with their baggage.

By then, the aeroplane had reached the end of the runway, and began to accelerate for takeoff. He filmed it rise into the air, and immediately the landing lights were turned off. He came back to focus on the bus pulling out of the hangar. He still could not read the number plate, so reverted to tracking the aircraft, keeping it in centre of view. It headed west climbing quickly, before turning and heading northeast.

He continued to follow it until the coach