Grant moved through the London streets with a heavy heart. The early morning sky somehow looked greyer than normal and it didn’t feel it would ever be the same again. They had lost two good men and were well and truly fucked for sure. He forced the thought as far back into his subconscious as it would go and tried to focus on his meeting with Captain Peter Soutar. Peter had been procured from the Scots Guards and was now the newest member of Military Intelligence, although their numbers were now down to eighteen. They had just lost possibly the most difficult two people to replace.
It was just after nine when Grant entered the coffee shop and immediately recognised Peter, sitting in the corner. He went straight over, threw his coat on the inside seat and sat down.
‘Morning, Sir,’ said Peter. Grant ignored the greeting, thinking more of Chris and Charlie than of Captain Soutar.
‘Okay, Peter, first thing’s first. Tell me what you know, or what you have been told about your new job.’
‘Almost nothing, Sir. All I know is that it’s Military Intelligence.’
‘Right. Good,’ said Grant, nodding his head before going on,
‘Peter, over the next couple of days you’re going to get a fantastic amount of information thrown at you. We know you’re going to take it all in because we know that you’re the man we want. We know everything there is to know about you. We know your history, your parents’ history and even your dear old grandparents’ history… and probably beyond even that. What you have been selected to join is not MI5 or MI6. We are a completely separate unit: we answer to no one except the people at the very top. We have no official name or department number though we’re known by a few. Our favourite is The Circle. It’s as close as you can get to describing us. We are a completely enclosed unit. There’s no start, therefore there’s no end. No way in, so no way out. No-one can get in unless they have been invited. Our task is most secret and special: our job is to seek out and ultimately destroy anyone who enters the country with evil and selfish intent. The British Isles are divided into three areas of operation: Scotland, Northern England and Wales, and the South - each one with a designated operator and link man though sometimes these areas overlap, depending on operational requirements. There are only a handful of people who know we exist and it’s vital to our continued operation that it stays that way… at all costs. It goes without saying that we are totally deniable but more than that - if word ever leaked out, if the papers ever found out about us, it would bring down the Government. Now, Peter, we have a problem and it’s serious... we just lost a couple of guys… guys that you were to work with very closely. It’s all right, don’t panic - it wasn’t anything untoward just a lousy car accident. The reason we have survived this long without exposure is due to a few sympathetic people in very high places. If one of our jobs does come to light, then we throw a discreet smokescreen round it. A quiet word here and a single phrase there will make Special Branch think it was the work of MI5, who in turn will believe the anti-terrorist squad or even the Special Forces were at work. It doesn’t matter: there are so many agencies out there that the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing. And because of the nature of the job they basically don’t want to show their ignorance by saying they don’t know what the hell’s going on. While they’re all pointing fingers at each another, we can quietly get on with the very difficult task of keeping these shores safe and secure.’ Grant stopped talking. He watched Peter digest his every word.
‘That kind of unit based here, in London, must be seriously difficult to keep under wraps.’ Peter mused with a slightly puzzled look.
‘Not as hard as you think.’
‘And you’re saying no-one knows anything about it? So, how long has it been in existence?’
‘Long enough.’
‘Years?’
‘Years.’
‘Christ. And nobody has an inkling?’
‘Not a clue.’
‘What about the offices you’re in – they must be close to the Military Intelligence Building?’
‘How close is the same building?’ Grant said.
‘You’re shitting me.’
‘Right under their very noses.’
‘And the establishment doesn’t know anything about you?’
‘Only because we are the establishment.’
‘Meaning?’ Grant leaned forward in his seat dropped his voice half a decibel and continued.
‘We’re technically in the same building – pass each other occasionally, even use the same areas sometimes – and when that occurs, people can forget who you are. After a while you become part of the surroundings, part of the décor and just pale into insignificance. Just like the man on the moon. When you’re a kid you can see him but when you grow up you know he’s just not there. Is he?’ Seconds passed as Peter devoured all the information in his head. He thought of a question but before he could speak, another jumped straight on top of it. Then another directly on that. Finally, Major Grant spoke, seeing Peter’s troubled face brought him back from his place of torment.
‘Okay, Peter, let’s get our arses back and find out just how we are going to extricate ourselves from this mess.’ Grant dropped a crisp new five pound note onto the table for the coffee they didn’t have time to drink and they both set out for a brisk walk back to headquarters.