Within the halls of MI6 Headquarters, London UK, Counter-terrorism Division, a young agent with an impressive track record in catching international terrorists was pacing the floor looking through intelligence files.
Agent Nathanial Williams of MI6 Counter Terrorism skulked into the main operations room and various admin staff and agents turned to see the ominous figure as he made his way down to the main plasma screen in the centre of the room. The head of MI6, together with the team tasked with discovering and illuminating threats to UK security, have been tracking the movements of a known terrorist Mohammed Al Azidi. Williams was reading his file as he silently moved around the room.
Mohammed Al Azidi, the twenty-nine year-old, self-proclaimed “Jihadi” and eldest brother of three, was a well-known Person of Interest within several intelligence agencies, but none had gotten close enough to him to gain anything useful against him. Williams had a personal interest in this case; his younger brother was maimed in an explosion several years ago, with Azidi as the only viable suspect. Williams was, although he would never admit it, treating this as personal, something an MI6 agent should never do. His superiors knew of his interest in this case, and if it wasn’t for his superior skill and methodology over his fellow agents, he would never have been assigned to this case. Besides, he thought if anyone could catch Azidi, it would be him. He hoped they wouldn’t give him another case which would take away precious time he could spend hunting down Azidi and finding out about his terror cell, and who was funding it.
The section chief had been alerted by Williams, who had been tracking Azidi since before he encountered him in Syria three months ago.
Williams answered his mobile which caused the entire room to turn to look at him. In his thick Scottish accent, he answered in his usual dour tone,
‘Williams.’
The voice from the other end of the phone was Williams’ contact within Mossad, the intelligence agency for Israel. Williams was unimpressed by the news.
‘NO!’ he shouted down the phone angrily, ‘MI6 have tracked Al Azidi to London because he plans to blow up the Houses of Parliament, and other UK targets we have intelligence about, in a systematic attack on the UK. I do not plan on sharing any intelligence until we know what we’re up against.’
Williams hung up the phone and sighed, frustrated with the apparent lack of inter-agency co-operation.
Suddenly, a phone rang out of the blue and one of the other agents answered it. Williams’ attention quickly turned as the room fell silent. The agent looked across at Williams and his face went white. Williams rushed over and took the phone off the agent and answered it. Williams’ face also dropped when he was informed over the phone that another field agent tracking Al Azidi had been found dead, his throat cut and Azidi’s whereabouts were at this time unknown.
Williams would not wait to get authorisation to enter the field. He had finely honed skills as a covert field agent and didn’t want to hang around to lose this lead. During the last eight months, alongside tracking Al Azidi, Williams had also linked Azidi to a faceless and mysterious group of individuals, an organisation of professional hit men, who he believed were pulling the strings behind a multitude of terrorist organisations and probably helping to finance them. Williams was convinced there were members of this group within MI6 but he didn’t have enough evidence, nor did he realise how far up this organisation went, and he was finding it difficult to wade through the murky waters of the secret service.
‘How long ago did Waters check in?’ Williams asked with a voice full of regret at leaving someone else in charge of watching Azidi. They had, at their disposal, the largest database of active terrorists and terrorist group profiles in the world.
Mark King appeared from the living room of his home in rural London into the kitchen to find Marie, his wife, making breakfast for them both, and his children Benjamin and Hope sat at the kitchen table, already part way through their own breakfast. He held onto the brief case and files he was carrying and grabbed a piece of toast, kissed Marie and the children goodbye and tried to rush out of the door. Marie, experienced in this early morning manoeuvre, tried to persuade him to sit down and eat.
‘You need to eat before work today; it’s a big day for you!’ she said with her usual air of concern.
Mark smiled at her, adjusting his suit jacket and his tie in the large hallway mirror. He wanted to look his best and to look slightly menacing as it made the defence nervous. He peered into the kitchen.
‘I’d love to spend the day with you guys but remember me telling you about a new case that came in a few months back? Well, today is the first day, early start!’
Marie tutted at his level of ambition but she loved that about her husband; he would do anything to make their lives better and he wanted a practice of his own soon.
‘Oh excellent, sounds interesting, let me guess?’ Marie responded, smiling.
There was silence before they both simultaneously chimed, ‘But I can’t talk about it?’
They both chuckled as the children continued to eat their breakfast, not interested in their parents’ working life.
‘Darling, this could be THE case which will make and define my career,’ Mark pleaded excitedly.
‘Don’t forget, we are going away at the end of the week. I’ve packed all my stuff and the children’s clothes too!’ Marie replied distantly.
Mark had forgotten they had arranged to go away this week. He had been fighting for time off for weeks. Finally Hugo had agreed, and he winced as he imagined the villa in the south of Spain, with its warm golden sandy beaches and drinks at the bar. He imagined Marie in a swimsuit and peace and quiet but he had a feeling he would have to postpone.
‘Honey, will you look for the passports for the children? I think they may be in the study in the safe?’ Marie asked, thoughtfully.
Mark agreed although he wasn’t listening fully. His mind was focussed on preparing the case. He had been going over and over it in his mind for most of the night and believed he could obtain a guilty verdict. He wanted to be noticed; maybe then he would get the chance to own this practice, and if not he wanted to start one of his own.
Mark rushed out of the door leaving Marie watching after him, worried. She turned to go inside to tidy up after breakfast. Ben and Hope were both plugged into MP3 players and Hope was reading a fashion magazine. Marie put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and grabbed her handbag and car keys, and moved some of Mark’s paperwork from the side to the kitchen table. She tutted and shook her head when a half-empty packet of cigarettes fell out and onto the floor. She remembered back at university when both of them smoked, Mark more so, but only when he was stressed. She stopped and thought for a moment as she picked up the packet.
‘I haven’t had one in years. Should I?’
However, the feeling that Mark had hidden it from her made her slightly cross. She soon dismissed the thought as she knew he had been under serious pressure at work lately and had been responsible for prosecuting numerous criminals linked to an organised crime ring operating in the north and midlands. She smiled as she thought she’d smelt it on him the week before, but put it down to him meeting clients on the way home from work. She would have to invite Hugo Lever, Mark’s boss and senior partner at Mark’s law firm, and his wife over for dinner again soon, and then she could moan about the pressure he was putting Mark under.
‘Hope! Benjamin!’ shouted Marie as she left the front door open for them. ‘Now please or you walk to school.’
The children, not being needed to be told twice, both ran past her and out to the waiting car, still attached to their MP3 players. Marie wondered how it was they heard her now, yet when she stood next to them, they could never hear a word.
She glanced around as usual, to acknowledge the neighbours but no one was around today. However, she wondered if someone had bought a new car as she noticed a Range Rover four-by-four parked across the street, blacked-out windows and a strange number plate. She’d never seen the car before. Perhaps it was a friend’s or Mark’s, or someone waiting to give someone a lift. She brushed it aside and got into the car herself and left to drop the children off at school.
Mark smiled as he drove to work, listening to the music in the car. He pulled out one of his ‘emergency’ cigarette packets from the glove box and lit it, enjoying the feeling of exhaling the nicotine as he wound the window down. His mind took him back to the halls of St Andrews University where he and Marie first met. He remembered the way they used to look at each other and listen to music while they studied together, the plans they made and how life seemed so distant from pressures, other than the pressure of getting in their dissertation on time. They had been so distracted by work and life, he felt they had forgotten how to have fun and relax. He would have loved to have gone on holiday where he had planned to do as little as possible and forget the rush of life and just relax. Mark was aware he had spent little time at home lately and he felt guilty about it, but he knew Marie was behind him even though sometimes it hurt her when they were away from each other for long periods of time, and when he WAS home, he was in his study working on active cases. She would look after the house, the children, and get herself to work. He wondered what he would do without her and how precious she really was to him. He would win this case, for her, and show her that all the sacrifice and distance was worth it.
He pulled up outside the barristers’ chambers and solicitors’ firm Lever & Sons LLP, the most successful legal firm in the country. Before he had the chance to enter the building, a journalist, Ian Hawking, rushed towards Mark with a notebook and dictaphone and a camera slung across his shoulder firing questions about his previous case and personal life.
‘Mr King, Mr King, is it true that the police made you aware of the link between Al Azidi and the recent crime syndicate you prosecuted?’ Mark, irritated by this invasion of privacy, put his hand up to Hawking’s face.
‘Go away. I will NOT jeopardise this case to give YOU a scoop on this. Please leave.’
Hawking persisted, paying no heed to Mark’s warning. Mark spun on him.
‘Who are you anyway, head of the Chigwell Gazette?’ Mark mocked as Hawking looked offended.
Mark knew full well who he was. Ian Hawking, freelance journalist and bane of Mark’s life, was always trying to get him to give a story and had hounded him for years, just waiting for him to trip up so he could write another one of those sick, twisted celebrity gossip smear stories. Mark was having none of it. He did the usual thing of pretending not to know who he was as he knew Hawking was insecure about his status as a reporter.
Mark rushed through the doors into his office, stopping to harmlessly flirt with Margaret La Tour (Maggie to those who knew her best), the aged secretary behind the large beech and chrome reception desk at the front of the building,
‘Good morning beautiful!’ Mark cheerfully chimed and winked at her as she smiled at him. ‘Wow, you really look amazing this morning and I love the perfume, very seductive!’
‘Oh go on you,’ she replied playfully but secretly grateful for the compliment, ‘or I’ll tell your wife.’
‘Oh, she already knows I’m madly in love with you and I plan to leave her for you and run off into the sunset!’ Mark laughed as Maggie turned bright red.
Mark dearly loved Maggie and always welcomed seeing her sitting behind the front desk, in front of a sign which read ‘welcome’ in hundreds of different languages against a white background. Mark always made a point of picking one out each week to learn it throughout the week and Maggie would regularly give him pointers on how to pronounce it.
He was about to continue when he was met by his young and attractive PA Penny, who gave Mark a rundown of his diary for the day and handed him a coffee.
‘Oh Mr King, your two-thirty has requested a rescheduling as they cannot make it, those case files you requested have arrived and are on your desk, I’ve filed your expenses claim and I’ve emailed you that client list you asked me to provide for you,’ she panted, smiling proudly.
Mark smiled at her and valued her efforts hugely.
‘Oh and don’t forget to buy a present for Benjamin, call your mother-in-law and don’t forget your one pm lunch appointment at Carlo’s restaurant with Mr Ling.’
Penny was about to turn away when she remembered one last detail.
‘Before you do any of that, Mr King, Mr Lever needs to see you urgently in his office.’
Mark nodded and kissed her on the cheek gently. In another life, he may well have got together with her but they were more like brother and sister. He laid down his case, notes and jacket on his desk and walked into Hugo’s office to face a serious looking Hugo.
‘Close the door,’ Hugo grimaced, which Mark thought was highly unusual but obeyed his boss.
‘Mark, I need you to clear your diary for the next three weeks, ensure Penny sees to it right away.’
‘Three weeks!?’ Mark exclaimed loudly. Hugo lifted papers from his desk and handed them to Mark.
‘It seems your popularity, no thanks in large to Ian Hawking, has earned you particular acclaim.’ Mark read through the papers that Hugo handed to him and narrowed his eyes before his eyes scanned across the part which described that Mark had been specifically requested.
‘Hugo, this is insane, I’ve got other cases to work on, Marie has booked a holiday which I am supposed to go on, and incidentally, have been looking forward to, at the end of this week,’ Mark argued, handing the papers back to Hugo. Hugo shook his head. ‘Can’t you give it to a senior partner?’
‘Mark, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you are doing this and that’s the end of it!’
‘No can do Hugo, I’ve told you, I haven’t had a holiday in three years and this time Friday, I shall be on a beach in the south of Spain, enjoying a well-earned rest!’
Hugo glared at Mark and slapped the papers on the table.
‘You’ll have your holiday Mark, but you are working this case.’ Once again, Mark tried to argue but Hugo threw the case notes on the desk in front of Mark and his tone changed to a sterner, commanding tone. ‘Downing Street is watching this one closely,’
Mark was worried and intrigued.
‘Why me?’ he asked nervously, almost afraid to hear the answer. ‘What’s wrong with the Crown prosecuting?’
Hugo turned and sighed.
‘Mark, as you know, the CPS can instruct external counsel in private practice and, because of your higher court advocacy qualifications and experience, they have requested us or rather YOU, to prosecute on behalf of the CPS.’
Mark reluctantly agreed and Hugo summoned Penny in via the internal phone line. Mark stood reading the file and his well-trained eye found the section which described what the case was all about. He placed the case notes down and stared in disbelief at Hugo, watching the sly grin grow on his white bearded face. Penny entered the room with her usual flounce and her notebook and Mark kept staring at Hugo. In a scared, serious but slightly excited tone, Mark gave her instructions.
‘Penny, clear my diary of everything for the next three weeks at least. Meetings, client visits, conference calls, emails, everything.’ Penny stopped scribbling and stared at Mark.
‘Everything? But Mr King …’ she questioned, slightly stunned and confused but was cut off mid-sentence.
‘Everything,’ Mark confirmed. ‘At all costs.’
Penny looked at Hugo for inspiration and further details. Hugo smiled and nodded at her to do as he said. She looked at him and, with uncertainty, nodded back and left the room. Mark then pulled out his mobile, all without his eyes leaving Hugo, dialled Marie’s mobile his wife and advised her that the holiday was off, and then hung up.
Mark had been given the opportunity to prosecute on the Al Azidi case.