“Who knew?” Mo asks tensely.
“Not many.” Dr. Armstrong’s voice is softly reassuring. “We did not think it appropriate to spread the knowledge far and wide. A cell was established with a watching remit, Johnny and Persephone leading, the Reverend Peter Russell supplying specialist analysis on request. He wasn’t briefed,” the SA adds. “By the time Schiller reappeared Bob was already fully occupied by the OPERA CAPE project.”
I resist the impulse to groan and clutch my head theatrically.
Mo says it for me, with quiet vehemence: “Schiller didn’t come back from the Sleeper’s Temple under his own power. So we’ve known for—what, at least eighteen months?—that the Sleeper in the Pyramid was, if not fully engaged, then at least able to act through a proxy in our world?”
“Yes,” says the SA regarding her with a saintly calm that would amount to suicidal daring if he was a lesser mortal. I know what the tightening around her lips and the warning glint in her eyes means, and if I was in her sights I’d be diving for cover. “We’ve been rather overstretched lately,” he says, as if making a huge concession. “We are in a time of crisis after all. Would it have helped to give you more things to worry about while you were dealing with Lecter, or while you”—he’s looking at me—“were tidying up after James?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “I might have rebalanced my priorities accordingly,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Yes, well, water under the bridge, spilled milk, and so on.” (Imperturbable, yes, but dismissive isn’t like the SA at all. Is he getting a trifle defensive, perhaps?) “We don’t have enough high-level resources to allow ourselves to be distracted. In the absence of clear evidence about Schiller’s purpose in coming here we are not in a position to act directly against him—yet. He has, you will note, cordial relations at the highest levels of government.”
Johnny snorts.
“Be that as it may,” the SA continues, “we have a known agent of an external threat who is now in our backyard with an invitation to a private reception at the Prime Minister’s country residence this weekend. We are not in a position to get close to him at that event”—the shadow of a frown crosses his face—“insufficient cleared assets of the right profile, I’m afraid. But we are in a position to keep an eye on the guest list and monitor comings and goings to the apartment he has rented for his stay in London. And if circumstances demand it, to mount an intervention.” He flashes his pearly choppers at me in something not unlike an impish smile: “I intend to determine the enemy’s objectives and then neutralize him once and for all, but only after we have acquired sufficient evidence to convince even the Cabinet Office that he’s an unsuitable playmate for Number Ten.”
Mo is looking at him as if mesmerized. Finally she speaks up. “Excuse me. By what authority do you act?” She adds, hesitantly, “This sounds to me as if you’re taking on operational responsibility.”
“Indeed, and normally that would be a breach of the Chinese wall between audit and executive arms.” Now the SA’s imperturbability slips, at least enough to allow a slightly waspish note to sneak into his voice: “Need I remind you that we are currently overstretched? Also that the nature of this investigation is so sensitive that it would be inadvisable to brief additional personnel?”
The penny drops. “The Wilson Doctrine,” I say. It’s the long-standing rule that the Security Services do not spy on the communications of the government itself, in the person of the Prime Minister and the cabinet. It’s not a law, exactly, but breaking it isn’t something to be undertaken lightly—
“The Wilson Doctrine has been effectively a dead letter for some time now, because of the Five Eyes’ approach to blanket data retention, but it has not yet been formally repudiated by Downing Street, so it remains on the shelf as a stick to beat the unwilling mule with.” The SA hesitates. “After the briefing by Ms. Womack, she shared certain new guidelines that the Steering Committee has been preparing for myself and the Audit Committee.” He glances at Mo apologetically. “I believe everybody present has a need to know.”
Mo clears her throat. “The Steering Committee sets operational policy for Mahogany Row, with legal input from the Assizes’ Chambers,” she tells me, then gives the SA a questioning look.
“Yes.” He nods. “While Mahogany Row is part of a service not regulated directly by CRAG, we are constrained by the need to work within our existing guidelines and requirements. The Audit Committee’s job is to ensure that the service, and senior staff and associates who are part of MR, including External Assets”—a nod at Johnny—“comply with the regulations and laws governing the service. But if MR is to split from the Civil Service”—I startle: that’s a much blunter description than Ms. Womack used—“then we’re going to be so short-staffed that we’ll all be wearing multiple hats for a while. So there are provisions for us to operate in multiple roles, subject to crosschecks.
“So. I am taking personal control of this operation, which I’m designating GOD GAME INDIGO, on my authority as a DSS(3)”—two levels above me, one level above Angleton—“and you, Dr. O’Brien, will be my number two, in charge of both internal and external assets. Additionally, in your capacity as a staff Auditor, you are required to call me out if you think I am exceeding my remit.”
Mo looks appalled. But the SA hasn’t finished: now he looks at Johnny, and then at me. “You are all on the inside, as is Persephone. Because you are part of Mahogany Row you are already privy to GOD GAME RAINBOW and CASE NIGHTMARE RAINBOW, and I need your particular skills. But because you are known to the target we need to bring in some clean faces as well. Along with Persephone, we are the entire fully briefed team so far. I think”—he pauses—“it would be expedient to bring in at least two PHANGs; if nobody has any objections I propose to pull in Ms. Murphy and accept her recommendation for one other. We brought you here last night, Mr. Howard, because it was an emergency and in my judgment the short-term risk of direct exposure to the target was minimal. But after we find a better safe house for you you’ll be staying well clear of this installation unless you’re specifically needed here. We’ll install a surveillance team drawn from regular Laundry line personnel, but the threat surface will be kept as small as possible and the line/PHANG staff will not be given full GOD GAME RAINBOW clearance.”