She sits down next to me and leans sideways to whisper in my ear. “Your office, after we’re finished here?”
I nod. The SA is continuing: “Crisis containment and management in the wake of this month’s events have broken down. The usual mass observation protocol simply doesn’t work for an incursion on this scale. Also, the activation of PLAN RED RABBIT and the subsequent need to brief the Cabinet Office emergency committee and bring the full civil contingencies apparatus up to speed means that awareness of the agency’s existence is now widespread.” That’s an understatement and a half: the crisis hasn’t been out of the headlines for weeks. “Pointed questions are being raised in the House of Commons, there have been ministerial resignations and a vote of confidence that narrowly failed to bring down the government, another reshuffle is planned, and it doesn’t stop there. Maneuvering by various factions in the cabinet suggests that a leadership coup within the leading party in the coalition is likely if the Prime Minister isn’t seen to clean house rapidly. Chris is here to brief us on the past week’s political developments, our position in terms to the Constitutional Reform and Governance Act—which is anomalous—and the likely implications for the organization.”
Ms. Womack stands up. “Thank you, Mike.” (Mike? I boggle at the familiarity.) “Well, folks, this is what we’ve been afraid would happen all along: an intrusion on such a large scale that local assets were unable to contain it, resulting in widespread loss of civilian life, exposure of the agency to public scrutiny, and extreme pressure on the government to be seen to be doing something about the crisis.” She actually smiles, a slightly embarrassed expression, and it’s at this point that I know for a fact that we’re screwed. Mo takes my hand under the table and squeezes it; I squeeze right back. At least we’re in this together.
Chris continues: “It’s been glaringly obvious that this day would come, sooner or later—hopefully later—for the past half century, so we have a backgrounder on the likely course of events to hand, regularly updated, and a fallback plan to execute. Here it is, if you’d all care to sign for it.” She slides a clipboard onto the table. It’s one of those briefings you have to sign in at. As the clipboard circulates, she continues: “In the immediate future, there’ll be a lot of media interest and a whiff of scandal and prurient curiosity over a hitherto-secret security agency coming to light. Expect digging and doxxing of any identifiable faces associated with the organization. I’m afraid that means Mr. Howard is particularly exposed, although that masterful display on Newsnight might just convince the uglier elements of the press that he’s not worth bothering with. But the personal attention should—we hope—die down within another week or so, at least until the Defense Select Committee starts holding hearings.”
A murmur runs around the table. Then the clipboard gets to me. I sign with numb fingers then slide it in front of Mo.
“That’s not the real problem I’m here to talk about today. The big short-term issue is what the government is going to do with us—about the Laundry, I mean. Historically we were founded under the Royal Prerogative, as was the rest of the Civil Service or Crown Service, as variously defined. CRAG (2010), the Constitutional Reform and Governance Act, put most of the Civil Service on a sound constitutional footing and defined their obligations to uphold the law, and more importantly, laid out the exceptional circumstances under which civil servants might be licensed to take extrajudicial actions—for example the armed forces and our sister agencies, MI5, SIS, and GCHQ. As a rather peculiar unadmitted Crown entity, the Laundry exists in something of a gray area.
“The historic lack of oversight has given us a degree of autonomy unavailable to our sister agencies, but all that’s about to come to an abrupt end. At a minimum, we can expect the Committee to recommend that we be brought under the oversight of the Joint Intelligence Committee with defined limitations like the other security services. We can also expect primary legislation to regulate computational thaumaturgy and related fields and bring in criminal penalties for misuse. The Consumer Protection Regulations that superseded the Fraudulent Mediums Act and the Witchcraft Act (1735) in 2008 don’t really cover us, I’m afraid. But if the Cabinet is paying attention—and unfortunately we know for a fact that the Cabinet is paying attention—we’re about to become a political football.”
The clipboard makes its way back to Ms. Womack and she briefly checks that we’ve all signed the form. Then she opens up her briefcase and pulls out a stack of document wallets. “One copy each, please. Read and return to this room no later than five o’clock this afternoon; you’ll need to sign them back in. They’re warded, eyes-only.” Which is to say that really bad things will happen to any eyeballs that belong to people who haven’t signed on that clipboard and who even glance at the table of contents.
“What exactly is this?” Persephone asks, tapping her secure document wallet suspiciously.
“It’s a legal analysis of our organizational position, going forward.” Chris frowns at her. “In it you’ll find our worst-case analyses of how the government can fuck us over. The bad news is, one likely outcome of the current situation—if they try to cram us into the existing CRAG framework—is that our core mission becomes irrecoverably compromised. But the good news is, we have a contingency plan. It’s called PLAN TITANIC. And you’ll find a synopsis at the end of this file.”
“What’s the elevator pitch?”’Seph pushes.
Chris counters with another question. “What’s the most important part of the organization, from an operational standpoint?”
“It would be—” Persephone’s eyes widen. “Mahogany Row?”
Mo sits up. “You’re talking about a lifeboat, aren’t you,” she says. Chris is silent, but her face speaks for her.
’Seph fans herself with the TOP SECRET file. “You’re talking about abandoning the sinking ship…”
*
Elsewhere: