Veil of Civility: A Black Shuck Thriller (Declan McIver Series) (38 page)

It wasn't the expensive sedans, or the suited drivers of the various committee members, or the tall oak trees that covered the lot from above that impressed him, but rather the sheer amount of hard work and years of networking that had finally landed him one of the most coveted positions in the Central Intelligence Agency. He was now, and had been for the last four years, able to count himself among a precious few foreigners who had passed through the gates at either end of Downing Street into the heart of the United Kingdom's government. Presidents, vice presidents and heads of state from around the world were the members of this exclusive club and the fact that he, an Iowan farm boy, was among them was a source of great pride.

One of the four agents responsible for transporting him through the capital city stepped around the back of the vehicle and handed him his briefcase as he turned and climbed four marble steps to a green wooden door and pulled it open. While the four agents with him might be able to describe the setting in the courtyard, only he could pass through the doors and into the massive complex of conference rooms and offices that made up number seventy, Whitehall.

"Good morning, sir," a guard sitting in a black leather chair said as he stood up. "I'll show you in."

Simard nodded as the guard led the way down the white hallway to a narrow elevator and inserted a key. The surroundings inside the Cabinet Office were as bland as anyone would expect of a government office, but the fact that no camera had entered the building in recent history gave credence to the constant speculation as to what went on behind the green doors on Whitehall Road, one block from the River Thames in the heart of London.

The bell on the elevator let out a hollow ring as the car arrived on the first floor where Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, more commonly known as COBRA in the media, was located. The guard stood aside as Simard stepped off directly in front of the briefing room's heavily secured door. With a set of metal rods that secured the door closed in the case of a national emergency, the room appeared to be a bunker, and in fact it was. Only one picture had ever been published of the empty room beyond and no one beneath the position of a member of parliament had entered while the weekly Joint Intelligence Committee meeting was taking place. Two more guards stood on either side of the door and one leaned over and inserted a large metal key, like that of an antiquated jail cell, into the center of the lock causing the metal rods to unlatch with a thonk. Without making eye contact or allowing his face to change from the blank stare he was required to hold, the second guard pulled open the door and Simard stepped inside.

Eight people seated around an elegant marble table looked up as he entered. Some murmured a good morning and others just nodded as he passed and took his seat at the corner of the table near eight LED screens used to monitor emergencies and intelligence throughout the entire country. Just before the doors were closed after his entrance another figure stepped past the guards and into the room. Everyone adjusted themselves in their seats knowing that the arrival of the Joint Intelligence Committee's chairman meant the meeting had begun.

Sir John Morris, a white haired and rounded man with thin-rimmed spectacles seated on his nose, set down a leather briefcase and took his place in the green upholstered swivel chair at the head of the table as the doors latched behind him. "Good morning, everyone," he said in a thick English accent, "we'll begin straight away by hearing your individual reports of the Requirements & Priorities discussed at last week's meeting–"

"Mr. Chairman, if I may?" Simard interrupted raising his hand slightly.

The seven men and two women present looked in his direction, curious as to the reason for his interruption.

"The committee recognizes the CIA's London Station Chief," Morris said slowly, with a wave of his hand in Simard's direction. "You have the floor, Mr. Simard. Proceed."

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman, members of the committee," Simard said with a nod, as he clicked open his briefcase, withdrew a file and stood up. "As you all likely know my country has again been the target of international terrorism in recent days. The detonation of a car bomb outside of a prominent university has been responsible for thirty-seven deaths and one hundred and fifty-three injuries. Many of those inside the building were policymakers of one sort or another, but we believe the target was this man," he said, holding up a picture from the file. "Dr. Abaddon Kafni, an Israeli national with dual citizenship in both the U.S. and Israel. Prior to the detonation several members of Kafni's security detail were drawn away from their posts. The investigators in charge of the case believe that the bombing was a diversion designed to elicit an emergency response from the remaining members of the detail so that the perpetrators could attack Dr. Kafni while he was without his usual protection. Again, as you all likely know, this was successful and Dr. Kafni as well as his chief of security, Levi Levitt, were executed at a house a few miles away."

The heads around the table nodded, indicating that they had all heard the news reports and were aware of the situation. Simard leafed through the papers inside the folder and withdrew several.

"Now I'll get to the part where this concerns the government of the United Kingdom," he continued. "The investigation into the matter has proceeded quickly and has become centered on a particular individual named Declan McIver, who is a former member of Dr. Kafni's security detail. We believe that fact allowed him to move about without suspicion and to set up the attack that has cost so many lives. As you've probably guessed by his name, McIver is a British citizen, or at least he was until about ten years ago. The problem we have run into is that his history prior to his immigration to the U.S. is a black hole, there's nothing there. He was simply born and then fell off of the grid. Now, as everyone in this room knows very well, that's not possible unless you're dealing with a particular type of individual and McIver's actions to date support the idea that he is just such an individual."

Simard stopped talking and allowed the idea that Declan McIver was a military operator of some kind or another to sink in.

"I'm assuming from his name that this McIver is one of our Irish cousins," Chairman Morris said, from the head of the table.

Simard nodded. "The immigration paperwork obtained from our Citizenship and Immigration Service supports that, although we had to go to great lengths to uncover his real place of birth. The paperwork originally filed with our government was full of fraudulent statements indicating he was born in the Republic of Ireland. McIver was actually born in a place called Ballygowan," he said, as he read the name of the town from a piece of paper in his hand.

"Northern Ireland," someone at the table said, though Simard hadn't seen who. He turned and looked at the people seated at the table.

"You say this man's actions support the notion that he is some kind of military agent," the man continued, revealing himself to be the head of the Secret Intelligence Service, a broad man with bushy gray eyebrows and severe facial features. "Can you be more specific?"

"Yes, of course," Simard said, nodding and turning to face the U.K.'s spy chief. "McIver was initially hospitalized for an injury he supposedly received trying to save Dr. Kafni's life, but the truth of that has been in doubt since his first interview with an FBI agent. Since it became obvious to McIver that his ruse had failed, the actions that he has taken to avoid being caught have made it obvious that he is a man of some experience. Those actions include murdering four men that we believe were working with him at the university's event and that we have established a financial connection with, as well as the murder of a business owner whose company provided additional security at the university and whose family was being threatened. It was shortly after that last murder that McIver was cornered and arrested. However, during his transfer yesterday morning to a federal facility where he would have awaited trial, he escaped, taking the life of agent Seth Castellano, the lead investigator on the case, in the process."

"I see," the director of MI6 said, "and do you have any idea as to what kind of experience you think it is that has enabled him to do these things?"

"The reports that have been given to me by my government indicate that two of the murders were carried out hand to hand and the other three by gunshot, all showing signs of precision with the firearms used. In addition to the deaths of these men there were numerous weapons found in his home that were modified in ways that only an individual with military experience could achieve without considerable expense. We're considering all the possibilities. Obviously with him being Irish, connections to groups like the IRA and the INLA are being looked at, but without a paper trail to go on, we're quite frankly flying blind. Every hour that goes by is an hour that a terrorist with obvious international ties is at large and a danger to the populace of the world. For all we know this guy could be well outside of the United States by now."

"So your government wants this committee to unseal any records the intelligence-gathering agencies of the United Kingdom have on him and to provide you with that information?" Chairman Morris asked.

Simard nodded. "Yes, sir. That is what we are requesting."

"Well, I for one don't see any detriment to the United Kingdom or to its overseas interests by agreeing to such a request. Our problems with certain elements within Northern Ireland are ongoing, but from the sound of it any connections this McIver has with that community date back quite a way and are unlikely to affect any current operations. Does anyone else present see this as a problem or have any questions?"

"The fact that he is actively involved in a terrorist act would call that observation into question, Mr. Chairman," one of the ministers said. "We cannot afford to risk our current operations against the extremist elements in Northern Ireland until we know more about this individual."

"I can appreciate your concern, Minister," Simard answered, "but my government would handle this information with the utmost delicacy. It would only be used to effect an arrest within our borders and any international actions required would, of course, be cleared with the governing authorities of that nation or territory."

"Dr. Kafni was an Israeli Jew who had made quite a few enemies in the Islamic parts of the world. Those enemies have threatened him on more than one occasion," a female voice said from the chair diagonally adjacent to Morris. "Why is it that you think an Irishman is responsible for his death instead of one of the more radical Muslim groups? The only benefit I can see coming from Kafni's death would be to one of those groups."

"You're correct, Madame Advisor," Simard said. "That is why we are looking at possible connections with terrorist groups like the IRA. Their previous dealings with Islamic militants are well documented. I don't want to speculate about what McIver's motivation may or may not be, but I think it's clear that he's a danger. Having access to his past, his real past, would provide us with any potential connections that he may use to hide out and will reinvigorate an investigation that has essentially hit a dead end at this point."

The Prime Minister's advisor on foreign affairs nodded her satisfaction with the answer and Morris looked around the table for anyone else to speak. When no one did, he said "Then it's settled. The Joint Intelligence Committee approves the request by the CIA for access to its records relating to Declan McIver. Since Mr. McIver was a British citizen, those records would be held in Thames House by the Security Service. Can you see to it that this request is handled, Dennis?"

Simard looked towards the end of the table to a thin man with graying blonde hair that he knew as Lord Dennis Allardyce, the acting Director-General of the United Kingdom's Security Service. Allardyce nodded. "I'll inform the head of our Irish and Domestic Terrorism Department as soon as this meeting is concluded. He'll see to it that you have what you need by the end of the day."

Simard nodded his thanks. Soon Declan McIver would be on his way to a federal prison.

11:17 a.m. Local Time – Wednesday

Thames House

London, England

"Relax, old son," Shane O'Reilly said into the receiver of his phone. "I'll have the expenditure approved by the morning and we can both go about our merry ways."

"Aye, you'd better have. I'm not doing this for me health, you know."

The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to a man named Patrick "Paddy" Murray, but of course, he, Shane O'Reilly, and his direct supervisor at the Security Service were the only ones who knew that. To everyone else in the Imperial building that sat on the north bank of the River Thames and covered nearly two blocks of the Millbank district of London, Murray was simply agent 4606, a random number with a numerical prefix that indicated his location, if you were high enough in the pecking order to actually have access to the documents that deciphered the locations.