The Falklands Intercept (23 page)

‘And his manners', added Nevinson.

Monica said something unintelligible in French. But the gist was clear. ‘So in the end, helped by our best signals people, we decided to go after his reputation. It was
electronically
quite difficult I understand. What we did was tamper with the records of some newspapers in North Carolina where Dixwell had been a student. That wasn't too bad. But to make it stick we had to make an after-the-fact entry into Dixwell's background checks when he joined CIA. The files are held in impressively secure conditions by the FBI in Washington, who actually did most of the checking. Dixwell's bosses will be
downloading them as we speak. The doctored photographs of a young Dixwell
collecting
money for the PLO on the campus of the University of North Carolina are one thing. They are a very skilled job, but backed up by a confidential personnel file from the late 1970s confirming that Dixwell had collected money for the PLO – then they are dynamite.'

They all sat down for an excellent lunch. Like many involved in the intelligence world they were good at compartmentalizing their lives. All thoughts of murder, blackmail and looming crises in the Middle East and the South Atlantic were put behind them. Alphonse produced another excellent meal. He and the Chasseur Alpins joined Monica and her English guests. The group talked of skiing and food and children. Lady Nevinson was at her most vivacious and charming. Both the soldiers had families back in the Haut Savoie. Their stint in the UK meant extra money and possibly promotion. So although they missed their families they thought the separation was worth it.

They sat in silence for some miles and then Lady Nevinson said, ‘I must write to the commanding officer of those young soldiers. They have done us a great service. Let's see if we can't get them promoted to Chef Caporal or whatever the next step is for them.'

‘That would be a fine gesture. Probably best to go through the Military Attaché in Paris. I'll have a word with him when we get back', replied Jacot. He paused. Better get it over with. ‘I am afraid, Lady Nevinson, that it's worse than we thought.'

‘I know Jacot. Dixwell was lying about why he killed Verney and then Pirbright. It had nothing to do with Afghanistan or Iran. Although he was happy to let us think that.'

‘I was hoping you shared my suspicions.'

‘That's why I never mentioned poor Charlotte Pirbright's memory stick.'

‘Quite, Lady Nevinson. I am not sure the French quite understand. They worked out that the second half of the data was a so-called cadaver cipher. But I'm not sure they worked out what it meant. At least Monica could not see the significance when the French signals people had a look at the data on the stick.'

‘I have my own ideas but what's your assessment?'

‘Well I have had a look at a slightly fuller text now. A bit more has come to light after some more technical work by the French. To be honest it looks to me like some kind of forward contract – an agreement to sell oil at 40 dollars a barrel after a certain date – the 24th May 2015. The first half of the document was in English and the second half Spanish.'

‘24th May, I wonder what the significance is? For some reason from my dim and distant past I'm fairly sure it was Queen Victoria's birthday.'

‘It's National Day in Argentina. The anniversary of throwing off the Spanish yoke.'

‘What's the price of oil these days?'

‘100 dollars plus a barrel. Whoever negotiated the contract has got quite a discount.'

‘Would you say it would be worth killing a British general to conceal such a contract?'

‘I think it depends who the contract is between', said Jacot. ‘Argentina, obviously. The other party remains obscure but certainly an English-speaking country shall we say? Both parties assume that all the oil in the Falkland islands will be under Argentine control by that date. I would go further. Perhaps the English-speaking party to the contract intends to help the Argentines gain control of the Falklands in exchange for
many years of lovely cheap oil.'

Lady Nevinson changed the subject. ‘I understand that there is some good news on that memory stick. Scott's ill-fated expedition may have got to the Pole first if the Verney-Pirbright research eventually stands up.' She smiled. ‘In these grim times that is heartening news. Good old Captain Scott.'

Lady Nevinson dropped Jacot in Montagu Square. ‘Get some sleep. MI5 are still outside your door but watch your security. I will expect you in the office tomorrow. I know it's a Sunday but we need to think this through.'

The door was slightly ajar and Lady Nevinson was on the phone. Jacot waited. ‘Come in Colonel, come in. I can tell you are out there.' She pointed to the coffee and went back to her phone call. ‘My dear Air Chief Marshal,' she continued, ‘I am not telling you how to run your marvellous service, to which we owe our very existence as an independent country after all. I am just suggesting that you might need to modify your plans to reinforce the Falklands.' She took a sip of her coffee and listened to the Air Chief Marshal's booming voice. ‘Well, I'm fairly sure it's the question the PM will ask you next week and the more prepared you are the more pleased the PM will be.' She winked at Jacot. ‘No, I very much doubt that the next Chief of Defence Staff will be a soldier. Afghanistan is coming to an end. And remember how the PM revels in detail, so the number of tankers required and so forth will be important… Yes, yes not from Ascension Island but from the French bases at Dakar or Libreville… until the airport at St Helena is up and running. Good-bye Air Chief Marshal.

‘I think we probably worked out what the hell was going on in the car last night Jacot. But I have had a bit more background information this morning', said Nevinson.

‘From our people in Buenos Aires?'

‘Curiously, no. From our people in the City who understand the oil markets. The protective web we have thrown the Falkland Islands is pretty effective. Actually, I wouldn't even call it a web. Any suspicious activity about those islands and the information soon wends its merry way to London without us even having to ask. Anyway, I hope you are feeling better and the hands are hurting less.'

‘Yes, thank you. Forgive me for picking up fag-ends but I listened into your conversation with, I assume, the Chief of the Air Staff.'

‘Yes. Sweet man. And yes I read your report on the Falklands. Ascension Island is the weakest link. It's a British colony but pretty much run as far as I can see by the US Air Force and NASA. So we are putting into place a Plan B at least until the new airport on St Helena is ready in the next few years. So you don't have to worry about it while you are on leave.'

‘Leave, Lady Nevinson?'

‘Yes a month's leave. You were technically on leave when this whole Verney saga began. In fact a month's leave in France. You will be safer there for now. Here is an emergency number for you to call at the embassy just in case. And a month's pay and diplomatic allowances for a colonel attached to the Paris Embassy, including a lavish entertainment
allowance.' She passed Jacot a thick pile of 100 Euro notes. There's a British diplomatic passport as well – in a different name.'

‘When do you want me back?'

‘I'm not sure. Report to the embassy a month from tomorrow for orders. Don't use a cash machine or a mobile phone in the meantime. And take your gun.'

‘What about the French authorities?'

‘They won't be a problem. I understand from Gilles that an agent of the DCRI has already been allocated to look after you for the duration.'

Jacot said good-bye and made for the door. As he was closing it ady Nevinson looked up and said, ‘Give her my regards.'