Ex Files
Exorcism /eks:or:zem/
Noun. - The expulsion of a supposed evil spirit from a person or place; driving out, casting out the devil.
The seven men and two women came into the room in single file, taking their seats without conversation. Their eyes were on the shackled man standing in the centre of the room, facing them. The armed officers closed the door and there was the sound of an electronic lock clicking shut.
Lady Smallwood took the centre chair, and she opened her file, looking up at the dark haired man standing calmly in front of her. She did not comment on the fact that not only was he handcuffed but he also wore leg manacles that were secured to the floor. Despite these facts, there was a sardonic smile on the man's face.
She looked for but found only a few similarities: his dark brown hair was wavy and longer rather than the short cut that emphasised a receding hairline. Their dark blue eyes were similar; both men showed a keen intellect that shone like an inner fire. But, above all, it was the man's confidence, his air of superiority that reminded her most of the man who had just taken his seat on her side of the table, three down on her left. According to Elizabeth Ffoukes, Mycroft Holmes took after his father more than his mother, at least when it came to physical looks. By appearance, she would not have assumed they were related. Lady Smallwood decided that the handcuffed man looked more like Mycroft's younger brother, if the photos in the file were anything to go by.
Fitzroy Sherrin Ford allowed his smile to broaden as she contemplated him. A man who had been at the heart of the British intelligence services since the Security & Intelligence Liaison Service was first set up five years ago. A man who was privy to every secret not just in the UK but also in Britain's allies in Europe and the US- this man was not a defector, nor an embedded double agent working for some foreign power. As horrible as either of those prospects would have been, at least it would have been understandable. Somehow it was worse that Ford was a criminal- a person who had used his access to information to build himself a fortune, which he then used to sow chaos and disorder, almost on a whim, with no ideological rhyme or reason.
He was a psychopath- totally without remorse or empathy. "Borderline Personality Disorder" was the psychiatric diagnosis on the top sheet. There had been a dissenting voice; one of those sent to the prison cell to assess its occupant had declared the man to be a "Narcissist Personality".
She was inclined to agree with that conclusion. Fitzroy Ford did what he did "for the pleasure of it"- using his information to wreak havoc on the lives of people he didn't "like". The latest casualty had been a Labour Government minister for Northern Ireland, whose indiscreet intervention on behalf of an Indian businessman in search of a visa had been revealed to the press. Not illegal, or even immoral, but in these days of political correctness, not tolerable. When the leak was finally traced back to Ford who was in a holding cell awaiting this hearing, he'd laughed. "He was an arrogant prick. Looked down his nose at me. Served the bugger right to be sent into the political wilderness. My only regret is that he'll never know it was me who sent him there."
Elisabeth Smallwood looked down at the top sheet in the file. "This meeting of the Parliamentary Oversight Committee is called to order. No records will be made of this session, and I need to remind you all that no mention of anything that takes place here can be made outside this room."
Her voice echoed slightly in the stone floored room. One wall was glass, looking onto a small atrium that contained a Zen rock garden. They were in a special room in the brand new Portcullis House, across the street from the Houses of Parliament. Opened only two weeks ago, the building served as an over-spill office for the members of Parliament, and others who served them. The Prime Minister, Tony Blair, had described it as "the physical expression of his desire to modernise Parliament", which had caused Lady Smallwood to smile given it was his predecessor, John Major, who had commissioned the building. She strove to be apolitical these days. Sitting on the cross benches, with no party affiliation, meant she could move from the Foreign Office, into academia via Chatham House to this position, as Chair of a committee that the vast majority of British people didn't even know existed.
This particular room did not appear on any formal or publicly available floor-plans. Very few MPs or Peers of the realm knew of its existence. Totally secure, it was a room impervious to surveillance. Counter measures, jamming devices and hourly sweeps all through the day and night meant that anything- absolutely anything- could be discussed here, without fear of being overheard or the conversation misused.
Placing her hands on either side of the file, she leaned forward and asked the question that no one else had actually asked Ford during his interrogation.
"Your betrayal…" She stopped herself for a moment, trying to comprehend the damage to the reputation of the British intelligence services that would happen if Ford's exposure became known. It would take years to recover, especially with the Americans. "…just why?"
He smirked. "Because I could. You have no idea how fun it has been messing around with all of you; such a great game."
Fuelled by her outrage and anger, she snapped a reply. "The game is over, Mister Ford, and you've lost. You do realise there can never be a public trial."
Her comment made the prisoner first smirk and then answer, "Of course not; you couldn't deal with the public repercussions. It would create a crisis of confidence in the British intelligence services. Not to mention the fall out in terms of relations with our allies. No, I can't say I expected the rights of a proper citizen." The voice was quiet but firm, with traces of an American accent.
"That's just as well, given the fact that you are not a UK citizen," Elizabeth Ffoukes, the deputy DG of MI6 responded. Her boss, Sir Robert Greenway was currently in the USA, briefing the CIA on the developments regarding a man they knew only as Halcon- one of Ford's aliases. "It has taken us some time to unravel the circumstances of your origins, Mister Ford. You were not born on British soil, but in France. Although your mother was a UK citizen, your father was not. That took us a while to track down, but DNA doesn't lie. You lived most of your life in America. You possess several different passports all of which are based on forged documentation. Technically speaking, you are stateless. As such, we are able to extradite you to any one of a dozen different jurisdictions where your crimes have been committed."
The man looked down at the plastic straps that bound his wrists. "I don't seem to be in a position to argue, do I?"
To Lady Smallwood's right, Sir Edwin Fergusson leaned forward. The head of legal affairs for the Security Service cleared his throat. "Mister Fitzroy Sherrin Ford, you are accused of three principal crimes. First, that you did conspire with certain illegal terrorist groups in Northern Ireland to conceal arms from the decommissioning process, in contravention of the Good Friday Agreement. Second, that acting under the name of Halcon, you supplied classified information from the United Kingdom to various criminal cartels, in Colombia and Mexico, in breach of the Official Secrets Act. Thirdly, and most importantly, evidence has come to light that under the assumed identity of an American business man, George Harris, you are guilty of seventeen counts of illegal trafficking in nuclear materials, including five involving highly enriched uranium and centrifuge technology, in contravention of the EU's non-proliferation legislation and the International Convention on the Physical Protection of Nuclear Material. It has also been proved conclusively that you have played a role in the work of Abdul Qadeer Khan, whose covert supply of uranium enrichment technology from Pakistan to other parties, in North Korea, Libya and Iran, is in violation of the non-proliferation treaties. It is this last series of crimes that takes precedence, under international law. How do you plead?"
Ford snorted. "As this isn't a trial, I don't recognise your authority to ask that question. Nor will I plead. It isn't in my nature to beg from anyone. In any case, the Convention does not criminalise my activities."
Sir Edwin's reply was immediate. "The amendment signed by 43 countries although not yet past the threshold of legal adoption specifically requires member states to criminalise activities of a person who may not participate directly in the transfer of the material, but who 'organises or directs others'. You have done so, and cannot dispute the evidence. Our country accepts the legal validity of that amendment, as do four of the countries involved in your crime. We all agree that you, acting as George Harris, fall into that criminalised category."
Ford rolled his eyes. "I hardly need remind you that the Amendment you speak of has not yet been ratified by the required two thirds of members. So, is that one of the reasons for this little kangaroo court? Can't face having the world's dirty linen aired in public?"
The MI5 official did not react. "Then there is the issue of the UN Convention for the Suppression of Acts of Nuclear Terrorism. There is irrefutable evidence that you have broken the terms of article 2.1 subparagraph 4(b) in that you 'contributed to the commission of one or more offences' outlawed by the Convention."
Fitzroy Ford was staring at the man occupying the seat third in from the right as he sat facing his accusers. "Has it never occurred to any one of you, bar one notable exception, that the evidence you refer to could have been manufactured? I have been 'framed', gentlemen and ladies." He nodded to the two Elisabeths, Lady Smallwood and Mrs Ffoukes. "I exclude from that group the one person in the room who has most to gain from such a fabrication."
Mycroft said nothing, but returned the prisoner's stare with one of his own. The silence lengthened.
Lady Smallwood intervened. "The evidence has been verified by a considerable number of authorities, including Interpol, the CIA, not to mention the security services of Moldova, Belarus, Georgia and the Russian Federation, as well as the Turkish authorities. The fact that the guilty party was a high placed officer in the British Intelligence Services is not known by anyone outside of this room, nor will it ever be. You are going to be swept under a carpet, Mister Ford, along with the dirt and debris that you have created through the abuse of your position for the past five years."
The blonde woman was softly spoken, yet her voice carried a strength to it that belied her delicate beauty. "You should know that there is no personal vendetta here. The individual you speak of was recused from involvement in the subsequent investigation." She had worked very hard to make sure of that fact. When Holmes had blown the whistle on his superior at the S&ILS, the dossier of evidence was meticulously prepared, but it was his statement to her that surprised her the most. "He will say that he is my half-brother, my mother's first child. He is correct. Do not let that deter you from whatever punishment must be applied."
Ford chuckled, and threw an amused glance at Mycroft. "You must enjoy it, brother, to be surrounded by sheep. And you're the shepherd guiding them all to the slaughter." He turned his attention back to Lady Smallwood. "Baah…" he bleated at her. "Poor little lamb. You just don't get it, do you? He's smart enough to have done all this without you being able to realise he's behind it."
Two pink flushes arose on Lady Smallwood's cheeks. She was annoyed, but continued resolutely. "The trafficking of highly enriched uranium is illegal, and you have been found to be 'involved'. That your career and your liberty are now over is not in dispute. What is yet to be decided is what we and others will do to you as a result of that involvement."
Ford smirked. "I can come up with a few suggestions; I'm open to negotiations. In return for my silence about this travesty of justice and information about the real perpetrator of these crimes you accuse me of, I would accept simple deportation."
Lady Smallwood allowed the steel in her voice to be unmistakable. "You have nothing of value to offer us, Mister Ford, which we do not already know." She gestured to the fat file in front of her on the table. "This is a most complete record of your work, your contacts, your crimes." Mycroft Holmes' painstaking research had been the most thorough dossier of intelligence against an enemy of the state that she had ever seen.
She took in the unrepentant expression on Ford's face. "The British Government no longer sentences to death criminals who commit treason - a shame in your case as you have betrayed the highest levels of trust in you. As it turns out, because you are not a citizen of this country, we've decided to pass on the question of your punishment. That will be left to others. You will be expelled from the country." She pressed a button on the edge of the table and the door unlocked. She nodded to the security guards entering. "You may take him back to the cell." One took the prisoner's arms while the other released the leg shackles from the bolt in the floor. He was led to the door.
Just as he reached it, Ford turned his head back to the row of seated people. "Bravo, Mycroft; to be honest, I never thought you had it in you to succeed in this little coup d'etat. But, don't celebrate too early; you may be in for a nasty surprise. And the rest of you? Be careful- his ambitions are more dangerous than mine. Unless I can stop him, it won't be long before he is running the British Government without any of you realising it."
The electronic door lock released, and he was bundled out of the room.
Silence fell in the room, as if the very oxygen had been sucked out of the space.
Lady Smallwood pulled a single sheet from the file. "All that remains is for us to decide which of those countries shall have the honour of containing our mistake. Mister Holmes, I believe you have a preferred option?"
Mycroft's voice was the epitome of calm. "We know, based on the evidence of his network, that Ford is perfectly capable of bribing his way out of most jails, even if we are able to keep his identity as one of our officers concealed from his captors. His contacts in Russia, Moldova and Belarus are simply too powerful to risk putting him under the care of those governments. And there is no Western country that will touch him with a barge pole, because of the constitutional need for a trial. And he would tell them who he is and what role he has had in our intelligence services. He must never be given the opportunity to speak in public or privately about what he knows about our activities and those of our allies over the past decade and a half."
"That doesn't leave us with much option, does it?" George Roberson, the Minister for Defence was the only politician in the room, and was the Prime Minister's eyes and ears on this hearing.
Mycroft tapped the sheet of paper in front of him. "Just the one. Fortunately, the Georgians are more robust in their attitude than their neighbours to the north. The terms of Ford's incarceration have been agreed with the Sakartvelos Dazvervis Samsakhuri; the director is Avtandil Ioseliani, a man I know personally."
Elizabeth Ffoukes shifted slightly. "Can we really trust someone trained by the Russians?"
"Yes." Mycroft's quiet authority was so certain that Lady Smallwood found it comforting.
He continued, "A special area of the Gldani prison in Tbilisi has been commissioned, the single cell facility built and paid for by us. There he will be held for the rest of his life in solitary confinement, guarded by a cohort of prison officers whose recruitment has been supervised by us. Management of those staff is paid for and controlled by our own appointees. The Georgians will keep him secure."
"And quiet?" Robertson asked.
"Yes. Incommunicado- completely unable to contact anyone outside of our appointed prison guards. And we are able to ensure that he speaks to no one- not even to his guards."
Lady Smallwood leaned far enough forward to be able to see down the table to where Mycroft was sitting. "How can you guarantee this?"
"On route to Georgia there will be a brief stop-over in Turkey, where he will be subjected to an operation to remove his vocal cords. Once he arrives in Tbilisi he will be under twenty four hour surveillance and the evidence of that will be sent to me. My own man will be on site, and monitoring. Conclusive evidence of his continued incarceration will be sent monthly. I will take no chances, I can assure you."
"That fact that he is related to you…"
"…is something that will never leave the confines of this room, and all of you are constrained by the Official Secrets Act from mentioning the fact to anyone else, no matter what that person's security clearance is. Minister, I need to point out that this restriction includes the Prime Minister himself. No one, apart from the nine of us and Ford himself, knows that his crimes are attributable to the former head of the Operational Oversight Department. The man guilty of the crimes is being held in a way to ensure he stays out of circulation- forever. Absolute discretion about his true identify is required from each of you, if we are to maintain international respect for our intelligence services. I will do whatever needs to be done to keep Ford out of commission, permanently."
His tone of voice left nothing to the imagination.
Elizabeth Ffoukes asked the question that was on the minds of most of the people in the room. "And if he were to be killed, perhaps trying to escape from the Georgians, would that not put an end to this horror story?"
"No. Ford is not a fool. He has put in place 'protections' – contingency plans that would involve disclosures damaging to us and many other countries, if he were to die. Evidence of his continued existence must arrive at particular places at specific times or those disclosures will occur. Discovering the details of his contingency plan is what has taken me the past fourteen months of surveillance. Life imprisonment and permanent silence will have to suffice."
"Is any of this traceable back to us?"
The rather naïve question from George Robertson was rewarded with a pointed stare from Mycroft. "Of course not, Minister. That would be foolish in the extreme."
Lady Smallwood cleared her throat. "There is no written record of these proceedings, or of this case itself. The files in front of you will be taken and destroyed. A non-citizen will be flown out tonight and is no longer a concern of this country.
"There remains only one other item on the agenda. The appointment of Sir Andrew Middleton's successor. Mister Holmes, I know I speak for the rest of the individuals in this room when I offer my congratulations to you on your promotion. Our decision won't be communicated to the Prime Minister until the end of the month, but we thought you would like to know. You also have our thanks for not only finding the evidence of such treachery amongst our service, but for doing so in a way that minimises the impact on the reputation of our intelligence community."
She closed the file and stood up. "I thank you all for your participation; no further mention of this conversation will ever take place." Apart from Mycroft, the others followed suit as she left the room.
Mycroft remained seated and took a moment to savour not only the victory but the relief that came with it. It had taken him the best part of seven years to get the evidence, some of which was real and some carefully engineered. He could take no chances and was utterly ruthless in his determination to make sure that Ford was removed, but not killed. His brother would not have been so kind, if their positions had been reversed.
Death is not an option. That much Mycroft knew for certain. Ford had boasted of it enough.
On no fewer than three occasions, he'd had his own people intervene to ensure that his half-brother was not killed by one of the other intelligence services who suspected his activities. In each case, he was lucky enough to have Ford escape being revealed as an operative of Her Majesty's Government.
It was testament to Mycroft's skills that he was turning this potential disaster for British intelligence into something more useful on both a professional and personal basis. To the Americans chasing the cartels of Mexico and Columbia, Ford had used the alias of Halcón. They were delighted to know that Mycroft had clipped the wings of this particularly troublesome falcon, and his reputation with Langley was now at a zenith. The MI6 DG was briefing Langley on the extent of Halcón's treachery, and the success of the British in eliminating the common enemy.
The same was true for the intelligence services of Europe, which were singing the praises of the man who had brought to heel a particularly adept smuggler, bringing contraband nuclear materials through the Bulgarian corridor into Turkey and then onto Iran and Libya, fuelling their covert nuclear weapons research. Ford's cover as the corrupt American businessman George Harris remained intact; no one apart from the people who had just left the room knew his true identity.
And now he would reap the rewards. Mycroft knew he would be a worthy successor to Sir Andrew Middleton, the head of S&ILS, who would retire in the spring. A narrative had already been started to explain why his second in command, Fitzroy Ford, was not being promoted. It was Mycroft's rumour which was now accepted as fact that the head of the Operational Oversight department had just resigned and left public life in a fit of pique for not being tipped for the top job. The equally senior Drew Hillier of Strategic Oversight was being put out to grass, too old and weary to be a viable candidate. The 'new blood' of a younger man would do to give some stability to the S&ILS, it was said, and Mycroft was just the candidate. His burnt offering of his bastard half-brother, sacrificed on the altar of national security, was what turned the tide of opinion in his favour. It was fortuitous that the post was in the gift of the six men and two women who had just left the room. None of them knew his personal reasons for wanting to see an end to Fitzroy Ford's freedom.
He collected the files on the table, securing them in a locked brief case. They would be burned, case and all, later that night at Parham. But first, he had a stop to make in central London.
oOo
The man sitting behind the gleaming glass and chrome desk was peering at him, somewhat myopically, through a pair of metal rimmed glasses. His watery eyes in the pale face reminded Mycroft of a particular kind of stork- a marabou, one of the scavengers of Africa's plains. Charles Augustus Magnussen was a scavenger of sorts, too- only the carrion he fed on was scraps of information about people.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mister Magnussen."
The Dane gave him a glacial smile and then gestured to the black leather chair in front of the desk. "Be seated, Mister Holmes. Or should I call you Lord Holmes? You English aristocrats can be offended by a foreigner's failure to understand your archaic rules of social etiquette."
"I don't use the title, professionally."
The man took off his glasses and cleaned them, slowly. "So, this is a professional visit? You do intrigue me, Mister Holmes. What possible interest could you have in a businessman who owns a few newspapers?"
Mycroft sat and waited until the ritual glass cleaning was over and the angular face lifted to look at him directly. "I will be brief. You are in regular receipt of a small sample of fresh blood, which is tested to confirm the identity of its donor. Based on that confirmation, you continue to ignore a sealed package that was lodged with you some years ago by the man whose blood you are sent."
The Dane said nothing, not willing either to confirm or deny Mycroft's statement.
"That process will continue, even though you will no longer be paid by that individual. I have assumed that responsibility."
Mildly, the Dane said, "and why would you do this for your half-brother?"
That answered the first of Mycroft's unspoken questions. Ford had not used Magnussen simply as a data storage unit; he'd given the man some indication of the contents of the package sent to him for safe-keeping. He needed to know just how much else the media man knew.
"Because he is no longer in a position to do so. But the proof of life you need to stop you from taking further action will continue to arrive, I can assure you."
"How fraternal of you, Mister Holmes. The payment that you speak of…are you aware of the currency in which I am paid?"
"Illuminate me." Mycroft knew that it would not be money. Despite the considerable wealth that Ford had accumulated over the past five years through his illegal activities, the man sitting in front of him was worth several billion dollars.
"What do you think a newspaper man wants? Information, of course. Mister Ford was so obliging on that front. Each month, a little tidbit of information came along with that vial of blood. So useful. Will you be so useful, Mister Holmes?"
"You may be overestimating my access to such information; I am a minor civil servant."
Magnussen frowned. "That you choose to begin our relationship with such a blatant lie is…disappointing. Perhaps I should be the first to congratulate you on your impending promotion. Sir Andrew Middleton was …rather easy to convince about the need to look the other way about some of my business activities. Will you be so amenable?"
Damn. The Dane had been blackmailing the former diplomat at the top of the S&ILS. Mycroft had suspected as much, but not had any proof. He believed it was part of the reason why Middleton had not taken action against Ford, despite his blatant insubordination. His boss must have been the one to pass on the news about Mycroft being his heir apparent; the news wasn't known to anyone else, apart from the others that had been with him at Portcullis House.
Magnussen continued with a rather predatory smile. "You English have a phrase I am rather fond of. 'Better the devil you know than the one you don't.' I knew Middleton. Will I know you as well?"
Cautiously, Mycroft answered "that depends on you. If you are intelligent, and remember that you are a businessman first and foremost, you will not cause too much damage to anyone important. Stay inside that carefully circumscribed boundary, and we will get along. Who knows, you might even be occasionally useful to us."
A wry smile emerged on Magnussen's lips. "That sounds like we might do business, Mister Holmes." A soft buzz of an intercom interrupted any further comment. He touched a switch. "Yes?"
A woman's voice answered, "Your four o'clock is here; would you like him to wait?"
"My guest is just leaving." He switched the intercom off. "You don't mind, do you, Mister Holmes? After all, it wouldn't do to keep Alistair Campbell* waiting, would it? You English set such importance on punctuality." He stood up, and Mycroft knew the conversation was over.
As he went down to the mezzanine floor in the man's private lift, Mycroft knew that he would not be celebrating victory anytime soon. The monthly price paid for Magnussen's cooperation would need to be thought through very carefully. That said, sometimes information in the wrong hands could actually help secure some of the country's security objectives. He was willing to make a deal with this minor demon from Denmark, in exchange for casting out the devil incarnate called Fitzroy Ford.
Author's notes:*Alistair Campbell was Tony Blair's Director of Communications & Strategy. This back story, set in February 2001 is crucial to understand much of my current Magpie stories, and what happens in His Last Vow. Now you know why Mycroft's reaction to the idea of Sherlock going "after" CAM. And if you want to know what's in that package Ford lodged with CAM, then you will need to read Periodic Tales.
