Sorry this has taken a while. I've been writing work stuff and the two don't mix well. Sadly, even if I add extra paragraph tags in the html view of the document, some formatting is getting lost.

The usual disclaimers apply.

This chapter is mainly Spooks rather than Ship. It's the most detailed and probably the most boring! Thanks hugely to those handy policy people who came up with our top three threats this autumn: international terrorism, cyber attack and the 'flu.

There is a fair amount of telephone and radio communication during the New ULF operation. In a vague attempt to make it less confusing, the dialogue of characters that are located elsewhere (i.e. not on the boat with Dimitri) is in italics. A few notes and definitions are also provided at the end of the chapter as I'm very bad at writing lengthy exposition.

Not Close Enough

The arms of Morpheus had been particularly cuddly for the last few nights and at four o'clock in the morning Harry had to fight hard to release himself. His mobile phone battled alongside him, trilling persistently on the bedside table, Stuart Flintoff's name displayed with a backing of sickly green light.

'Yes?'

'Alpha observation team have called in. Dodds has just left his house.'

'I'll be in the office in ten minutes.'

'Good stuff. The team there will take care of you; I'm going back to sleep.'

'What?'

'This operation's a piece of piss. It doesn't need both of us pacing around with hangovers.'

'It's considered good manners to share my pain, though.'

'You haven't got the manners to tell me when you're coming to visit. Or why!'

'Oh, dear. Have I hurt your feelings, Stu?'

'Bugger off, Harry!'

The call ended abruptly. Harry sat up gingerly and was relieved to find that his hangover was minimal. He threw back the duvet and decided to get dressed before calling Ruth, giving her a generous ten minutes of extra sleep before she had to rush back to the Grid.

'It's not ideal,' Dimitri admitted, tired eyes enlarged by the fisheye lens of the little camera he'd installed in the trawler's cabin. 'Dodds is travelling in a Landrover with four other men. We're going to be outnumbered.'

'How well are they armed?' Harry asked grumpily.

'It's pretty basic. Alpha team sighted two handguns and one shotgun,' Tariq replied. 'I've rechecked the film they took and I can't see anything else. Not that night-vision cameras pick up much detail.'

'Where's Thomas Hart? I want to see him. I want him to be able to hear me.'

Dimitri gazed up at them with a puzzled expression on his face. 'He's trying to get some sleep. I didn't think it was a good idea to let him know what was going on, yet. Less time to panic.'

'You were right. But I've had an idea.'

A minute later and a young'ish man with short, dark hair, tattooed forearms and the stiff expression of the deeply frightened was sat at the cabin table clasping a mug of coffee with both hands. He wore a bluetooth headset and couldn't stop himself from flinching in surprise as Tariq patched him into the encrypted conference call.

'Right then, Thomas, you're wired for sound,' he declared cheerfully. 'The boss is about to give you your orders.'

'Orders?'

'Listen very carefully,' Harry drawled. 'Do exactly what I tell you or you're probably going to get shot.'

They sat in the trawler's dinghy, huddled next to the ship's hull, waiting for Daniel Dodds and his men. It was a still, clear night with a setting quarter moon and very little swell. Pretty lame weather for an operation in Dimitri's opinion; he preferred the wind in his ears and a dancing deck beneath his feet, especially when there were landlubbers to discomfit. He adjusted his grip on the elderly AK47 his Belfast colleagues had provided and yawned widely.

'Beta observation team are in place,' Harry said quietly, but very directly, through Dimitri's hidden ear-piece. 'They're behind a hedge next to the road and the Landrover has just passed them. The Crime Operations Department are providing back-up. There's a team with Beta obs, and the air support unit is on standby five minutes away.'

'I've been doing some positional analysis of ops that went wrong,' Tariq added. 'If it all goes pear-shaped, your best bet is to be in the water. In the dark.'

'Oh, Tariq,' Ruth sighed, 'you're the prince of tact this morning.'

'Thanks, Ruth!'

'I was being sarcastic.'

'Oh. Er, sorry Dimitri.'

A telltale skitter of light across the beach alerted Dimitri's partner for the night that their guests approached. 'Showtime,' he grunted, nodding towards land.

'Thanks, Dave,' Dimitri whispered, standing up in the prow of the dinghy. 'Right then, Thomas, just do as you've been told. If anyone starts shooting, hit the deck.'

'Fucking hell,' Thomas mumbled. 'Fucking, fucking fuck!'

On the beat of his last expletive he yanked the starter cord of the dinghy's outboard motor, taking the tiller and automatically adjusting throttle and choke as the motor roared. A hundred metres away on the beach the tinkerbell dancing of New ULF torchlight halted abruptly.

'Daniel!' Thomas yelled above the putt-putt-putt of the dinghy. 'We're coming over to fetch you. Stay where you are!'

Dave flipped a switch. Almost immediately, four balaclava'ed men were caught in the powerful beam of the spotlight they'd taken off the trawler and rigged to a spare 12-volt battery. The men literally froze like rabbits in the headlights. If it weren't for the gleam of gunmetal, the view would have been amusing.

'You said you'd leave us a boat!' someone yelled back angrily.

'Change of plans, Dan!' replied Thomas.

'You messing me around?'

'No, no! It's a bit rocky here. Just trying to be helpful.'

They were close to the shore. Wet rocks gleamed in the spotlight and Thomas killed the motor, tilting the propeller out of the water, letting the dinghy slide gently forward. Just before the boat could ground all three of them jumped out into the lazy surf, grabbing handles with their free hands and dragging the dinghy forward onto land. Once they were above the waterline, Dave not-quite-accidentally let the spotlight wobble so that Dimitri's gun-toting figure was lit up for a few moments.

'What the fuck is this?' Dodds bellowed. 'We had a deal!'

Thomas Hart shot Dimitri a furious glance as they walked forward. 'Of course we've got a deal, Dan,' he cajoled. 'But I have to be careful, this is serious. Makes me nervous. The bastard English police have already nearly had me once.'

'Where is it?'

'Onboard, of course.'

'Why didn't you bring it with you?'

'I need to see the money, first, Dan.'

'I need to see the... how do you say it? The product, Tom.'

'Well good! Hop in the boat and we'll do some business.'

The two groups were standing face-to-face. Still lit by the spotlight, eight men in black balaclavas staring warily at each other. Dimitri thanked God for the waist-high waders he, Dave and Thomas were wearing or he'd have had serious trouble telling people apart.

'We're not all fitting in that thing,' Dodds argued, waving dismissively at the dinghy.

'You're right there,' Thomas replied, his confidence building. 'Two of you and three of us will, though. That way your fellows can fetch the money while you check the merchandise. You can call them from the boat to let them know you're happy.'

'Two of you and three of us,' Dodds said.

'Two and two. And no guns.'

'Don't you trust me?' Dodds asked. He was very bad at hiding his unease.

Thomas shrugged. 'I don't trust anyone with this, and neither do you.'

'No guns, then. We search each other.'

'All right. My Georgian friend, Vlad, comes with me. He can show you how the thing works. Vlad, be a good man and pass Dave the Kalashnikov.'

Dimitri did as he was told and tried not to wail.

'Did he say Georgian?' Tariq hissed.

Ruth's tone was pedantic. 'I don't think Dimitri knows how to do a Moscow accent, let alone Georgian.'

'Dimitri!' Harry barked. 'Do your best and don't worry. These imbeciles won't know any different.'

For the life of him, the only thing he could think of was Robbie Coltrane playing a Russian mafia man in Goldeneye. 'I wull surch you nooow,' he growled despairingly.

Dodds stepped forward and held up his hands obligingly. Dimitri's right ear went silent for two whole seconds.

'It's weirdly sort of Scottish but not too bad,' Tariq said encouragingly.

'Oh, God!' Ruth whimpered. 'I'm sorry!' And promptly burst out laughing.

He patted down Dodds' torso, managing to keep a straight face even though she seemed to be in imminent danger of laying an egg. It was as he knelt to check Dodd's legs and boots that he couldn't help grinning.

'Ru-uth! Ruth!' Harry was saying unsteadily, sounding suspiciously like a happy man rather than an impatient one. 'Ruth! Put a sock in it, for goodness sake!'

By the time 10am and the JIC meeting arrived, Ruth had been working for five hours. She sat at a mahogany table in an oak-panelled room and eyed her companions with studied nonchalance. As a mere Section Head, Harry was not a statutory member of the JIC. Rather, he was an invited "advisor", summoned from relative obscurity on September 12th 2001 and outranked by the majority of committee members.

To Ruth's immediate right sat a dark-suited stranger who was poised to take the minutes of the meeting. To her left sat the Director of GCHQ. Not being the sort of employee who entertains more important people during office parties with witty repartee, she had never even spoken to him while working in Cheltenham. Since her move to MI5, and subsequent promotions, they had occasionally fought hammer and tongs over requests for internet surveillance that went well beyond GCHQ's remit and Ruth's level of authority. Anthony Vine was a mathematician and programmer at heart, and she wasn't sure whether the fact that she'd hacked his laptop once, just to make a point, counted for or against her.

'Updates first and then the major part of today's agenda,' said the chairman, all brisk efficiency. 'I should also introduce Ruth Evershed from Five, although I think most of you know her, and you definitely should know of her.'

A couple of smiles and a couple of barely contained sneers. A general air of polite interest. Not bad for a once-dead girl who had dumped the Cheltenham geeks in favour of MI5 and unmasked a dodgy JIC chairman and an ex-Home Secretary. Not too bad at all, considering they all thought she and Harry had been on-and-off shagging for years.

'Could you kick off, Ruth?' the chairman enquired with a tight smile.

'Yes, of course. Right. Well, then. An operation to capture a Grade 2a weapon and shut down a Loyalist group known as the New Ulster Liberation Fighters has been running this week. The group planned to steal a rocket-propelled device with a thermobaric grenade from an inexperienced arms dealer. Our operatives posed as part of the dealer's outfit, gathered video evidence and foiled the attempted theft. The operation was completed at six am this morning and Harry Pierce is currently overseeing the interrogation of eight men.'

'What did they plan to do with the device?' the chairman asked.

'The target was Stormont,' Ruth replied gravely.

'Was it feasible?'

'The rocket has a range of one kilometre. A successful launch is definitely feasible. The castle's defences are equipped to cope with a conventional grenade but the consequences of a thermobaric explosion on the roof are currently unknown.'

'Christ!' the Deputy Chief of Defence Intelligence exclaimed. 'We'd have to redeploy! Did you not think to let us know? We could have assisted.'

'The barracks at Holywell are unpopular enough as it is. Officially, it was a Police Service operation, not a Security Service one, and definitely not a military one. We restricted the number of our people on the ground to two field officers and four on surveillance.'

'Whose decision was that? Stuart Flintoff's?'

'No. Sir Harry's. The police are trying to investigate crimes committed during the Troubles and that's still enough to start a riot. The Chief Constable is an old friend of his, and the operation was a chance to remind the general public about present-day police counter-terrorism efforts.'

'It's unusual for Harry to be so politically savvy,' the Director of MI6 remarked snidely.

Inwardly, Ruth seethed. She raised her eyebrows and said with apparent innocence, 'Oh, you know how he works: "In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."'

Sir Richard Dolby stifled a laugh. He sat forward in his chair and regarded Ruth with a marked increase in interest.

'We want full access to the detainees,' said the CIA representative.

'You're welcome to observe the interviews and question Robert Dormer again, if you like, but he, Hart and Dodds are staying where we put them.'

'Washington are pretty interested in this one.'

Ruth glared across the table. 'Probably because someone there bankrolled it! I'd tell them to keep their heads down for a little while longer if I were you. How successful have you been at tracking down the other devices?'

'Currently, we have four and you have one. We're waiting to hear from Australia.'

She thought of Sarah Caufield and continued to glare at Mr CIA until his eyes dropped. She cleared her throat and continued more calmly. 'Okay, so the voluntary worker applications for the 2012 Olympics have been building up. The vetting process has more than half of Section D's analysts occupied plus the team at GCHQ. As well as threats we've identified a number of potential informants and agents, so it's not all doom and gloom. Website traffic has slowed considerably in the last month and we're still on schedule. Any problems, Tony?'

Her old boss shook his head. 'It's been a bloody nightmare but there's light at the end of the tunnel.'

'There are currently only six high-level terrorist threats, the lowest number we've had for years. We've got quite a retro winter of discontent approaching in the form of industrial action and student activism, but we're happy to leave that to Section E.'

The newly appointed advisor on domestic extremism glowered at Ruth. He looked absolutely knackered and she felt only the tiniest prickle of sympathy. The Poll Tax riots and the miners' strikes seemed a lifetime away, and in the meantime she'd suffered a thousand of the sleepless nights that her colleague had avoided until recently.

'I think the only other thing I need to mention is the Talwar issue. Her parents have agreed that a guilty plea and Detention for Public Protection is the best route for all. It avoids a criminal trial and the girl is past caring. The submersibles were recovered the night after the attack, but we're still waiting for budgetary approval to replace the EMP device. It was adapted from a research project and there's no contingency plan.'

'No chance of refurbishment?' the chairman said hopefully.

'No. The technology was fifteen years old, there was serious below-ground structural damage, and we're lucky it worked at all. We'll be even luckier if Big Ben doesn't do a Leaning Tower of Pisa in the next six months.'

'That's an action point for the Intelligence and Security Committee. What's the probable cost of replacement?'

Ruth provided a figure. Even the CIA man gulped.

'According to our man in their banking sector, we're probably going to have to bail out the Republic of Ireland,' the Director of MI6 suggested once people had quietened down. 'Surely we can sneak an EMP or two in with that?'

'No doubt the parliamentarians think it's one aspect of security worth some money,' Ruth agreed.

'No doubt,' the Chairman replied drily. 'Sir Richard, do you have anything to add?'

The Director General of MI5 shook his head. 'Section E will take a while. I'm staying quiet today.'

And so it continued. For the first time in twenty years, the National Union of Students was being infiltrated by multiple agents. Links with the far left and the trade unions were under heavy surveillance. Hundreds of new email and social networking accounts were merrily being monitored and the number of new files being opened at Thames House had shot up since the general election. Meanwhile, Defence Intelligence was hanging by a thread, and had begun to concentrate on assessing the consequences of troop withdrawal from Helmand. MI6 were desperately tapping sources in Moscow to see if there was a similar spy ring in the UK to the one uncovered across the Atlantic. They'd even pulled a grumpy Lucas North in for two days of "brainstorming" and deported a Highland Bank employee – a personal assistant who happened to be half-Russian.

Half an hour later, it was GCHQ's turn.

'Cyber security,' Tony said slowly. 'Our new priority.'

'And the focus of today's meeting,' the chairman added, checking his watch with a flourish.

'As you know, in order to meet our cyber security objectives, a new department will be formed. At the moment, the favoured route is to set up our first "Virtual Section" with individuals from each of the intelligence services participating from their current centres of operation.'

'I didn't know that,' said Ruth.

Tony blinked at her. 'Well we are. We anticipate expansion of the CPNI at Thames House, Enterprise and IT at GCHQ and Technology at MI6.'

'So you want a team that never meets to defend our nation's information technology, working in places that are already the target of hundreds of cyber attacks per year, using whatever staff you can spare from other departments.'

'We're actively recruiting, actually.'

'You're trying to get high-performance graduates with experience of multiple platforms for less than thirty grand a year and no chance of individual enterprise or collaboration with industry. Is it going well?'

Tony pulled a face. Ruth looked smug. 'I didn't think so.'

'What would you do?' the chairman enquired mildly.

'It's true that for specific threats we need to utilise different resources. Potentially anything from a missile strike on an overseas target to a masquerade by an individual with world-class hacking skills. And technology changes so quickly that research is obviously key. But for short-term strategy and action there has to be a physical centre – a team that establishes priorities and coordinates operations and a far more covert computing presence.'

'Such as?'

'A separate location. With a server farm and processing power that's close to supercomputer standard. By now, we should really be starting to implement quantum networks between offices, too.'

'Why couldn't the section be based at GCHQ? Or with CPNI?'

'The most basic means of spreading risk is not having all your eggs in one basket. A separate location would be a big strategic advantage if and when someone launches a combined cyber and terror attack on one of our buildings. A close-knit team speeds up the decision-making and engenders trust. And... Well...'

'Go on.'

Ruth took a deep breath. 'We can't even police ourselves at the moment. GCHQ have lost umpteen laptops and think an annual equipment inventory is a big step forward! God knows how many USB sticks have deliberately found their way out of our offices, never mind being accidentally left on trains. Iphones are banned in Whitehall, ostensibly because we can't guarantee they are secure, but actually because we can't trust anyone to use the technology responsibly, and despite all the money we've spent on network defence it still only takes me ten minutes to get into the Registry at Vauxhall Bridge! You'd have to be insane not to get control of that side of things first. The prevailing electronic culture in our offices is too lax and simply won't change quick enough.'

'Personnel?'

Ruth stared at the ceiling as she hastily calculated. 'Intelligence summary and prioritisation. Specialists on software, networks, infrastructure and hardware. A couple of experienced hackers and dedicated liaison officers for each intelligence service, preferably with counterparts at each office. A Section Head and two team leaders – one for desk staff and one for the field.'

'How many people?'

'Enough to run a staff 24 hours a day. About twenty-five people full-time plus dedicated support. Bear in mind that the purpose is to coordinate the efforts of existing departments. It wouldn't work if their authority was constantly questioned by those called into action. Different intelligence services would actually have to willingly cooperate!'

Several people were chuckling. Ruth turned away from the chairman and frowned. 'I get the impression I'm having my brain picked.'

'You might want to think of it as more of a job interview,' said the head of MI6 with a conspicuous lack of prickliness.

'You what?'

'Sir Harry will not be pleased,' Tony informed her with a grin. 'He's been campaigning to expand CPNI at Thames House – create a sort of Grid mark two – and you've gone and demolished that idea.'

Ruth opened her mouth to protest, thought about it for half a second and shut it again. Instead, she turned to the chairman of the JIC.

'Which service?'

'Five.'

'I'd need final approval on all appointments and I'd have to oversee recruitment.'

'Fair enough.'

'As a Section Head with cross-agency responsibilities my salary and benefits package would have to match Harry's.'

Sir Richard Dolby rocked back in his chair. 'Jesus, Ruth!'

She lifted her chin. 'It's equality or bust.'

'Should we make you a Dame while we're at it?'

She smiled sweetly. 'That will not be required.'

The meeting broke up half an hour later. Ruth stood and prepared to totter out of the room. Somehow or other she'd landed herself with the mother of all promotions and a change in office location. How the hell had it happened?

Harry obviously knew about the plans for Section G: Cyber Defence. Had been party to their inception and had attempted to influence the form the department took. But he hadn't said a word to her about the biggest intelligence shake-up since 2001 and he'd literally flown away from the strategy meeting. Ruth pondered this as she put her coat on and heaved her handbag onto her shoulder.

'You look like you could do with a drink,' Sir Richard remarked. 'Shall I buy you one?'

She looked up at him with a borderline stupefied expression on her face. 'Yes, please.'

He politely held the door for her and then guided her through a maze of corridors until they emerged onto an unpleasantly chilly Westminster street. His security man checked their surroundings and waved them onwards. In unspoken agreement they headed towards St Stephen's Tavern.

Once they had sat down at a table, and both had taken gratifyingly large gulps of their drinks, Sir Richard caught Ruth's eye. 'You really had no idea that was going to happen?'

'No. Harry hasn't said a word about it.'

'What the devil is he playing at?'

She sighed heavily and twiddled the stem of her wineglass. 'I think he's been trying to ensure that I get to this point under my own steam. He put me in an interview situation completely uninfluenced by his opinions. Made me say what I thought, make my own enquiries and negotiate my own terms.'

'Well, yes. But why not get you prepared? Nobody would be offended by a little bit of coaching.'

Ruth thought about coaching Harry on how not to get the DG's job. The delicious fun of fancying each other rotten. Gentle flirtation and fuck me hard stares. She remembered telling Danny that his relationship with Zoe was enviable, even if an ocean and another man stood between them. The perspective of a thoroughly inexpert heart. Requited love was nearly more than she could bear, but unrequited? God, no. Thank God no. 'We're, um... we're seeing each other.'

'I'm afraid that's not news, Ruth.'

'I thought we'd learnt about the perils of exaggerated intelligence. It should be news. It's been happening for less than a week.'

Sir Richard nearly choked on his Scotch and water. 'What?'

'Do you honestly need to know more?'

'No. No, I'm sorry.'

'When did cyber security get bumped up the policy agenda?'

'It's been continually expanding. But the committee was asked to report to the Prime Minister the week after the coalition government formed.'

'And when was I first touted as a potential Section Head?'

'As soon as the idea of a new section was put forward. In July. As far as I can remember, Anthony Vine mentioned you first. Said that at least you'd be able to translate cyber-speak into English for the rest of us.'

Ruth sipped her wine and smiled. 'Then Harry's done a good job. If he didn't suggest me, and I didn't even know there was a job in the offing, how could our relationship have affected my promotion?'

Sir Richard shrugged. 'I still don't know why he bothered. There's nobody else with your combination of skills and experience.'

'It matters to me,' said Ruth. 'And therefore it matters to him.'

TBC

Notes:

The Crime Operations Department is part of the Police Service of Northern Ireland. The remit of the department includes counter-terrorism.

Ruth quotes Martin Luther-King, Junior, to the Director General of MI6. It seems an apt description of Harry's idea of friendship – speaking up when times are hard is worth an awful lot.

Since WWII the CIA's London station chief is a courtesy member of the JIC. The Home Secretary is not. Apologies for the error in the previous chapter.

Detention for Public Protection is a type of sentence that is essentially open-ended. After a minimum term expires the onus is on the prisoner to show that they do not pose any threat to the community before they can be released. Following the Bulger trial there has been an effort to obtain guilty pleas and detentions of this type in serious cases involving minors. New restrictions on their use were added in 2008. I am not a legal expert, however, and not in a position to discuss this with any authority.

National Union of Students: Until recently, NUS activity was a long way from the student radicalism of the 1970s, there being more bickering about its own internal processes and negotiating retail discounts for its members than campaigning on particular student issues. However, there is a history of cooperation with single-issue campaign organisations and further back in time with the trade unions.

CPNI: Centre for the Protection of National Infrastructure, an MI5 department, for reals!