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Then he added “emails
will show intercepted metadata, date timestamp, source register, etc. If any
content is encrypted or scrambled or in a language you are not familiar with,
there is a follow up service request panel in the Bicep directory where
you can request those services for any particular item. A similar email to the
intercept alerts will be generated once the decrypt or translation service is
complete.”
    Joe turned to look directly at Bill, “OK? Bill.”
    Bill smiled and nodded, somewhat flabbergasted by the depth and speed of
the electronic intelligence capabilities the Company could bring to bear when
they wanted to.
    He dismissed Jenkins who clicked his heels and walked out.
    In a conspiratorial tone Joe Martín said “If all there was to this was to
read all the intercepts to find Abu Ukasha , we would
just get Jenkins to do it for us,” nodding in the direction Jenkins had just
left. “But we won’t get the coordinates to Abu Ukasha’s hideout in an email.” He leaned back and implored “If only we could!”
    He leaned forward again and continued “It’s going to take HUMINT and your
kind of smarts and experience to work out what’s going on here and tease it
out. No doubt anything Wood let’s out in the intercepts will be a bonus and
maybe give you a lead on him.”
    Joe paused to compose himself and began again in a much more
business-like tone. “Jenkins will be your case officer, or at least your support,
handler, liaison, whatever.”
    Bill raised his eyebrows and pouted “Really?”
    “Yeah, I know he’s a prick, but he gets bitch slapped regularly to
keep him human, and I rely on him. He’ll connect you to whatever resources you
need. If you have any bother with him let me know.” Bill knew that the claimed
violence was metaphorical but also that the station chief was in a position to
give Jenkins grief in so many ways that physical violence might be preferable.
    “We need sitreps , through Jenkins, whenever you
think there’s something to say, but don’t leave it more than a couple of days
without an update.” Joe turned away and Bill knew the interview was over.

 
    Chapter Three
    Bill parked the car out of sight behind a building on the opposite side
of the street to the IRM office. Working his way along the back alley he came
to the building he had negotiated access to, with a room on the first floor
facing the street.
    He had started his ‘Dinner-Jacket’ expense sheet and this was one of the
first items, “Compensation for commandeering OP on IRM office.” Everything in
Afghanistan worked on bribes, kickbacks and sundry corruption and the occupiers
of the building appeared wholly disinterested in Bill’s purpose, once the money
was counted out.
    The MI6 agent used the key he had paid exorbitantly for, climbed the
stairs and entered the front room.
    Crossing to the window he took in the view; the distance across the
street and adjusted the net curtains to allow a foot-wide clear gap. He looked
around and pulled a heavy wooden table across the floor to be opposite the gap
in the curtains positioned two metres back. He lifted a rug from the floor and
placed it on the table and lifted a wicker chair from a corner onto the top of
the carpeted table. He climbed up and took a seat, judging the view to be
adequate to see the entrance to IRM and his sniper-like position sufficiently
in the gloom of the room to remain unseen.
    He pulled out his phone, navigated to a recorder and said quietly into it
“on station, IRM O-P.” He knew from experience that his voice notes would be
date-time stamped and was the most efficient way to keep his notes.
    After about 2 hours of boring non-activity that allowed Bill to review
the briefing and explore several scenarios in his head, Wood suddenly appeared,
coming out of the IRM Office and climbing into an off-white four-wheel-drive.
He went West on Shash Darak Road.
    Bill jumped down and raced out to get to his car as soon as he