The Falklands Intercept Read Free Page A

middle of the night in Washington his American colleagues, some he counted as friends, would be working on the PDB, The President’s Daily Briefing. Most of the intelligence on the Middle East was shared – by official diktat. Slightly unfairly in Jacot’s view since much of it was actually acquired by the British in the first place. But he for the most part liked and admired his American colleagues. All of them were highly patriotic. Most of them believed in a ‘Higher power called Washington’.
    â€˜Wendy. How are you? It’s Daniel. You sound exhausted.’
    â€˜Yeah. These presidential briefings can be a pain.’
    â€˜But I thought you liked Obama. And at least you get to see him. We are kept away.’
    â€˜It’s not the President. It’s the Veep, Biden. He goes to the eight o’ clock briefing in the White House but we have to brief him on his own at 0630hrs and then one of us goes with him in the car in case of last minute developments. He’s a nicer man one to one than you might believe but I can’t brief him in a dressing gown. And the full Stepford-Wife-look that the White House prefers is costing me a fortune. Still, only a month to go and I think he rates me so it will be good for the future.’
    â€˜Any developments in Iran?’ asked Jacot.
    â€˜Nope. Not in the last 48 hours. Satellites not showing much. NSA not picking up anything other than routine messages but Iranian communications security is good. So all we will have is political developments.’
    Jacot could not resist. ‘Wendy I am not sure that’s quite right. We reckon there might be some Revolutionary Guards on the move.’
    â€˜Daniel. Don’t mess around, the whole region is close to meltdown.’
    It was always fun teasing the all-knowing American intelligence people. ‘Easy Wendy. It’s just that for the first time since the mullahs took over the Revolutionary Guards have cancelled their annual party. No booze, no pretty girls but still a big shindig.’
    â€˜Dan, for goodness sake. Our billion dollar satellites and eavesdroppers are telling us that at least for the next twenty four hours no major units of the Revolutionary Guards are likely to be on the move – so that’s it. What’s that Brit saying you taught me, “Brains of an Archbishop”? Yeah. It doesn’t take the brains of an archbishop to work out that the intelligence might of Uncle Sam is heavily focused currently on the guys with beards who guard what may or may not be their nukes. What is it with you people?’
    â€˜Wendy, I’m not saying that our bearded chums are moving to a launch position or anything like that. Maybe they are up to something defensive. Their boss did after all get blown up a couple of months back in what the official news agency called ‘an unfortunate ammunition accident.’ All I am saying is that they have cancelled a feast. It’s like the Irish cancelling St Patrick’s Day. Therefore, it seems likely that these guys have something going down. Never mind that your billion dollar gizmos are suggesting all is well.’
    â€˜A cancelled feast! Daniel, get real.’
    Satellites and eavesdropping were one thing. But even with those you had to look for the clues. Iranian signals discipline was good. It was difficult to break into their command and control systems and even if you got in the messages were highly encrypted . If you couldn’t break into the centre you had to prowl the periphery – like finding out someone had cancelled a party.
    â€˜Well there you go Wendy. And yes, you can call Mossad. You were going to anyway.’
    Wendy rang off. The intelligence was reliable and would certainly enhance Wendy’s status with the Vice President. Jacot would send a written version to Langley later withthe source details well disguised. You scratch my back. I’ll scratch yours.
    Jacot typed the last