Abe Marks had been reading the latests reports from the British MI6 agents in the Middle east, today there were quite a number and it had taken him since ten in the morning to work through them. He wasn't a slow reader but there were so many questions that needed answers, and so many answers that needed conformation. He still had several reports to read and was starting to feel the rumbles in his stomach that told him that lunch was overdue. 'Just finish this one, and I'll get something from the canteen,' he thought. Before he had time to finish the door opened and Sir James Hennessey's head appeared around the door.
“Something tells me that you haven't had lunch yet Abe,” Sir James said.
“Strangely, I was just about to pop down to the canteen, Sir,” answered Abe.
“Look, let me take you to lunch, I needed a chat and I've not eaten myself; pint and sandwiches OK for you?”
“Yes Sir, thank you,”agreed Abe.
The two spooks took the lift to the roof and boarded Hennessey's official LIMO. The machine lifted into the air for the short hop over to Whitehall, where it landed on the roof of a public house, that was Sir James' favourite. The Silver Cross pub was quite small but very intimate, the interior was quite dark and those who used the hostelry never complained. The pub had been the haunt of politicians, civil servants and the crew and cast from the Whitehall Theatre opposite. The interior smelt of stale beer, which was often an appetizing smell for the hungry government official. Sir James chose a booth at the back of the bar and waved a message to the landlord, and they seated themselves with their back to the wall.
“Have you been here before Abe,” Sir James asked. “No Sir, don't usually drink at lunchtimes.”
“Hmm, What do you make of the latest from Syria?”
“Their recruiting figures have gone crazy over the past few months, I'm not sure what they think they are playing at, if Israel is their target, it's a little OTT. My feeling is that it's posturing.”
Sir James, didn't answer for a couple of minutes as the waiter served their pints of best British Bitter beer and their plate of smoked salmon and fresh shrimp sandwiches.
“Please dig in Abe,” Sir James invited, “That is what I wanted to talk to you about. I have been told, by a very reliable source close to the Iraqi President, that they have started to believe the 'God Tapes' and are recruiting for the final battle, Armageddon.”
“What! They think they can win, if the prophesies are true it's all preordained.”
“Well they see it as the chance to make the whole world one Islamic theocracy, if they can win.” said Sir James. “Our latest figures estimate that they now have a combined army of well in excess of ten million, and growing, Sir.”
“You may not know because it is not your desk, but we had word last week that Afghanistan and the Islamic countries in the Russian Federation, are sending solders down and they are starting to recruit on the streets.”
“Where did this come from Sir?”
“From our Russian assets, that is why you've not heard.”
What's happening in Russia these days, they have been very quiet this last ten years or so, Sir?”
“Been licking their wounds after the Ukraine war, having one of your own nuclear bombs detonate in your own back yard tends to make you stop and think about things. Loosing your capital city is also a little numbing.”
“Yes I suppose so,” mused Abe, “Is there any move to rejoin the global community?”
“Actually there is, they wish to talk to us, not the Americans, and we are sending some diplomats over there to St Peterborough at the end of the month, and I'd like you to go with them, I trust your analytical skills and gut feelings Abe, just suss them out for me. Will you go?”
“So that's what this chat is about,”said Abe with a smile on his face, “yes Sir, I'd love to go.”
“That's settled then.”