Stabernide
Sent: 15 March 1999 14:09
Subject: DG: EH Fiction: optional PISCES problem sidebar.

For Emerald Hammer;- a nice optional sidebar to explain why and how PISCES might get involved even if they all have giant bugs in their heads and want to plunge the planet into nuclear chaos. Apologies to Rob for using the names of some Emerald Grotto characters without asking him first.


EH Fiction: The PISCES Problem

Harry stepped out of the rain and into Millbank. The Hammersmith and City line was running a half-hour behind schedule, which had made him exactly ten minutes late for his meeting with the 'prince of darkness' as a consequence. Four sets of checks stood between him and the Aquarius rooms. Damn all those Islamic Front warnings. Harry really missed the Soviets. The first three checks he encountered were standard security services stuff; metal detectors, swipe cards, CCTV, etc.;- The last check was a little different; PISCES' own POLITICALLY INCORRECT clearance. The Aquarius rooms in the basement were protected by a semi-sentient neural lock that telepathically scanned his brainwaves and matched them to PISCES records. This was obviously why he seemed to pay so much tax; Harry reasoned. The Aquarius rooms opened for him quite effortlessly. It looked like he was PISCES' creature now. At least, for the moment. The Aquarius rooms were the only ones in Millbank with that level of security - and stood empty 364 days of the year. Harry walked into Aquarius one. The room was spacious but minimalist; dominated by a large grey desk with a laptop computer sitting on it. Excellent view, however; taking in Westminster in all its glory. A figure sat in a swivel chair staring out across the Thames. He turned to face Harry, looking slightly bemused. Short and wiry with black eyes - skin stretched taught over a lithe skeleton. Very pale. He reminded Harry of the actor, Jonathan Pryce. Sir Peter Hill-Wood. Formerly deputy control at MI6; now head of The BLACKWALL - PISCES acquisitions section.

"Good morning, Harry. I'd heard that your tube was delayed. You must really think about moving to docklands."

"I'm afraid I'm Fulham till I die, sir."

"What a disturbing thought. Please sit down." Hill-Wood indicated a chair strategically placed opposite himself. Harry shrugged off his raincoat and hung it behind the door, shutting it as he did so. Artificially intelligent software called HELIX monitored all of this, and should it, through its 'fuzzy logic', construe any behaviour that occurred in the room from now on as 'suspicious' or 'threatening', a focused laser battery hidden in the walls would charge up and disintegrate the offending individual. The Aquarius rooms weren't somewhere to lose your cool. He sat down, cursing mentally that Millbank was a non-smoking building.

"Harry; I won't beat around the bush. I have a job for you and I'd like you to take it."

"May I speak candidly sir?"

"Of course."

"If it's all the same to you sir, I'd rather not end up face down in Grovesnor square with a bullet in my face." A calculated front on Harry's part. Hill-Wood knew his reputation as a troublemaker. He'd be expecting this. Hill-Wood smiled.

"Yes. That unfortunate incident didn't really do much for inter-department harmony, did it? You've found us amicable employers in the past, however? That really was an excellent job you did for us in Belfast that time."

"I'd heard that PISCES didn't play the game anymore sir." He'd also heard that the PISCES board had giant bugs in their heads - but although Harry was as paranoid as the next secret agent, he was of the opinion you couldn't go around thinking that sort of thing about your bosses.

"PISCES are.... learning. They don't quite have the influence yet to completely stop fulfilling their original mandate just yet. A variety of internal and external pressures are forcing them to turn their attention towards long-neglected responsibilities. At least in a token fashion.

"Our good Baroness Thatcher was of course, quite happy for us to simply court our American counterparts and assist them wherever possible - as in the AURORA project I believe you worked on. However, the new landlords' realised quickly that we were the losers in that particular 'accord'. Some even began to fathom that our directors' had even more… 'remote' agendas. To secure our share of the intelligence budget next year, we have to be seen to do something pro-active.

"In addition, international pressure is beginning to cause us problems. The French are particularly annoyed that PISCES do not appear to be keeping our end of the 1947 Channel surveillance/intelligence share agreement. The Israelis are still chasing an explanation for the mess OPERATION: COLDBURN degenerated into, and the Grovesnor square massacre only further serves to illustrate the extent of the paranoia in foreign intelligence circles that surrounds our recent activities. There's a storm called LiBretto on the horizon, and if we are to exploit it effectively, then we have to improve our international standing." Hill-Wood smiled. He did that a lot, Harry noticed.

"In the quietest possible way, of course.

"I myself have been approached to oversee and co-ordinate all operations outside the scope of our CORE projects. I would like you to run one of these operations for me, Harry." A pause. "Will you do this for me." Not a question. He was only allowing Harry the one answer. Suddenly, he felt very cold.

"I'm in."

"Good." Hill-Wood leaned forward. "Now this is what we're going to do."

Hill-Wood flipped open the laptop and started tapping keys with steady and measured movements. "Are you familiar with the 'Revelations of Glaaki', Harry?" He didn't look up. Harry mused for a second.

"WINTERMUTE. That business at the Russian embassy." OPERATION: WINTERMUTE. How not to run a covert intelligence operation involving the paranormal. Four agents dead, Lord only knows how many Russian diplomats. Hill-Wood stopped tapping keys; looked Harry in the eyes.

"Yes; although that is only a small part of the picture. The Revelations consists of twelve volumes; together, they are a ….sort of bible; written under supernatural guidance, by members of the Glaaki cult - a particularly viscous and nasty group of people we're pretty sure we've all but eliminated from the shores of this fair isle. Perhaps you've heard of them?" Harry shook his head. He was aware PISCES had, in the past, conducted 'pogroms' of sorts against various occultist groups, but it wasn't really his line of work - and he probably wouldn't have the stomach for it even if it was. "We recovered the first eleven, unabridged volumes from amongst the effects of the artist, Thomas Cartwright, as far back as 1964. The twelfth volume eluded us for some time, until it turned up during OPERATION: WINTERMUTE. So, until recently, the only complete and unabridged copy of the Revelations was stored safely at the Keep." Harry looked quizzical. Hill-Wood smiled. "Indulge me for a moment.

"I've become aware that factions in U.S. intelligence are involved in a…. 'race' of sorts to locate and procure a number of prominent occult texts. Their competitors are an organisation we have only a little knowledge of, but one we know enough about to suggest their aims are at odds with our own. For this reason, and of course in the spirit of continued international co-operation, I have decided to assist the Americans."

"These wouldn't be the same Americans we were shooting at in Grovesnor square last year, would they, sir?" Hill-Wood seemed genuinely amused by that comment. Harry wondered why.

"We had a saying over at Six, Harry. 'There's no such thing as an enemy; just a friend you've double-crossed recently'." Hill-Wood turned the laptop around, so Harry could see the screen.

The jpeg was grainy and discoloured - definitely taken from some kind of security camera - but showed a tall and powerful-looking blonde man of obvious Anglo-Saxon/Germanic origins. He was dressed in a sharp but conservative business suit he didn't quite look comfortable in; his eyes looked alert and dangerous - even when frozen like this.

"This man is Reinhard Galt. He represents the organisation I have code-named 'BLACKSHIRT';- the American's competitors. A known mercenary/terrorist with extensive Middle eastern connections. He was identified entering the country through Heathrow last Monday evening; AWARE Surveillance was assigned immediately, but Galt lost his tail. We have no idea of his whereabouts, and can only guess at his motives for being in the country. I surmise, however, that should he become aware that a complete and unabridged version of the Revelations were available and 'up-for-grabs', then he would certainly pursue the opportunity to acquire it with considerable vigour."

"We'd need a front; some kind of cover - he's not going to just stroll up to the Keep and start the bidding."

"Of course. Which is why I arranged for an acquaintance of mine - the young Charlie Higgson - to allow a Bristol-based used book-salesman to 'chance' upon it at his house clearance sale. The bookseller's name is Yakubczk; a known con-man and fraudster with just a smattering of occult knowledge - enough to recognise the value of the Revelations, but not enough to know the danger he places himself in by taking possession of them. Yakubczk has, for some time now, been trying to sell a copy of what he claims is the thirteenth volume of the Revelations. I have no idea as to the verificity of his claim, or where he might have acquired such a text, but academia at large has branded it a fraud - the occult equivalent of the Hitler diaries. Yakubczk will no doubt use his acquisition of the original twelve volumes to further his claims as to the authenticity of his vol.13; and of course, to substantially augment the value of the sale. In 'advertising' his find, Galt will no doubt become aware of him, and dispatch someone to acquire the Revelations. They will find a reception waiting.

"What resources do I have at my disposal;" Asked Harry - eager to cut to the chase.

"Minimal. In fact, you will be our only operational agent in Bristol. I want the Americans to provide our muscle - I'd like to keep our involvement low-key at this stage. I've 'leaked' information that Galt has entered the country, and also that a Bristol book-dealer has initiated a 'sale' of the complete Revelations; both 'leaks' were to separate sources - but both, I'm sure, will be communicated eventually to the 'control' cell of the Americans' organisation. Hopefully, they have enough brains to put two and two together.

"Your role is to aid and abet them in their little quest. If they look like they're slipping behind in the race - put them back on track. Be cautious. They're bound to be suspicious of our involvement. If things start looking really bad, I have a BLACKWALL team on standby at the Severnford acquisitions centre." Harry didn't like the sound of that. BLACKWALL boys tended to be SAS burn-outs; trigger-happy suicidals to a man. Hill-Wood took a floppy from out of his disc drive and handed it to him.

"All the names, dates and places you need. You can study it en-route to Bristol. I've arranged for a BLACKWALL 'Witchmaster' to fly you there out of Heathrow. You'll liase with the local police through Special Branch - your cover story, an interesting little yarn about a possible AURa bomb threat to this year's Harbour Regatta, is detailed on the disc too. Any more questions?" Harry shook his head. "Excellent. Report back to me through the usual channels." Both of them stood. Hill-Wood held out his hand. Harry took it. "Nice to be working with you again, Harry. Good luck." Harry tried a smile on for size, nodded, then turned and left. As the door shut, HELIX powered down the laser battery.

Hill-Wood sat smiling for a while. The indestructible but quite harmless LIM bio-virus that covered the floppy would infect Harry and allow BLACKWALL operatives with Killian scopes to keep tabs on him whilst he was in Bristol - allowing Hill-Wood to keep abreast of developments despite Harry's well known disregard for procedure and authority. He was always pleased when he'd thought of everything. He might not even contact Alzis for another half hour yet - a mood like this was just too good to spoil.


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