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SAMPLE CHAPTER TAKEN FROM THE DISAPPEARANCE

When Sir Walter Tweedy first suggested that the UK set up a new kind of task force he had met with some seriously stiff opposition. That is, of course, quite normal for anyone proposing change, for there will always be many who are quite comfortable with keeping things the way they are. That is not to say that they are right, because such resistance is very often born out of protectionism of one kind or another. Looking after one’s job, one’s career, one’s finances, one’s friends, one’s colleagues, all play a role. Usually, the more portentous the change, the louder the voices shouting it down.

So it came as no surprise to the crusty old mandarin in the elevated ranks of the UK’s civil service structure that he was making new enemies. It was something he was used to, something that, in effect, he had made a career out of. For Sir Walter was not a man who was typical of the breed, where cushy lifestyles and inflation proof pensions were often the dominant thoughts of those occupants of the numerous Government offices straddled along the Thames in central London. He was a visionary, a man blessed with good insight and the courage of the convictions which it brought him, attributes that one needs in abundance to take on the collective might of the military, that group of people who have always seemed so essential down the years, not just in England, but everywhere across the world.

One takes them on at one’s peril for they are always so well connected, the ability to be both the first and the last line of defence against either a foreign enemy or an internal insurrection always being invaluable to political leaders around the world. Proof of this, if any were needed, could always be found in their ability to secure the most ridiculous budgets and develop the most preposterous weapons, two capabilities which many felt were generally much more of a threat than the oft imagined enemies without and within.

It was not that Sir Walter’s latest bright idea directly threatened the generals, the air vice marshals and the first sea lords. On the contrary, he was actually a huge fan of their contribution to global democracies. The key issue, and the thing that worried them the most, was his latest plan, his idea to set up a new type of RRT, a rapid response task force, who would be completely unarmed. They saw this initiative – and especially that particularly unusual feature of it – as a threat. Sir Walter saw only opportunity.

‘Too many bombs. Too many bullets. Too many dead bodies. If anything, we really need less, not more of all that’ he explained to Blinky Duff, the seasoned head of special ops recruitment, on the night before the final interviews for The Nines, the name he had chosen for Harry Shepperton’s new team of special agents.

‘Strange name sir?’

‘They’ve all got exceptionally high IQs, averaging out at 150 each across the group.’

‘I see.’

He didn’t really.

Sir Water smiled at his old chum.

‘We only need six, Blinky. It needs to be a small unit’

‘Ah, yes, of course.’

He still wasn’t too clear.

‘Six officers with IQs of one fifty each. Total combined IQ nine hundred. I didn’t really want to call then The Nine Hundreds. Sounds a bit, you know, Sparta or something. So I thought we’d call them The Nines. Bit snappier, don’t you think?’

‘Why only six? The world’s not exactly short of problems is it. We could probably do with nine hundred.’

Sir Walter smiled, the knowing smile that often came with high rank, his lofty position providing him with an overview of global situations often denied others.

‘These are in addition to,’ he explained, ‘not instead of. The usual resources are unaffected, they’ll all still be there to do the usual firefighting.’

‘What will they actually do then? And who selects their missions?’

‘They will. They choose their own.’

Blinky was somewhat taken aback at this.

‘Bit of a departure from the usual drill then.’ he commented, keen to find out as much as possible about the backdrop to this, Sir Walter’s latest piece of radical thinking. He would be interviewing the final candidates in the morning so it would be good to know as much as possible for his own purposes, even though he wouldn’t necessarily be sharing it with the six hopefuls.

He flicked again through the summary sheet outlining the brief bios of the final six.

‘So there’s six posts in total then?’

‘Correct.’

‘Just the six, no more, no less?’

‘Correct.’

Blinky turned the file over and lifted the back cover up, as if he was looking for something.

‘But there’s only six candidates.’

‘Correct.’

‘What happens if one fails at interview?’

‘They won’t.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because they’ve been carefully selected. Hand picked, you might say.’

‘By whom?’

Sir Walter had a proper steely stare which he brought to bear on situations now and then. It wasn’t particularly hostile, but it wasn’t over friendly, not patronizing, but not too encouraging either. It was an experienced and very senior manadarin way of closing down any series of questions that ever started to snowball out of control.

Colonel Blinky Duff was a civil servant too by that time, his own military days now behind him.

He knew the code and moved on.

‘And no weapons? An unarmed unit. Are they all Ninjas then?’

‘No. Not all.’

‘How will they get out of the inevitable scrapes?’

‘They won’t get into them.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because they’re bright.’

‘That’s hardly a guarantee, is it?’

‘I agree. But we want to try to break the mould a bit with this unit. If they’re as smart and well briefed as I want them to be, they’ll be more than capable of doing their jobs without blowing things up every other day.’

‘But the kind of tasks an RRT normally engage with are fraught with danger.’

‘Agreed.’

‘So their ops are going to be different somehow?’

‘I doubt it.’

Blinky scratched his head.

‘I’m sorry sir. I don’t wish to appear unsupportive, but aren’t you putting them in harms way a bit. What are they supposed to do if somebody shoots at them?’

‘They should try to avoid such situations, usually doable with proper planning.’

‘With all due respect, the military might disagree.’

‘The military, Colonel, will be there to back them up if necessary. We’re not planning on disbanding them anytime soon, far as I’m aware.’

Blinky shuffled his papers again and had another quick look at the summaries.

‘Bit of a mixed bag, aren’t they. A lawyer, I notice. What the heck will he be doing in the heat of battle?’

‘He’s the best blagger we could find. More negotiator than anything else. His job will largely be making sure there are no battles.’

‘An internet guru?’

‘The internet rules the world these days, Blinky. Have you been asleep for a decade? Plus she’s from The Valley, so she’ll know some serious computer nerds. Always handy.’

‘The Valley?’

‘Goodness, you have been asleep for a decade.’

‘A physicist? Presumably not to make nuclear weapons but to defuse them?’

‘Well, hardly. I’m hoping Lambert will be able to do that and negotiate them away if we ever come across some. With the help of some decent politicians if we can find any.’

‘Lambert?’

‘Paul Lambert, Blinky. The negotiator. Have you not read the notes yet old chap? You’re on at 9.30 in the morning.’

‘A geologist?’

‘Anybody who really understands how the world is formed is invaluable.’

‘At a dinner party, maybe. But what’s his likely role in this team?’

‘I don’t know yet. Bit of a wild card. But he’s a Paddy, can talk the hind legs of a donkey and charm the girls till they faint. You’ll like him.’

‘I tend not to pass people just because I like them, sir. Doesn’t really work that way.’

But Blinky was making a mental note. He already had an inkling that the six interviews scheduled for the following day were all effectively just rubber stamps on some decisions that had already been made.

He decided to ask. No harm.

‘You know him then?’

‘I wouldn’t say I really know him but, yes, I have met him.’

‘And the others?’

‘What about them?’

‘You’ve met them as well?’

‘I have, yes.’

‘May I ask in what capacity?’

‘Socially. At an informal occasion.’

Blinky was being nosey now. But he still had an inkling.

‘Just the six?’

‘Just the six, what?’

‘At this informal occasion. Was it just these six?’

Blinky had a bit of a steely stare of his own, not quite as persuasive as Sir Walter’s because, as his nickname suggested, he couldn’t really stare at anybody or anything for very long. Nonetheless, he had his own way of making his point.

‘The six who will be The Nines.’

He was hinting, as forcefully as he dare, at his rubber stamp theory.

That would be something very unusual.

Unprecedented even.

Sir Walter, being a knight of the realm, was blindingly quick on the uptake.

‘It’s not a fait accompli, Blinky. We need them stretched a bit more first, just to be sure. But yes, they’ve been pre-selected up to a point. Hardly any sense in seeing twelve people for half a dozen posts when the top six favourites all turn out to be ready, willing and able.’

‘And available.’ Blinky was rifling through his files again.

He furrowed his brow briefly.

‘Seems like they could all start tomorrow as well. Not too much baggage and really not too much about their previous work or experience.’

‘Ah, yes. All checked out. You needn’t concern yourself too much with any of that. One less thing to worry about.’

Blinky’s suspicions about that “social occasion” were quickly confirmed.

Classic headhunting.

Find a credible excuse, throw a drinks reception, and make sure the targets attend without making them too aware of exactly what’s going on. So no invites, as such. If they’re worth their salt, they’ll catch on pretty quick anyway. And then its just a two way Q and A disguised as general conversation. Lots of innocuous chitchat as a front for an unspoken selection process which would be quietly churning away in the background. Twenty or thirty short-listed. Most rejected. All done in a few hours. Highly efficient use of time. No buggering about with unnecessary interviews.

Blinky looked directly at his boss, nodding slowly.

Ah, ok. Understand now!

He checked his papers again.

‘A chemist?’

It hardly mattered now because his normal routine asking questions that were specific and relevant to each individual was suddenly less important. Still, the professional in him wanted to do a good job. The more he understood, the easier that would be.

‘Yes,who’s also a trained biologist. Just in case we have to deal with a germ warfare attack or a virus or something. As I mentioned earlier, you can’t defeat everything with guns.’

‘Wouldn’t you need an epidemiologist or a diseases guy for those things?’

‘To treat the effects, yes, sure. But to prevent them in the first place. That’s something else entirely.’

Blinky was slowly getting the picture. This was going to be a specialist unit like no other. Rapid Response was one thing. But the very nature of what they would likely be responding to was now making him begin to wonder.

‘So they can all double up a bit, then. A Lawyer turned negotiator. A chemist slash biologist. Your Internet guru can code and do programming. The physics major is also a structural engineer. And a Paddy geologist who builds radios in his spare time.’

‘Ah, good chap. You have read the brief then.”

‘Of course. But this last bloke. Mark.’

‘Mark Wright.’

‘Say’s he’s some kind of weapons expert.’

‘Does it?’

Blinky stopped reading and looked up.

‘What. That’s wrong then?’

‘I didn’t say that, did I?’

‘A weapons expert in an unarmed RRT. Isn’t that a tad, err, incongruous?’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘Let me guess. You have to know how to build one if you want to break one.’

Sir Walter smiled. It wasn’t quite as menacing as his steely stare, a softer version of his shut down tactic, but nonetheless effective.

Blinky let it go.

But he wasn’t quite finished with his own, less than subtle, debrief of his boss.

‘What exactly am I looking for tomorrow? You know, when I stretch them? ‘Cos they’re as good as in post already aren’t they? Just one final tripwire.’

‘The only thing we couldn’t really test at the dance,’ he began, ‘was their reactions. Not like Quick Draw McGraw reactions, more like decision making, especially under pressure.’

Blinky thought for a minute.

How to integrate that into his process.

‘I’ll give them some situationals. You know the kind of thing. You’re in this particularly sticky spot. You’ve got three options, a, b or c. Which one do you choose and why?’

‘With the best answer always being option d, the one of their own choosing, showing an ability to think for themselves and not be bullied into someone else’s decision.’

The following morning JoJo Everett, Paul Lambert and Mark Wright all breezed through their face-to-face sessions with Colonel Blinky Duff and his gruff Scottish sidekick Archie Webster.

Mark still had no idea he was joining an unarmed unit.

At around 3pm Professor Jake Rivera met the second American on Harry Shepperton’s crack new team on his way out. Caitlin Yang’s striking good looks were not lost on him but his heart was back in Laredo with his Texas sweetheart. The only breakout of romance destined for Harry’s new team lay with the Dubliner with the laughing eyes who now waited nervously in the outside seating area while Caitlin nearly self sabotaged over her multiple choice question.

‘I do apologise for keeping you waiting Mr.Dempsey,’ the pretty young blond receptionist announced, smiling over at the tall fit-looking Irish lad who was now a full twenty minutes overdue.’ They’re running slightly late, shouldn’t be too long now.’

Liam grinned back at her, his sparkling eyes lighting up an otherwise drab room.

‘No problem darlin’, tanks fer lettin’ me know.’

A moment later her internal phone rang and she pointed over towards the door.

One of the two elderly men behind a large cherry desk rose to greet him while the other smiled

‘Good afternoon, Liam. My name is Algernon Duff and this is my colleague Archie Webster. Thanks very much for coming in today.’

And so, by around six thirty, Her Majesty’s Government of the United Kingdom had a new fully functional but highly secret operational unit.

Colonel Blinky Duff and Archie Webster popped into The Sanctuary for a meat pie, a couple of pints of Fuller’s finest and a quick reminisce over the days rather strange proceedings.

JoJo Everett went back to her single bedsit wondering if there was the possibility of any Irish boys joining this new team. There was.

Paul Lambert wondered if he’d made the right choice after his rather odd meeting with Nick D’Allovite. He had.

Mark Wright started thinking that he might be joining some sort of weird space patrol. He wasn’t.

Jake Rivera wondered if he’d lose his accent if he had to leave home and come to live in England. He wouldn’t.

Caitlin Yang calmed down quickly at her early evening yoga class, still wondering if her emotional outburst had hurt her chances of landing her dream job.

It hadn’t.

Liam Dempsey finally left the building around seven with a blond on his arm and another phone number in his pocket.

It had been quite a day.

Six candidates, two interviewers and one Knight of the Realm all slept well that night.

And The Nines were born.