“Just a little joke, dear,” said Margaret. “It’s Margaret. I’m here to see Sir Jeremy. He’s expecting me.”
And with that, Sir Jeremy Yallop, the slickly suited head of MI5, appeared behind them. “Ladies. Follow me.” He swept them through the security barriers.
Carol turned to the girl at the desk and stuck out her tongue for the fun of it. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but she found the building disappointing. Just normal corridors and normal rooms with normal-looking people in them. Wasn’t this the nerve center of British intelligence? A fortress of state control? There were vending machines with packets of Skips in them. That didn’t seem right to her.
Sir Jeremy stopped at a door and opened it. “All right. Devices.”
“Hand him your phone,” said Margaret, taking hers from her handbag and giving it to Sir Jeremy. Carol did the same.
“I don’t usually do plus-ones,” said Sir Jeremy, “but this lady”—he nodded at Margaret—“saved the country…What’s your estimate, Margaret? Twenty times?”
Margaret blushed. “Oh, don’t be silly. No more than five.”
Carol looked at Margaret in admiration. So many stories, yet she knew she’d never tell.
The room was small. A functional table, like you might find in any other government building, like something from the office of a school headmaster, with two functional chairs. On the table was a file.
“That’s everything we have on Sir Desmond Crisp,” said Sir Jeremy. “Is there anything else we can get you?”
Carol looked over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Do you have anything on aliens?”
“That’ll be all for now, Jeremy,” said Margaret, smiling like a parent covering for her toddler. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy!”
And with that Sir Jeremy shut the door and left them alone. Carol looked at Margaret and opened her mouth wide in silent excitement. They sat down, eyeing the file as if it was a sacred relic, neither daring to be the first to touch it. Margaret took a bag of sweets from her handbag and offered it to Carol. “Percy Pig?”
—
The two ladiesquietly worked their way through the file, Carol carefully reading every page and passing it on to Margaret. Every now and then one of the pair would make a noise to indicate that they’d found something interesting. Carol had never been much of a swot, but it gave her fond memories of the focus she’d had when writing her diaries, all those years ago.
When they had finished, they sat back and looked at each other. Margaret exhaled in shock.
“Well, well, well,” said Carol.
Just then, Sir Jeremy Yallop popped his head around the door with a friendly smile.
“Ah, looks like you’re done. I hope you got everything you needed? I can escort you out now if you’d like.”
“Yes, I think that’s—” Margaret was gathering her things but Carol interrupted her.
“I’m always reading in the newspapers how you can spy on all of us online.”
Yallop tilted his head to the side, bemused by the tenacious pensioner before him. “Oh, yes?”
“Well?” said Carol. “Can you?”
“To a degree.”
“To how much of a degree?”
“Quite a big one.”
“So, if we were to give you a name or two, would you be able to help us look at their communications?”
Sir Jeremy adopted a firmer tone, attempting to draw a line. “That’s really not…This is all very…There is the matter of ethics.”
Margaret spoke up. “You know they’re always inviting me to join the Lords Intelligence and Security Committee. I usually say I’m done with all that sort of thing, but being in Westminster today makes me wonder if I should get more involved. They have quite a lot of sway when it comes to things like funding, I’m told.”
