This Is Not a Pipe (Mike Kingdom Thrillers Book 2), page 3
“God knows what was on them,” pondered Lorna, the MI6 woman.
“Isn’t all this covered by diplomatic immunity?” The PM was not in the happiest of moods.
“Well, on the surface of it, he appears to have driven down there alone, on his way to a holiday along the Mediterranean, using a second passport.” Lorna looked across towards Dennis and Terry, who were nodding gently.
“But he’s still covered by diplomatic immunity or whatever, isn’t he?
“Well … that’s a bit debatable.” Dennis was treading on eggshells.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Remind me, what was he down there for?” Victor asked.
“Using rehabilitated potash mine sites for renewable energy. It was a French initiative.”
“Off on another free holiday, was he?” the PM asked rhetorically. “We don’t have potash mining, do we?”
“Only one, but it can be applied to coal mines and the like.” Dennis had a mild Yorkshire accent.
“What about his body?” The PM’s mind was darting all over the place. “What about the autopsy? I suppose there’ll be one. I don’t want this hanging over the G20 summit in Marrakech in a week’s time.”
“It’s all being taken care of. The relevant protocols have kicked in.” Dennis sounded at his most professional.
“Terry, you had better stay behind.”
With that, the others left, and the conversation moved on to who should replace Johnny, and whoever that was, he or she preferably needed to be a boring, safe pair of hands.
Mike Kingdom was walking down the hill, through the conifers, to her favourite pond in a marshy area near her cabin. She wouldn’t be away too long, but she needed a break from staring at her screen.
She had woken early to the sound of rain on the roof above her bed. From the moment she had opened her eyes, she had been trying to work out what was relevant to Randy and what was just background noise.
A few things had caught her attention.
Firstly, there was a newspaper article that touched on Algeria’s gas industry and Secretary of State Blinken’s visit. A few paragraphs seemed important:
In November 2021, Algeria cut off the gas flowing through its pipeline running through Morocco and across the sea near Gibraltar, to supply Spain and Portugal; Algeria has left two of the other main routes, one via Sicily and one to Almería, pumping at full capacity. Algeria used to provide twelve per cent of all the EU’s gas supplies via its three pipelines under the Mediterranean Sea.
Morocco and Algeria are uncomfortable neighbours, but most worrying is that there has now been the closure of borders and airspace, plus the recalling of ambassadors.
Morocco had received its natural gas from Algeria. In addition, it was paid circa $400 million a year for allowing the pipeline across its land. This has now been lost, probably permanently.
If Secretary of State Blinken had been asking for an increase in gas exports, what had the US offered Algeria? And what might Algeria have wanted in return? Had the US administration been asked to retreat on the US recognition of Moroccan sovereignty over the Western Sahara? This would create huge regional tensions and test a relationship going back to the very first days of the USA when Morocco was the first country to formally recognise the thirteen states in 1786.
According to sources, the Western Sahara and gas supplies hadn’t been discussed. It wasn’t credible that Blinken and Sherman were there to buy sand or visit the archaeological remains of the Roman colonial town in Timgad. The real purpose of the visit had not been revealed.
So, of the three gas pipelines to Europe, one had been shut down by the Algerians. Was Randy working to reopen the pipeline via Morocco and Spain? And did the USA want Algerian gas – whether it came via Spain, Italy or anywhere else – so it didn’t care about Morocco and Western Sahara?
Secondly, she had read about Macron’s visit and concluded that he was most definitely after natural gas. This was not rocket science. President Macron was pressing for a huge increase in France’s natural gas, which Algeria typically provided, to replace the seventeen per cent that used to come from Russia before the continued fighting in Ukraine. Once Putin had invaded Ukraine, oil and gas prices rocketed. He gradually turned down the supply, especially through the Nord Stream pipelines. Putin was waiting until the EU broke ranks and came begging for the energy to see them through the winter. For France, it did not take long for Macron and his ministers to realise that Algeria was the quick-and-easy way to replace the balance.
Was Randy working with the French? Was he working for a French energy company? There must have been a huge commercial opportunity while the pipeline via Morocco to Spain was shut down.
Thirdly, she read about a potential new pipeline:
Algeria, Nigeria and Niger have signed a memorandum of understanding today, 28th July 2022, to build a natural gas pipeline across the Sahara Desert, Algeria’s energy minister said on Thursday.
This new trans-Saharan gas pipeline is estimated to cost $13 billion and could send up to 1.1 trillion cubic feet a year of supplies to Europe. The pipeline is expected to be about 2,500 miles long, starting in Warri, Nigeria, and finishing up in Hassi R’Mel, Algeria. Here, it will connect to existing pipelines that run to Europe.
Even more gas would flow north from Nigeria to join with the Algerian gas on its way to Europe. The pipeline routes across the Mediterranean were clearly of critical importance. Mike Kingdom wondered if Randy was involved in sub-Saharan African politics in any way (about which she also knew nothing).
Fourthly, she had read a report produced by the British FCO in Algiers entitled The Current Political Tensions in the Maghreb.
From it, she learnt two things that stood out to her: the Chinese were negotiating with Algeria to buy a port, and Algeria is the third largest importer of Russian military equipment – fourteen per cent of all Russian military equipment goes to Algeria. This was an absolutely mind-blowing statistic. She realised that she knew so little about this critical region of the world.
She read further and, disturbingly, saw that Russia and Algeria had agreed on 5th April 2022 to hold joint military exercises in the Algerian desert.
Mike was sincerely hoping that Randy wasn’t involved in monitoring or sabotaging anything involving China or Russia.
She walked back up the gentle hill between the stands of conifers until she reached her cabin. The smell of the pines after the rain was refreshing. She went up the outside stairs, pulling on the handrail, and unlocked the door. The three heads on the shelf, looking like members of a jury, stared impassively at her – the one in the red wig looked particularly threatening.
“You wanna know something?” Mike addressed all three, “The USA supports Morocco. Russia supports Algeria. That’s it in a nutshell. Which is great because Algeria is going to be the next Ukraine where East fights West. What do you think about that?”
Sensibly, the three stayed silent.
One hour after discovering the body, Walter was still in his hotel room in Colmar. He had exhausted the minibar’s supply of chocolates. Three staff from the British Embassy in Paris were flying down in the next few hours and would take over all aspects of the case. One would deal with the police; one would handle the administrative stuff, such as the body; and one, Edward Evans, would deal with tying up any loose ends (which is FCO-speak for secret-squirrel stuff). The French police had asked Walter to stay in his room as they would need to interview him.
There was a loud knock on his door. He answered it to a group of French policemen who introduced themselves as being from a brigade criminelle; the shortest of the three said he was the chef de groupe and would be leading the investigation on behalf of the commissaire, who would report to the prosecutor, who would report to the judge. Walter felt punch-drunk. He had never heard of a brigade criminelle and felt even more disturbed when they explained they only dealt with high-profile cases. The fact that Monsieur Musselwhite was a British government minister and was about to meet a French minister meant that it wouldn’t be investigated in the normal way.
They had immediately asked if Johnny Musselwhite had diplomatic immunity, as they hadn’t found his passport. Walter couldn’t answer that question; therefore, he stalled. Aren’t all British government ministers covered by diplomatic immunity automatically? he asked himself. He didn’t know. Does the involvement of drugs invalidate any immunity? Again, he didn’t know. It would be a few hours before the cavalry arrived from the embassy in Paris. He needed to keep it together until then.
This wasn’t exactly what Walter had signed up for. This was too James Bond for him.
He had been drinking coffee made using the last milk capsule in his room when the brigade criminelle had turned up, and he had idly been musing on whether he might get a knighthood for services to the Crown – his mother in Cornwall would be so proud – or be arrested for the murder of a British government minister. Did they still have the death penalty in France? Why did things happen to him?
“What is your exact role?” the chief asked Walter.
“I’m with the British Embassy in Paris; my superiors will be down here in the next few hours. I flew into Basel yesterday. I’m here for just a few hours to organise things and look after Mr Musselwhite,” Walter replied, managing to sound guilty of some unspecified crime.
“We haven’t found his passport, wallet, laptop, briefcase or such things, either in his room or car. Do you have them?”
“No. He drove down separately yesterday, as I understand it. He was intending to drive south on holiday after the meeting outside Colmar with your Minister of Energy.”
“Where did you both spend last evening?”
“I met him for the first time, here in the hotel, after taking a taxi from Basel. We discussed the meeting. He ordered room service and said he wanted an early night. I went out to an auberge and ate alone. I was in bed by 9.40pm. We arranged to meet downstairs for breakfast together.”
“Do you have anything of his that might help us in this investigation?” The chief had a very un-Gallic cold demeanour.
Walter could almost feel the business card in his pocket. “No, I don’t think so.”
“We would like you to stay in Colmar to help. When were you intending to fly back to Paris?”
“I was intending to fly back tonight. Perhaps I should wait until my superiors arrive?” Walter was already acquiring that diplomat’s knack of kicking anything unpleasant into the long grass.
“Good idea,” the chief replied with a disarming look. “I was going to suggest that we wait for the prosecutor to arrive. I am sure she will have some questions.”
Oh bugger! Walter thought, and then, begrudgingly, Touché.
“After all, it is not every day that we have the murder in Colmar of a British government minister.”
Murder, did he say murder?
CHAPTER FOUR
“What are you doing, Leonard? You appear to be going up and down,” Mike asked.
“Give … me … a … couple … of … seconds.”
“That looks like a playground in a park. I thought there were restraining orders in place?”
“I just … need … to join … this queue.” He paused. “That’s better.” The image steadied and the background came into proper focus.
“Are you jogging in Hyde Park?” Mike asked in disbelief.
“No, I was running to an ice-cream van that has just turned up, and the park is full of fat little shits.”
Mike managed to display considerable restraint. “Why are you in the park?”
“To talk to you, of course.” Mike could just about hear Leonard above the chatter of excited children. “This makes me appreciate my air-conditioned office. How are you doing?”
“Well, it’s only been twenty-four hours, but I’m now the world authority on Algerian gas pipelines. Thank you for that.”
“It’s an exciting, new investment opportunity.”
“Leonard, why the cat and mouse? Why not just tell me what’s happening? Why not tell me Randy’s cover name?”
“You’re … Three scoops of rum and raisin, please. You’re my independent auditor. If I tell you what I think, then you’ll be contaminated. I want you to come at this from … How much?”
“Is it Randy or you who’s in trouble?”
“A bit of both. If we need to meet up, remind me that we should use The Goring with a decent bottle of Meursault. This park is really expensive.”
“OK … well, I know enough about these pipelines.”
“They’re the existing ones. Why don’t you look at planned pipelines? Oh, and the CFDI: the Critical Foreign Dependencies Initiative. Have you heard of it? No, thought not. Look for what’s not on it.”
The ice-cream van began playing a jarring, jangly jingle, which blocked out some of Leonard’s next words.
“As long as you’re OK, I’ll head off back to HQ. That’s the big, new HQ, not the shit one you used to work in. Call me if you need anything,” he said, interspersed with licking his ice cream.
“I’ve had it up to here with pipelines and, Leonard, you’re a—” But the screen faded and the sounds of a London park in summer gradually reduced to nothing.
Mike settled back down on her chair and pinched the top of her nose. One of her windows was open, and she could hear the buzz of insects. Count to ten, she heard a voice in her head say.
CFDI? What’s a CFDI when it’s at home? She knew Leonard would be laughing to himself as he walked back to his office. While he was eating his rum-and-raisin ice cream, he was revelling in the fact that she would have to google it.
A few minutes later, she had learnt that the CFDI is a list of foreign infrastructure items, produced by the US Department of Homeland Security, which – if attacked or destroyed – would critically impact the USA. It had been part of the WikiLeaks data released in 2010.
As she read the list, three assets stood out to Mike Kingdom. Firstly, the Strait of Gibraltar, which narrowly separates Spain in Southern Europe and Morocco in Northern Africa, connecting the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. Mike had never looked on the strait as an ‘asset’, but when she thought about it, its strategic importance seemed obvious. Secondly, she noticed the Maghreb-Europe gas pipeline and, thirdly, the Trans-Med gas pipeline; both went across the Mediterranean to Europe. Why were these of strategic importance to the USA?
Think about it. Think about it. She was trying to discipline herself. The USA was ostensibly backing Morocco over Western Sahara while prioritising Algerian pipelines to Europe. Oh boy!
And what isn’t on the list? What a stupid question, she thought. There are a million things not on the list. She wandered over to the large window and stared at the wall of pine trees. The window really did need cleaning. She would get the ladder out of the garage beneath later. Window cleaning was a job that, bizarrely, she enjoyed. It was a combination of pine resin, pollen and red dust from the Sahara that had coated the glass. Saharan dust, she mused, if only it could talk.
There was an OCD side to Mike that she had recognised from her early teenage years in Oregon. It wasn’t a problem and probably explained why she was so good at her job (if she had a job). After walking up and down for a couple of minutes, she went downstairs to the garage. On entering it, she ran her fingers over her beautiful Italian motorbike and walked between the tractor and trailer to a set of double ladders.
Five minutes later and thirteen feet up, she was cleaning the enormous picture window with a chamois leather. This activity was akin to therapy. Peering into her room, she felt as if she were looking into her soul. The three polystyrene heads, each with its wig, dominated her view and stared back at her, not displaying any emotion, but, perhaps, representing her mood swings. The photograph of Mount Hood on the wall brought back memories of her Portland upbringing. The various pay-outs after the accident and those from a couple of private projects meant she was very comfortable financially (if your life consisted of living in a cabin above a garage and owning an Italian motorbike). Of course, the shiny window’s reflection of her bald head and pitted face also reminded her of a stark reality and, surprisingly, of the Korean war memorial in Washington, DC. She would never forget how her face was reflected in the polished granite wall with the soldiers and vegetation behind her. Suddenly, something about the ache and the deep scar on her left leg reminded her of the so-called ‘accident’, which she laid firmly at Leonard’s door.
She was in no hurry to come down from her vantage point on what was now such a gorgeous September day, making her mistress of all she surveyed. Twenty-four hours ago, she had been relatively carefree and planning a trip back to Oregon. Now, after Leonard’s visit, she was mentally in overdrive. The smells and sounds of the forest, the reflections of the coniferous trees in the window and the physical exhilaration of standing on the ladder all served to emphasise the contrast between her position and that of Randy. Was he alive or dead? Was he in some underground prison or worse? She bent her leg, stretched it out and descended.
The sun was shining in Colmar. This meant that the bridges over the canals were heavy with tourists taking selfies against a backdrop of half-timbered houses painted in bright pastel colours. The ancient buildings and flower boxes that were reflected in the water merely made the town doubly photogenic. All of this, however, was very low on Walter’s list of priorities. After a night in the hotel, he was about to be interviewed by the special prosecutor, Madame Bettancourt.
He had spent the previous evening with three colleagues from the embassy who had, thankfully, taken control. At dinner, while he ate magret de canard and drank a pinot gris produced less than twenty-five miles away, they’d had a long discussion among themselves as to why Johnny Musselwhite had chosen to use his non-diplomatic passport for his trip, given that he was performing official duties in Colmar. This no longer really mattered, of course, as he was dead. The FCO had been in touch with his family and were arranging for the body to be flown back to the UK. His Mercedes was another matter, as it didn’t have diplomatic plates, and the police seemed very interested in it.
