Catering was duly arranged by the hotel, for almost two hundred visitors spread over three days, Friday to Sunday. Mackey had already sent the hotel a twenty-five thousand pound deposit from the cheque we had given him, covering most of the costs at the hotel and the hiring of the marquees. The event had been advertised to all the relevant people and the take-up rate had been good, not least by the promise of free food and drink.

  With Big Paul driving, we set off on Thursday morning, aiming to stay the night in Cumbria and take it easy. Good job, traffic was terrible through the Midlands and we got to a small roadside Bed & Breakfast as night fell, little time but for a meal and a beer before bed – we were working on Big Paul’s body-clock, not ours. I read a book in my room, and I’m sure Jimmy did likewise.

  Big Paul stirred early, surprised that Jimmy and I were already at breakfast, packed and ready to go. We set off through light rain and headed into Scotland, motorways and main roads all the way to Stirling, finding the castle without much difficulty – someone had signposted the event well. Through thick traffic, we crawled into the grounds and parked up on the gravel forecourt, emerging now into bright sunshine.

  ‘Tent dwellers got the weather,’ I noted. Turning full circle, I could see three large tents in the grounds, a handful of smaller tents in a field, a multi-coloured patchwork of single person tents further behind. And the hill paths seemed to be well attended by numerous walkers. We booked in, glancing at a large board detailing the events of the three-day weekend, the start point being a noon briefing in the main tent.

  The rooms were large and nicely decorated, but after a while a hotel room is just a hotel room. We met back in the foyer and decided to find Mackey and his gang, so checked the bar and found them straight away, sat having coffee whilst hurriedly poring over speeches and plans.

  ‘Jimmy, Jimmy,’ they called, as if we’d been life-long friends.

  ‘All ready for the big show?’ Jimmy asked as chairs were arranged for us.

  ‘A wee bit nervous,’ Mackey admitted. ‘Lot of controversy already.’

  ‘Really?’ Jimmy probed.

  ‘Many kooks spoil the broth!’ Mackey suggested. I wasn’t sure if it was his accent, or a pun.

  ‘Then I’ll assist, since I don’t cook. Or climb mountains.’

  ‘Assist?’ Mackey asked, needing clarification.

  ‘If you have a group that can’t agree on a plan, I’ll dangle some money, make a speech, act as arbiter. After all, I’m neutral – yet no one will want to upset me.’

  ‘Aye,’ Mackey agreed. ‘Yee can start today, already got a group threatening to walk out.’

  ‘Don’t tell me … the Aviemore rescuers.’

  Mackey and his colleagues exchanged looks. ‘Aye.’

  ‘My next call, leave them to me,’ Jimmy calmly insisted.

  ‘You wanna say a few wee words?’ Mackey asked Jimmy. After all, we were paying for the event.

  ‘Sure. I’ll help you out by kicking things off if you like, give you a good write-up, see if I can’t get everyone behind you.’

  ‘Not Christmas,’ one of Mackey’s colleagues grumbled. ‘Not the season of miracles.’

  Jimmy offered the man a flat palm. ‘Leave it to me. Have faith.’

  ‘Good job yee got broad shoulders,’ Mackey warned.

  After a coffee we toured the very pleasant grounds, the weather holding up, soon inspecting the food tent and the smaller conference tents. Those tents offered many chairs laid out in front of a podium, the main tent big enough for a small rock concert. Someone had even cut the grass beneath our feet. Noon approached, and everyone - including those that were sulking about the order of giving speeches, settled down. Jimmy had been meeting people and pressing the flesh and, when it looked like everyone was just about in, he took the podium and the microphone.

  ‘I hope you can all hear me,’ he began. ‘It’s not a large area, but I guess the canvas tent sides absorb more sound than they reflect. If those of you by the flaps can decide to come or go, that would save the rest being distracted.’ He waited a few seconds as people settled. ‘OK, my name is Jimmy Silo, and what I know about mountain rescue you could write on the back of a matchbox.’

  I noted some perplexed looks from the crowd.

  ‘But what I do know about … is making money, lots of it, which is why I’m paying for this event.’

  I actually noticed a few people sit upright. It made me smile.

  ‘To give you some background – I live in London, I’m a stock market trader and investor, and I own hotels and safari parks in Kenya. And it was Kenya that led me to this tent today. You see, in Kenya … I stopped one day at an orphanage, figuring I’d give the kids some money. What I noticed … were a number of kids without legs or feet. You know how they lost their limbs … land mines.’

  Jimmy put one hand in a pocket. ‘So I spoke to a man down there who knew a thing or two about land mines, offering him some money to help train the locals to do their own mine clearance, a project that I now run in a fairly large way at a disused airfield in the north of the country. There we have former British Army ordnance personnel training Africans from all over the continent.

  ‘But if you were to fly around Africa, visiting each country, what you would find would be small pockets of very good people doing very good work, yet completely oblivious of what others are doing in a similar field. Time, effort, and money is being expended by these groups, charities for the most part, on training, on developing techniques and equipment, and sending people out to clear mines. One of my aims is to co-ordinate that effort right across Africa, so that resources are not wasted.

  ‘In some centres they have two doctors and no electricians. In others they have no doctors and ten electricians. In some they have willing volunteers, yet no experts to train them.’ He took a breath. ‘On one flight back to the UK I met a gentleman - who shall remain anonymous for the moment, who was returning from a scuba-diving holiday in Kenya. It turned out that he was a part-time mountain rescuer, and he told me a great deal about your industry.

  ‘And I asked him what the training was like for his rescue work. The answer: you pick it up as you go along. What … no formal exams, no overall governing body, just part-timers teaching themselves and mucking in? I couldn’t believe it. After all, this is Britain, leader in so many areas. And yet here we sit, some of the people in this audience whinging like little girls about who’s going to speak first and on what topics.’

  Could have heard a pin drop, if it hadn’t been for the grass floor.

  ‘I don’t have a lot of time for politics, or for whingers. I do, however, have a lot of money. So how I intend to spend that money will be along the following lines. I don’t know which one of you is the most experienced, or has the biggest ego. But I have met Mackey Taylor and his team, and they seem to have an idea or two about the national co-ordination of training standards … and of national co-operation. I can’t say that he’s the best man for the job, only time will tell. What I do know … is that you need momentum to get anything done, and what Mackey has … is a passion to cut through the crap and the red tape, and to make some small progress. I’ve already given his group a hundred grand, and if any other group wants money then you’re going to have to apply for it through him.’

  I grinned from ear to ear.

  ‘And the amount of money available is around a million pounds a year.’

  Whispers broke out.

  ‘It is my intention, if someone in Mackey’s group is up to it, to pay for a small office, a permanent secretary and a permanent co-ordinator, perhaps a small magazine where everyone can send in stories of heroic rescues, new bits of kit, problems, legislation. And, after a few years, many good people doing good work should be able to achieve a great deal more … for a lot less.

  ‘I’ll buy ropes in bulk and distribute them … once the type and colour of rope has been agreed by a national council. I will buy custom Land Rovers … once you’re decided on a vehicle specification, and get a bulk order deal from the manufacturers. Because that, ladies and gentlemen, is what co-operation brings - it brings cost savings. I will also push for a national examination standard, and training course for budding young rescuers, followed by a badge that can be sewn onto a jacket. Then everyone will know that the person with the badge has met a certain standard. I will help arrange a standardised first aid programme for new recruits, as well as fun aspects such as canoeing trips, map reading, orienteering … and regular fun competitions that will pit man against man, team against team, in a spirit of co-operation.

  ‘I’ll pay for climbing trips to other countries such as America, and exchanges between rescuers in many countries. I can, even now, offer courses on a variety of subjects in Kenya, where I have a base. Who’s to say that, in some distant future, rescuers here don’t attend bush fire-fighting courses, flood rescue courses, civil disaster courses, or search and rescue of downed aircraft or missing kids?

  ‘It will take time, and some money of course, but most importantly it will take a certain amount of co-operation from the good people sat in front of me – people who give up their spare time to risk their lives to help others. If you’re prepared to give your lives for strangers – can you give those who you should be friends with … some time and some patience?’

  Big Paul sat quietly amazed. I was impressed as well.

  Jimmy finished with, ‘I’ll now give the podium over to Mackey Taylor, who will call speeches and discussions in no particular order of merit, nor size of ego. If anyone has a problem, then please stand up and say my ego is bigger than his … and we’ll slot you in first. The mountain to climb, ladies and gentlemen, is out there … not in here.’

  As he stepped down, many started clapping, followed by people standing, and soon loud applause from everyone. I hadn’t noticed at the start the RAF personnel at the back, or the Navy. We even had the Coastguard with us. It took a while for the assembled warm bodies to settle down again, Mackey having to call for them to hush down. He did his speech about co-operation, training standards, a magazine, about cave rescuers and mountain rescuers having cross-over training, about seasonal training and covering for each other, and even training for co-operation with the RAF and Navy helicopter crews.

  At 3pm, Jimmy broke the speeches and insisted everyone take a thirty minute break, the first day not ending till 6pm, the sun low on a pleasantly sunny day. It’s fair to say that the real work got done in the bar that night, the restaurant opened so that people could spill into it; it was needed as some two hundred people tried to cram into a bar for fifty. We even opened the French doors and stood outside under spotlights.

  Inevitably, some groups asked Jimmy for money for bits of kit, but he directed them towards Mackey – who was the belle of the ball and being courted by all sorts. Big Paul recognised some of the faces from his time in the Army and re-acquainted himself with them, many drinks downed. At 1am we were still going strong, the speeches due to re-start at 9am, Jimmy altering the blackboard to 11am. At 2am, Jimmy asked the bar staff to close up and they threw everyone out, me and Jimmy dragging Big Paul’s heavy carcass to his room.

  The morning session was not well attended as people nursed sore heads, a few speeches given in the afternoon. An RAF rescue helicopter landed and people crawled over it, but not much serious work got done. As Jimmy had suggested to me, the people broke into small groups and made plans over a few beers. The Saturday was very hot, most everyone sipping beer all afternoon, in-depth discussions going on in the beer garden instead of the tents. Still, it had broken the ice and people were making friends, chatting over beers and swapping stories. Saturday night was a drunken sing-a-long for the most part, Sunday a washout as far as speeches went. People had lunch, sat about, or started to disappear. Mackey looked rough.

  ‘Late night,’ I asked him as he joined us in the beer garden.

  ‘Can’t remember going ta bed, so a wee bit to drink, aye.’

  Jimmy said, ‘I figured it would turn social, that’s why I like this place – the booze. It would have been a bit stuffy at some conference centre without a bar. The ice has been broken, now you can get some work done.’

  ‘Hope so, hope so,’ Mackey reflected.

  Magestic letter 35

  Jack, I would like to bring to your attention, at this time, some detail that is so important I’d appreciate you acknowledging it through the personals.

  There are a number of key world events which – if all are not prevented – will lead directly to a global nuclear conflict within a date period ranging from 2011 to 2017. If all key events are missed then the outcome is inevitable. If some are missed, the outcome is inevitable, but the date blurred. Our aim, of course, will be to deal with all key events. If such a sequential and transactional success is achieved, it will prevent such a war from starting.

  Jack Donohue glanced up at the familiar COBRA faces and took a breath. He read on.

  Two of those key events have already been dealt with to a satisfactory outcome. The third key event will occur in June of next year. Saddam Hussein will put pressure on Kuwait for reparations that he thinks are deserved regarding the Iran-Iraq war, joined with complaints of Kuwati oil wells drilling down at an angle into Iraqi territory.

  In consultations with the US Ambassador to Iraq he will, deliberately or otherwise, get the impression that the US will not get involved should there be a conflict, i.e. an invasion. In June he will invade, sacking the small territory. It is fair to say that oil prices will become unstable and a tad higher.

  The US, in response, will send the largest invasion force since D-Day to Saudi Arabia, ready to expel Iraq from Kuwait. Such an army will easily send the Iraqis packing, that is not in question. But a chain of events will be set in motion that will lead directly to a global conflict decades later.

  You may argue that a decade or two is a long time, and certainly a lot can change in such a period. But I know what will happen, the chain of events that will progress through time like a cancer.

  PM, a two-inch plant can be pulled from the ground, a sixty-foot Oak tree cannot, not with the best will in the world. Events are best influenced in their infancy.

  Might I be so bold as to suggest that you arrange for the Kuwaitis to invite your deployment of an armoured brigade to its northern border. Unfortunately, Saddam will not give up, and such a policy of prevention will be a long-term affair.

  PS. Should the Iraqis invade and be expelled, their principal divisions reduced by superior US firepower, other interested parties in the region will be glad of the reduction in Iraq’s offensive capability. One needs to read between the lines.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Jack let out.

  The Prime Minister said, ‘I’m mindful of the fact that he could have told us that years ago, yet did not. Instead he dealt with matters as trivial as the Eurovision Song Contest.’

  ‘Building up credibility,’ Jack suggested. ‘Proving his ability step by step.’

  ‘And now a huge leap forwards … into World War Three.’

  ‘There’s one way to be sure about this,’ Jack firmly suggested.

  ‘Yes,’ the P.M. agreed. ‘Keep an eye on Iraqi divisions moving south. Hopefully, not being too late.’

  Sykes put in, ‘If there is a conflict, with the US and ourselves pushing the Iraqis out of Kuwait, then there’s an excellent chance of other Arab nations supporting Iraq – widening the war.’

  ‘Yes, a powder keg alright,’ the P.M. agreed.

  Sykes added, ‘There are also the studies we’ve made about what would happen if Saddam was toppled. Our best guess is that the country would split into three. The Shia south might join forces with Iran, taking the oilfields with them. The central Sunis would join Syria, and the north would go back to being Kurdistan, at war with Turkey in a jiffy.’

  ‘Not good if Saddam stays, not good if he goes,’ the P.M. noted. ‘I want a working group on it, tight monitoring of the situation, and a plan of action.’

  Jack asked, ‘Do I discuss this with the Americans?’

  ‘Deny its arrival, delay it,’ the P.M. suggested. ‘When do you meet?’

  ‘A week.’

  ‘Sit on it till then.’

  A week later Jack got a note to say that the American Magestic letter had not turned up and they would be in touch when, and if, it ever did.

  Colonel Pointer’s Magestic letter 35

  Mr Ambassador,

  This coming year will see the Iraqi regime of Saddam Hussein put pressure upon the tiny Gulf principality of Kuwait. They feel they are owed money for helping to protect Kuwait from Iranian aggression, potential or realised.

  When threats fail they will seek your counterpart’s council regarding your reaction to an invasion of Kuwait. You may be tempted to allow the aggression, since it will give you the opportunity to send forces to the region to expel the aggressors and liberate Kuwait and, more importantly, to strike a blow against the large Iraqi army and to diminish its principal divisions. Unfortunately, the weakening or removal of the Saddam regime will result in Iraq splitting into three.

  The Shia south will join Iran, handing over the substantive oil fields to the Iranian regime and further threatening Kuwaiti oil fields.

  The Sunis will join with Syria, helping to destabilise that country.

  The Kurds will declare independence, drill their own oil and sell it, becoming a small rich state. Unfortunately, they will sponsor terrorism in Turkey, as they do now, and Turkey will invade and hold Northern Iraq, destabilising the region and Turkey itself.