Reverend Dumb

By Mike Scantlebury

The people of Britain must make a momentous, yes an historic, decision. They are being allowed to decide whether the country should remain as part of the European Community, or should cut off its border at the English Channel and become independent. Again. For the first time in forty years, a Referendum is taking place. Passions are running high. Politicians are becoming agitated. People are getting killed. If only Mickey was there to take care of things. Unfortunately, he is spending a lot of time in the hospital, watching over Melia, who went in for a routine bit of surgery, but is suffering complications. Since they are both missing, Security Agency WSB has to find some other poor souls to do the work - like Deputy Director Caulfield, and computer technician Terry. Neither have the skills for Field Work and Operations, and quickly get out of their depth. If only the visiting Chinese delegation would behave, but, strangely, they are acting like terrorists. Businessmen? They are not what they seem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326746032

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Reverend Dumb

REVEREND  DUMB

by

Mike Scantlebury

Mickey from Manchester: Book 10

ISBN:  978-1-326-74603-2

c. Mike Scantlebury 2016

Standard Copyright applies, which means that if you steal any words from me, I will send Amelia Hartliss round to your house and she will take your soul.

This edition put in place by Mike Scantlebury.

CHAPTER ONE:  Seven the same

Richard Caulfield, Deputy Director of WSB, Britain's foremost unit in British Security, was feeling like a duck out of water.

A Peking Duck.

He was standing at the door of the Mayor's Parlour in the Civic Centre in Swinton, the Town Hall of the city of Salford, waiting for the Chinese trade delegation to finish being introduced to the Lord Mayor of Salford. Why was he there? Because he was spare, maybe, surplus to requirements. The only man the Unit could afford to lose that day.

Everyone else was on Referendum Watch.

Great Britain was in the process of making a great decision: whether or not to remain as an integral part of the European Community or to leave and go its own sweet way. It was the first time the electorate had been given the chance to vote on the issue in forty years and the last time, way back in the 1970s, it was a different world. Caulfield himself, of course, had been a schoolboy at the time, and not allowed to vote. Still, it had been all the talk of the dorm, in the small public school he had been living in, and the older boys had organised a great debate, which the younger ones could only stand back and marvel at. It seemed like a big thing, he remembered. This time round, he wasn't so bothered.

Still, it was bad news for WSB. As the primary anti-terrorism unit in the country, they had all been working overtime, checking internet chatter, looking for plots and listening in to suspicious conversations. Captain Gibson, the Director, was convinced that some of the fiercest terrorist groups they were monitoring would take the opportunity to create trouble and seize the headlines with an outrage or two. He had put the whole team on High Alert, cancelling holidays and calling in all the agents. They were all needed at Regional Office, the Unit's base in the North West of England.

All except the Deputy Director, Richard Caulfield.

That wasn't quite true, of course. He did have some expertise in the small case he had been assigned to. It was true: he had been resident for many years in Hong Kong, and had some specialist knowledge of the Chinese state. When the need arose to check out these Chinese visitors, it seemed obvious that Caulfield might be the man to do the scrutiny. He was always saying he had a 'particular grasp' of the oriental mentality, so perhaps that was the reason the Director trusted his Deputy with the task.

Besides, there was something quite 'particular' about this newly-arrived group. They had brought their own Chaplain.

Scanning down the names of the delegates, Gibson had been struck immediately by the last one on the list. Reverend Umh. Why would the Chinese need a vicar with them? The government of China had been hostile to the Christian church ever since the Marxist Revolution of 1949. True, they had softened that approach in recent years, but still, bringing a Christian Minister along as an integral part of the party was distinctly odd. He needed to know why.

Perhaps Mr Caulfield could find that out for him.

The Unit had been having trouble with Christians in the last few months. In a short interval, Christian terrorists had attempted to mount several outrages in England. The worst group was CWO, or 'Christian World Order'. The centre of their operations was in Africa, where they were attempting to carve out a new Christendom in the heart of the jungle. The terrorists, inspired by the writing of Saint John the Divine, were convinced that the End of the World was quite close, and they needed a base of operations for the purpose of receiving enlightenment and salvation. The armed revolutionaries were taking advantage of the civil wars in sub-Saharan Africa to seize vast tracts of land and call it their own.

It was a costly exercise. Funds were flooding in from Britain and Europe, of course, but there were other streams - identified by the Technical Department of WSB. One of those sources seemed to be China.

Was it so far-fetched to imagine that Chinese fundamentalists were sending their cash to support the insurrection?

Perhaps it was with the support of their government, WSB speculated. That was Mr Gibson's worst nightmare. What if the Christians had inveigled their way into the Chinese government and had succeeded in convincing the regime to back their cause?

It wasn't impossible. There was Chinese money paying for dams and roads, new factories and infrastructure, all over Africa. Maybe some of that largesse was finding its way to CWO, or NCC, or CHT, or any other of the fanatical groupings. Gibson wanted to know; such activities could possibly destabilise the whole of the continent, but worse, would have huge implications for politics back home. Particularly at a time like this: while all eyes were on Europe, Britain could be losing the battle for democracy and a stable world a few thousand miles away, in the deserts and savannahs of Africa.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

Of course, Captain Gibson didn't know everything. Ever since Caulfield had come back from Hong Kong and taken up his new position, the Deputy had got used to the idea of keeping secrets from his boss.

Right now, the deception was small, but simple: he knew Reverend Umh.

It was such a small point. The Deputy Director recognised the name immediately. The ordained Minister had been a rabble rouser and trouble-maker in Hong Kong for many years. Word was that he was one of the strongest voices advocating the anti-government policy of not giving the Colony back to China in 1997. He had helped organise 'demonstrations', or riots, as Caulfield had seen them to be, and different forms of civil disobedience, which included not paying taxes, or tram fares, and blocking major roads with hundreds of cars, which caused traffic chaos.

Then he disappeared.

The rumour was that he left after the handover and went elsewhere in South Asia, maybe Cambodia. After all, he had been a missionary for many years, everyone said, and had even spent time in South America in his younger years, fighting with the revolutionaries there. Worse, he might have gone to Africa. So, Caulfield agreed with his superior on one thing: if Umh had spent time on the Dark Continent, he might have been infected with the CWO virus while he was there.

What could be more natural than finding his way back to China, perhaps through clandestine means, and worming his way into the affections of the regime? Then, joining overseas missions and official visits, he would have a way of spreading his poison around the whole of the Western world. It was a real danger.

Unfortunately, Caulfield had not yet had a chance to talk to the man. The Reverend had been caught up in the midst of his delegation, especially during the presentations and introductions. The Deputy Director decided to bide his time: maybe he could get closer to the Christian Minister when the buffet was served and people started to mingle.

Something else happened before that. The Gee-Bippers arrived.

Caulfield recognised the man in the suit straight away. He had been the GBIP candidate for Elected Mayor of Salford, only a few short weeks ago. He had lost, of course, badly, but his party was still buoyant, still busy. Why shouldn't they be? GBIP, or the Great Britain Independence Party, was the only group that had consistently advocated leaving Europe - even before the Referendum had been announced. They were fierce in their beliefs and abusive in their speeches.

So what did they want with the Chinese visitors?

Caulfield nearly missed the chance to find out. He was distracted when a flunky in a dinner jacket announced food was served. When he turned back, the GBIP man had vanished. The Deputy Director scanned the room. Yes, there he was: heading for the toilet. Caulfield, for once, ignored his stomach's insistent need, and set off in pursuit.

He burst through the door, panting with effort. It was more effort to calm down, breathe easily and act natural, strolling towards a urinal. The GBIP fanatic was over by the sink, a Chinese man beside him. They were quick to feign innocence, but Caulfield saw the envelope changing hands. The transaction was clear.

The Chinese were giving funding to GBIP.

They supported the cause of 'leaving Europe'? The Deputy Director wasn't surprised. If the UK did quit the European Community, it would make Britain easier to isolate and pick off, say, by an aggressive and expansionist China, for instance. We, the Brits, would have no friends to turn to, no gathering of nations to support us.

We would be easy pickings, the Deputy was thinking, seething inwardly.

That GBIP twat, he was thinking. He's betraying the country. He's a traitor.

Caulfield was so furious, he didn't notice a man enter the room and stand next to him. Not until he spoke.

Say nothing, Mickey hissed.

The Deputy Director turned to see his top agent standing beside him. How could he act casual, he wondered?

Mickey had something small and plastic in his hand. It was a memory stick, a USB pen. He handed it over.

Briefing from Tech, he whispered.

They could have emailed it, Caulfield was thinking. They didn't, so the backroom boys must be really worried about being hacked, interfered with or compromised. It was important information? Important enough for WSB to send its top man!

Mickey. Tall, imposing, dressed smartly in his trade-mark dark suit, he looked almost as good as Caulfield that day. The Deputy Director, of course, was known for his smart appearance, sparing no expense on Italian suits and silk ties.

They made quite a pair. Good-looking guys on a night out in town.

Who's the Chinese fellah? Mickey asked quietly.

I don't know him.

It was true. Caulfield had not got round to speaking to any of them. He didn't know which was which.

What about your friend?

Oh, you'll recognise him, Mickey, the Deputy Director was thinking. The Reverend was wearing a dog collar, white on black shirt, like all good Christian pastors. That was straightforward, at least.

What have you said to him?

Caulfield looked blank. I haven't spoken to him. He hasn't said anything to me.

In fact, he hasn't said much to any of his compatriots either. He's been almost completely dumb.

He's different, Caulfield blurted.

Mickey stared at him. In what way? he wanted to know.

It was something about the way he moved. Caulfield had only seen him from a distance, but he had noticed it straight away. The new Umh was edgy, almost aggressive. He wasn't speaking, but he was moving, manoeuvring.

He just wasn't the way he remembered him.

How do you remember him? Mickey asked, intrigued.

He was lovely, the Deputy Director was thinking.

Meanwhile, back at Regional Headquarters, the Director had problems of his own.

With the Americans.

I'm glad you could meet me here, the