‘M3C make everything from anti-tank missiles to space launch vehicles. The way they read the rules, there’s nothing wrong with lending assistance to the Iranians as long as it’s for defensive purposes or ends up in space. That’s not exactly how I’d interpret the rules of the Missile Technology Control Regime, but in Putin’s Russia, nobody much seems to care as long as it brings in the bacon – and, trust me, when it comes to hard cash, the Iranians have petro-dollars aplenty to splash about. Have you ever been to a defence exhibition?’
I shook my head, although that wasn’t exactly true – I’d once been to the British Army Equipment Exhibition during my time in the Regiment, but I couldn’t be arsed to explain. I just wanted him to keep waffling.
‘There are a number of elements to any exhibition that are important to journalists. The first is the press centre. Every major defence exhibition has a place set aside for the media, a place the hacks can go to file their stories, meet up and grab a beer.’ He laughed. ‘Although that clearly won’t be an option in Iran.
‘The press centre will keep you informed as to whether there are any announcements that day and whether the major news conferences are due to be held in the dedicated conference centre or in one of the chalets of the exhibiting companies.’
‘Chalets?’ He made it sound like a ski resort.
‘An exhibition area is divided into exhibition space, usually in covered areas, where the companies show off their hardware, and chalet areas where their execs do all their hobnobbing.’
‘So what are the magic words to get you in?’
‘I’m sure Iranian Revolutionary Guards will be on hand to ensure that hacks don’t wander where they’re not supposed to. But in a Western defence exhibition – Farnborough or Paris or IDEX – they let accredited media into the chalet area. The big companies like to keep the press onside. I don’t know how it will be in Iran. You’ll just have to play it by ear.’
He glanced at the Russian missile seeker that was now sitting on his desk like some bizarre executive toy.
I followed his gaze. ‘You nick that?’
Kettle smiled for the first time. ‘Let’s just say there’s a Russian exhibitions manager who’s probably still in the
‘I hope it was worth it.’
‘Certainly was. We hadn’t seen this particular variant of the seeker-head before. That’s why defence exhibitions are such good value.’ He looked at me earnestly. ‘I have no idea why you’re going in and it’s none of my business. I just hope thatit’s – as you say – worth it.’ He looked at the clock. We were out of time. I picked up the envelope and the other material he’d selected for me and headed for the door.
‘One other thing…’
I turned to see him playing with the seeker-head.
‘The new SA-16M. Read about it in your notes. The missile’s seeker has some kind of fault. It’s important that we know what it is, and what they’re doing to correct it. That was my sole reason for going to IranEx. Any information you can find about the 16M is vitally important to DIS.’
The moment I closed the door behind me I pictured him grabbing his Nick Stone voodoo doll from the filing cabinet and jabbing its bollocks with pins.
Monday, 4 May
1039 hrs
As the Galaxy people-carrier sped west along the A4 by the Chiswick flyover, I gazed out at the high-rise office construction projects stalled by the credit crunch and wondered how the skyline would look in Tehran.
Julian had handed over all the supporting documentation I’d need – passport and business cards in the name of James Manley, a letter of commission from the editor of
The traffic bunched on the Heathrow spur road. I reached down for Kettle’s envelope. I’d have a couple of hours at the airport and a good few more
I pulled out a clutch of papers marked ‘Technology’ in the squadron leader’s spidery handwriting. There was a note attached with a paperclip to some cuttings on an advanced handheld missile.
