“I’m sure whatever you have in mind will do very nicely,” she said. “Let me know of his final disposition.”

“I shall do so,” Barnes replied.

She heard a knock on her door. “Hold on a moment, Tim,” Felicity said. “Come in!”

Sims entered and handed her a slip of paper. “Here are the entry code and password to the website,” he said. “Everything will be up and running by five PM. And, by the way, we’re adding some dialogue to the audio—grunts and ecstatic groans.”

She turned back to her phone conversation. “Tim?”

“I’m here.”

“I’m going to read you the entry code and password to a highly secret website, created especially for this event. After five o’clock, you’ll be able to view the brigadier’s holiday video.”

“That’s grand, Felicity. I’ll pass it on to the First Lord of the Admiralty and the foreign minister. I don’t think it will need to go any further than that.”

“That should be quite far enough,” she replied. “When it has done its work we’ll archive it, just in case it’s needed in the future.”

They both said goodbye and hung up.

31

Brigadier Fife-Simpson arrived back at his London flat, checked his mail, and found a request from the First Sea Lord that he appear at the Admiralty the following day for a reassignment interview.

—

At the appointed hour, dressed in his uniform, he reported to Admiral Sir Tim Barnes as instructed. He was greeted warmly by his old friend and given coffee, then Sir Tim got to the point.

“Roger,” Sir Tim said, “I’ve been looking through our vacancy lists for a new assignment for you.”

“I’m raring to go, Tim,” the brigadier replied, being so bold as to address him familiarly, since they were alone.

“I’ve found you something—a command, actually, that while it may seem a bit farther south than what you’re accustomed to, might be just the sort of assignment that could lead to greater things in the future. After all, a hardship post can look very good on one’s record when, in the future, one comes before an Admiralty board. I expect you’re aware that, now that you are of flag rank, promotions and reassignments require board approval.”

Hardship? Fife-Simpson thought, a bit alarmed. “Farther south, did you say?” he asked.

“The Falklands, actually. That’s as far south as one can go. You’d be in command of the detachment there.”

The brigadier frowned a little. “How large a detachment?” he asked.

“Twelve officers and seventy of the lower ranks. All men, I’m afraid. The First Lord thought it best, for his own reasons, not to send women down there.”

“And what does the detachment do there, sir?” He thought it best not to be familiar again.

“They guard the Falklands,” Sir Tim replied.

“From what, sir?”