More Harm Than Good

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The man looked much older than his reputed thirty-five years. His hair was thinner, and his face was slacker and more sallow than his picture had suggested. I couldn’t compare his height, though. Because he was on the ground, kneeling in front of two Royal Marines.

        One of the Marines had a pistol levelled on the bridge of the man’s nose.

        And for a moment, I was tempted to let him pull the trigger.

There are dozens of different job roles in all the British Embassies and Consulates around the world, but one thing unites everyone who works in them. A phone number. During their training, everyone – from Ambassadors to janitors to chefs – has it drummed into them. The number to call if they come across anything remotely suspicious. An unfamiliar piece of IT equipment. A strange noise on the phone. An unrecognised entry in a fax journal. A ragged seal on an envelope. A change in a colleague’s behaviour.

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