War on Terror™ update: You're all going to die and so are your kids (Pub-friendly) [The Rockall Times]

The people of Britain have been living in a fool's paradise of old-fashioned libertarian luxuries such as the right to trial by jury, freedom from phone-tapping and the ability to wander all over the country with only a passport and driving licence for identification, writes the home security and surveillance specialist Don Voyeur, whose wife Jocelyn drew attention to the problem over breakfast last Tuesday. Pointing to the evidence collected on the front page of The Daily Mail, she outlined the stark new realities of life in a 21st century defined by the all-pervasive threat of grisly death at the hands of fanatical terrorists relentlessly plotting to roll out their 9/11 model of aerial carnage worldwide.

City dwellers are particularly vulnerable to attack, she noted. Many of them might easily have been murdered several times over during the past year in a series of outrages were it not for the bravery of our secret service professionals who have managed to penetrate terrorist cells at home and abroad to uncover and thwart a projected wave of atrocities centred on Canary Wharf, Heathrow and other high-profile venues.

At long last a "senior authoritative source" has spoken out against this national scandal of dedicated heroes battling behind the scenes against an invisible enemy to protect the public from incalculable danger while receiving hardly a shred of recognition, let alone the gongs and plaudits they would have been showered with ages ago in any other profession. This shameful neglect simply couldn't be allowed to continue a minute longer said the source, who felt duty bound to shock the oblivious public out of its complacency.

But who was this mysterious source who seemed to know so much about it? No soooner had I formed the question than the answer was blindingly clear. A man with wit and charm enough to tease out the secret plans from the most hardened al-Qaeda operatives on his recent posting to the rugged border country of Pakistan close to the organisation's suspected HQ.

Jocelyn jumped as I lurched for the phone and punched through to the Ministry of Defence hotline, desperate to beat the rush and get my own back on the cheating bastards at The Times who'd shut me out last year by jamming the lines in the great national parlour game of "Out the Mole" when I knew all along it was David Kelly.

This time yours truly was way ahead of the field. "Who is it?" rasped the familiar-sounding voice of the quizmaster at the other end of the line.

I took a deep breath and went for gold. "Is it Michael Palin?" I asked.

"No, you idiot! He's far too much in the public eye. We're talking 'deep throat' here. Someone who does it in private — 'swallows the seed', 'blows the master's trumpet.' Come on man, how many clues do you need?"

Suddenly it clicked. To the hacks on The Daily Mail — spoon fed with Downing Street soundbites — it was just a rumour, but on one of my secret jaunts along the corridors of power during those heady nights leading up to the publication of the famous dossier in September 2002 I had followed my nose to a shadowy boardroom and actually witnessed a seminal exchange.

I had seen the kneeling profile of the spooky editor in chief, recognisable by the huge dome of a forehead nodding in loyal service to his political master who stood grinning with hands behind buttocks, hips thrust forward jauntily.

Suddenly the slurping stopped. I heard snatches of intimate whispering.

"Can I be head of MI6 after this, sir?"

"Play your cards right, do what Alistair says and we'll see. Now shut up and get your head down, I've only got five minutes."

I snapped out of my reverie. "Of course! It's that man who did nothing wrong, the sexer upper, joint intelligence chief, what's his name, John Beetroot, John Blameless, John —"

"Scarlett."

"That's the one. I knew there was something shifty about him."

"Shifty? Are you crazy?" the quizmaster retorted. "He's only our biggest unsung national hero. He's only gone and orchestrated the repeated capture of a band of terrorists in full possession of valid pilots' licences and box cutters just about to set off in a taxi for Gatwick."

Hmm, there was something that didn't quite fit, and I voiced my concern. "Where are they then, these terrorists, why aren't they on trial?" I queried.

My interlocutor fairly exploded. "It would never stand up in court you bloody fool! Doddery old judges misdirecting the jury with talk of circumstantial evidence, unsafe conviction and so on. John and his mates have no choice but to let the bastards go. That's why we need the draconian new laws."

Something in the belligerent tone had rung another bell. "Hang on, you're not the MOD at all are you," I asserted, "you're that macho Leader of the House, Peter La Haine."

"Peter La Haine!" Jocelyn gasped from across the table. "That man is so dishy! Do invite him round to the neighbours for some S&M, Don. I can't wait to see him in leathers cracking the whip."

I put it to La Haine, but he made his excuses. As Sod's Law would have it he'd recently been invited by the fox-hunting brigade to experience the thrill of the chase for himself and discovered how bloody brilliant it was. He now spends all his weekends charging with hounds through the fields and gardens of the Home Counties as if it were going out of fashion, and he won't be available to pop round for S&M until the Spring. But when he does, The Rockall Times readers will be treated to a first-hand, blow-by-blow account of the Minister's antics in what promises to be an eye-popping spectacle.

War on Terror™ update: You're all going to die and so are your kids

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