Baghdad. July. 2003

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I'm a spy; a spook; a spectre; a ghost. I work for the UK Secret Intelligence Service, also known as UKSIS or MI-6. 

Nice to meet you.

So, there I was, quietly minding my own business in the bowels of the UKSIS building on the banks of the Thames, when my boss summons me to his office:

“Superficially, you will be the Service’s generous contribution to HMG’s part in something called the Iraq Survey Group or ISG. This is a multinational, multi-agency Task Force being set up by the Americans to systematically hunt for Weapons of  Mass Destruction. We know, of course, there are no such weapons to be found, do we not?” he says.

Huh? We do?? I missed that memo!

Next thing you know, I'm staring at dead bodies in a ratty villa in the stifling heat of Iraqi summer, although it's so hot I think maybe the RAF dropped me off in Hell by mistake.

To be fair, the weapons might not be here, but there are still plenty of scientists capable of building these awful things. So I'm supposed to find a dozen of the best – or worst if you like – and offer them a way out that doesn’t include terrorism or the Axis of Evil.

This seems like a pretty important job to me, but for some reason I’m alone and off the books, without backup or support. Thanks a lot!

Just to make it even harder, these eggheads don’t want to be found and I’m barely one step ahead of a CIA hit-squad intent on erasing them permanently. 

All this while surrounded by unexploded ordnance, IEDs,  insurgents, political mayhem, and angry locals.

A quiet day at the office then.