The café smells of bacon. Grease. Strong tea. Six tables. Chipped mugs. Steamed windows. Faded red curtains. A radio mumbles racing results. Silverware clinks against plates. A place civil servants wouldn't be seen. Perfect.
Malcolm sits with his back to the wall. Fifty-eight. Permanent Secretary. Grey suit. Yesterday's shirt. He taps the rim of his mug. Once. Twice. Three times. A habit. He's been doing it for twenty years.
Across from him, Diana. Younger. Forty-five. Director at Cabinet Office. Navy blazer. Pearl earrings. Hair pulled back tight. She slices her sausage into perfect equal pieces. Methodical. She hasn't touched her toast.
"We’ve got an AI sovereignty problem," Malcolm says.
"Yes."
"Completely fucked."
Diana nods. Small movement. Barely there.
A couple at the next table stands. Scraping chairs. Paying bill. Leaving with a blast of cold air.
The waitress refills their tea. Order pad in hand. Pen tucked behind ear. They wait. Silent. Calculating. She leaves.
“We have no independent capability in AI. And any half effective government will be all AI in next to no time. And our newly unreliable allies are the only game in town.”
"GCHQ assessment?" Diana asks.
Malcolm stirs sugar. One spoon. "Ninety percent of our systems. Foreign dependencies."
"American."
"Yes."
"And now?"
Malcolm's eyes dart around the room. Checking. Always checking. A waiter drops a plate in the kitchen. Loud crash. Muffled cursing. Malcolm doesn't flinch. "Embassy's gone quiet. Tech channels too."
"Their companies?"
"Still operating. For now."
Diana arranges her cutlery. Perfect parallel lines. "Our capabilities are insufficient."
"Laughable," Malcolm says. "Pathetic."
A lorry passes outside. The windows rattle.
"Faculty?" Diana asks.
"Overextended. Under-resourced."
"DeepMind?"
"Google-owned now. Yes, big London operations, but owned entirely by our capricious “allies”."
Diana takes a precisely measured bite. Chews exactly twelve times. Swallows. "The Home Office facial recognition program?"
"Contracted to a Virginia firm."
"Christ."
Malcolm's finger taps. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Benefits system. Tax. NHS diagnostics. Border control. All of it. Foreign dependencies. Nearly all US."
"Treasury's position?"
"They don't understand. Don't want to. Numbers people. Not strategic."
Diana wipes her lips. Precise. Deliberate. "The PM?"
Malcolm's mouth tightens. A fraction. "Been briefed. Twice. Didn't stick. Election mode."
"And our friend at Number Ten?"
"Obsessed with headlines. AI sovereignty doesn't fit on a placard."
The café fills. Office workers. Tourists. Cover. A woman in a red coat shakes her umbrella. Water droplets on the floor. The bell above the door jingles. Constant. A builder orders the full English. Loud voice. The waiter weaves between tables. Balancing plates. Background noise.
"Options?" Diana asks.
Malcolm places his fork on the plate. Exact center. "Three paths. All bad."
"First?"
"Capitulation. Accept client state status. Hope for mercy."
Diana's right eyebrow rises. Two millimeters. Her version of outrage.
"Second?"
"European consortium."
"After Brexit? After everything?"
"Desperate times."
"Third?"
Malcolm leans forward. Fraction of an inch. "Sovereign capability. Core functions only. Critical infrastructure. Defense. Intelligence. Treasury. Health emergency response."
"Timeline?"
"Five years. Minimum. Ten to be credible."
"Cost?"
"Thirty billion. Maybe fifty."
Diana doesn't blink. "Against what budget?"
"That's the question."
A pause. Eight seconds. Both calculating. Someone's phone rings. Muted quickly. The espresso machine hisses. Steam clouds. The cook calls out for service.
"Talent?" Diana asks.
Malcolm's expression shifts. Fractionally. "Mixed picture."
"Meaning?"
"HA dribble from China. But Americans are coming here in droves."
"Because of the new regime?"
"Yes. Opportunities. Opening."
Diana arranges her fork and knife. Perfect symmetry. "Numbers?"
"Two hundred last quarter. Some from MIT. Stanford. Berkeley."
"Quality?"
"Very good. Not just juniors. Research leads. Ethics teams."
"Ironic," Diana says.
"Indeed." Malcolm sips his tea. "Their loss. Our gain."
Diana taps the table. Once. "Chinese infrastructure options?"
"DeepSeek. Open source. Others."
"Security concerns?"
"Extreme. Have to hold our nose. Eyes wide open."
"Vetting process?"
"Triple-layered. New protocols. GCHQ oversight. Compartmentalised."
Diana sips her tea. Considering. "Parliament would never approve direct engagement."
"Arm's length. Academic partnerships. Private sector buffer."
"Ah."
Malcolm's eyes meet hers. Direct. Rare. "We'd need to restructure."
"Meaning?"
"New entity. Outside normal frameworks. Black budget."
"Deniable?"
"Essential."
"Precedent?"
"Manhattan Project. Bletchley. GCHQ's early years."
Diana's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "That serious?"
"Existential."
Silence. Fifteen seconds.
Diana places her napkin beside her plate. Aligned perfectly with the edge. "The law?"
"We'd need adjustments. Procurement rules. Data protection. Research limitations."
"Parliament again."
"National Security and Technical Innovation Act."
"Doesn't exist."
"Not yet."
Diana's eyes narrow. Calculating. "Our friend with the committee?"
"Receptive. If positioned correctly. Defense angle. Jobs. Investment outside London."
"Realistic chances?"
Malcolm shrugs. Bare movement of shoulders. "Thirty percent. Maybe less."
"If we fail?"
"Gradual surrender of sovereign functions. Two years for critical defense systems. Five for most of government."
Diana taps her finger on the table. Once. Unconscious mirror of Malcolm's habit. "And personally?"
Malcolm almost smiles. Almost. "Career suicide. Probably."
"Worth it?"
"What else is there?"
Tea arrives. Fresh pot. A group of students enters. Backpacks. Loud laughter. Taking the corner table. The waitress lingers. Wipes down their table. Unnecessarily. They wait for her to leave.
"Next steps?" Diana asks.
"Classified inventory. System by system. Dependency mapping. Foreign components. Points of leverage."
"Timeline?"
"Two weeks. Working group. Seven people. Trusted."
"Names?"
"Your technical director. My deputy. GCHQ's AI lead. Treasury compliance. Number Ten's security advisor."
"Two more?"
"Academics. Cambridge. Imperial."
Diana considers. "Approved."
Malcolm slides a paper napkin across the table. Eight words written in neat block letters. The waiter passes by. Clears empty plates from nearby. Diana shields the napkin with her hand. Reads. Memorises. The waiter moves on. Malcolm takes it back. Tears it. Puts the pieces in his tea.
"Tomorrow?" Diana asks.
"COBRA meeting room four. Not on official schedule."
"Cover story?"
"Tariffs readiness review."
A thin smile from Diana. "No one will question that."
"No one pays attention anymore."
"Funding?"
"Initial steps from contingency. After that... creative accounting."
Diana finishes her tea. Precise movements. "Strange days."
"Indeed." Malcolm places a twenty-pound note under his saucer. "Sufficient?"
Diana nods.
They stand. No handshake. No acknowledgment. A bus passes. Windows steaming. Brakes squealing. Malcolm leaves first. Brushes past a delivery man with boxes. Diana counts to sixty before following. The café buzzes around them. Dishes clatter. Coffee grinder whirrs. A child drops a spoon. Oblivious.
Outside, rain begins to fall. The smell of wet pavement. Traffic lights changing. Life continues.