In a stunning display of clairvoyance that would make Mystic Meg weep with envy, the Federal Bureau of Investigation has once again foiled a dastardly plot to assassinate US officials at the White House. This time, it was a veritable smorgasbord of wannabe jihadists, who apparently thought a trip to the Big Apple with a car full of explosives would be as easy as ordering a pizza. UK counter-terror, ever eager for a bit of transatlantic solidarity, have been put on high alert, presumably meaning they will now be triple-checking the bins at Heathrow for anything that goes bump in the night.
The plot, according to sources who definitely exist and are not just figments of a fed's imagination, involved a convoluted scheme of beheadings, bombings, and general Mayhem with a capital 'M'. The plotters, described as 'inspired' by some beard-stroking cleric in a cave, were allegedly planning to storm the White House gates with machetes and tactical vests. One wonders if they consulted the Google Maps traffic first. The FBI, in their infinite wisdom, had been surveilling the gang for months, no doubt sipping lattes and jotting down notes about who bought the most fluoride-free toothpaste.
The ringleader, a chap with a name that sounds like a brand of kebab shop, was apprehended while trying to purchase a suicide vest on Etsy. His cohorts were picked up later, engaged in a heated argument about whether martyrdom includes a 401k plan. The UK's counter-terror units, rummaging through their toolkit of stern looks and travel bans, have been placed on standby. Because if there's one thing Americans love, it's telling the Brits to be alert but not alarmed.
Meanwhile, the Great British Public, who were just getting used to the idea that a lettuce could outlast a Prime Minister, are now expected to eye suspiciously any backpack that looks mildly menacing. The Home Secretary, in a statement that could have been written by a particularly anxious A-Level student, assured us that 'all necessary measures' are being taken. This translates to more men in hi-vis jackets looking glum at train stations.
But let's not forget the real victims here: the journalists who now have to cobble together a coherent report from unnamed sources and leaked WhatsApp messages. And the taxi drivers who will have to endure endless 'Driver, I'm not a terrorist!' jokes. The sheer audacity of the plot is almost admirable. Almost. Because if you're going to attempt regicide in the age of drone strikes and Predator drones, at least have the decency to fail with style. Not this half-hearted 'we bought some kitchen knives and a van' nonsense.
In conclusion, the FBI has saved the day again, proving that the only thing standing between us and chaos is a bunch of bureaucrats with a penchant for acronyms and bad coffee. The UK is on alert, which means we will now be subjected to more patronising announcements at airports and marginally more thorough pat-downs at the theatre. Huzzah for the War on Terror, where the real threat is that we might run out of gin before the next false alarm.
