LIVE, LOVE AND CRY
George B. Mair
© George B. Mair 1965
George B. Mair has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1965 by JARROLDS PUBLISHERS (LONDON) LTD.
This edition published in 2018 by Endeavour Media Ltd.
To
Sybell and Anthony McMillan of Whitecraigs,
Glasgow; to their family; and especially
to Fiona whose beauty would appeal to
David Grant.
With thanks for years of friendship.
Table of Contents
Chapter One – ‘Worse than the bomb. Worse than death.’
Chapter Two – ‘What else could they do but simply live—love—and cry?’
Chapter Three – ‘. . . One of the most sinister things I’ve ever seen.’
Chapter Four – ‘From here the figure looks like a blazing log.’
Chapter Five – ‘What sort of people do you think Her Majesty’s Government are?’
Chapter Six – ‘No wonder your leaders were worried.’
Chapter Seven – ‘These people are likely to be extremely sensitive.’
Chapter Eight – ‘I’ve got everything.’
Chapter Nine – ‘I do what comes naturally when I feel like it.’
Chapter Ten – ‘You came prepared.’
Chapter Eleven – ‘This is one fish which isn’t going to get away.’
Chapter Twelve – ‘You’ve given away two aces.’
Chapter Thirteen – ‘Is the man mad?’
Chapter Fourteen – ‘You may have a last cigarette.’
Chapter Fifteen – ‘This time it’s for keeps.’
Chapter One – ‘Worse than the bomb. Worse than death.’
‘The Prime Minister and American Ambassador have arrived.’ Admiral Cooper closed a heavy oak door and leaned against its rich dark wood. ‘Is everything under control at your end?’
Grant nodded and glanced out of the window. Visibility was perfect, the hills bright under autumn sun and with not even a breeze to ripple the grasses: or deflect a bullet at five hundred yards.
The tick-clack of a wall-clock and the splutter of burning logs was becoming oppressive. Tension had been building up for over a week, ever since Professor Juin had asked for an urgent private interview with the Chief and sent half the Department flying at short notice to Scotland.
He fidgeted uneasily. But was it really under control?
The Big House was several miles from any village and, of course, its solitary approach road could be sealed off in minutes. Though that was the least of his problems.
What about the hills? Security, like politics or love, was the art of the possible, and like politics or love security would always force a man to set his target high. Nothing more could now be done. By anybody. He could only hope. Two helicopters were already patrolling thirty square miles of open moorland with cameras whirring in their bellies which could photograph the print on a scrap of paper. Ten of ADSAD’s best men were curled deep in heather on the crest of every rise, the latest .300 Weatherby Magnums snuggled against their cheeks and with tracker dogs alert behind well-hidden butts. A radio barrage had been let loose to block any bug which might have been planted in the house, and a last-minute army exercise had been laid on to explain away the aircraft. In fact the whole area had become: ‘Strictly private. Firing in progress.’ But was all that enough?
As for the V.I.P.s. The Prime Minister had dodged his escort and motored up from the Borders alone, while the Ambassador had cut across from golf at Gleneagles. And without his tail . . . an administrative achievement which would take some explaining away if either Washington or Scotland Yard ever got wind of it. Not to mention Westminster and those blabbing tongues in the House which lived by pestering government during question time. But both cars had been covered by ADSAD experts and there had been no incidents. At least not yet, he thought grimly.
The Admiral stretched himself by the fire. ‘Scientists are driving me screwy. Even Juin.’
He sounded tired and Grant’s ears were pricked for trouble. There was an edge to the old man’s voice which showed that even he was scared sick. Professor Juin was the Department’s Director of Science and a level-headed expert of international standing with a Nobel Prize to his credit. But if he had rattled the Admiral enough to force this clandestine minor summit conference the danger-potential behind it all must be more than usually off-beat. ‘Did the Professor say much?’
‘Yes.’ The Admiral’s manner was dead-pan and Grant knew that he hated anyone trying to pump him.
A log exploded with the crack of a Mauser and sparks landed on the carpet. Both men twitched with reaction and Grant half jumped to his feet as his chief stared at him cynically. ‘Unlike you to be nervous, David. Give. What’s gotten under your skin?’
Grant watched as the old man refilled his pipe. The head of NATO’s Administrative Department controlling Security measures relating to Attack and Defence was in an unpredictable mood. ‘Perhaps because I’m still in the dark about what’s going on,’ he said at last. ‘It might help, sir, if you briefed me before we meet the big-wigs.’
His chief drew noisily at the briar. An old gag for killing time, as Grant remembered from bitter experience. ‘Sorry, David.’ The tone was final. ‘But this is Juin’s party and we want to hear your own immediate reaction hot off the girdle. The thing has a shock angle to it which might be important in deciding what’s got to be done.’ He hesitated and then went off at a tangent. ‘Where does one draw the line? I control Security and Defence under NATO. But where on earth does either Security or Defence begin or end? If Juin is on the right track, mid-century conventional war, even as we understand it, is finished.’
‘Something worse than the bomb?’
‘Worse than death,’ snapped the Admiral. ‘Which is why you are here. Because at present this looks like being another joint Anglo-American pro-ject, and since you’ve got a Yankee mother and a Limey father you may become necessary. Apart, of course,’ he added, ‘from the fact that you seem to have the knack of survival.’
Grant fumbled in his pockets. He had been trying to cut down on smoking, but it was still tough going. ‘Isn’t it a bit unusual for top politicals to meet men in my line? Thought the official angle was to deny that we existed.’
The Admiral smiled sourly. ‘Exceptions to everything. The Prime Minister wants to meet the man who got England tied up with Russia[1] over that meteorite business and the Ambassador is just as curious. Especially since they’ve both been told that Juin needs a strong-arm tactician who isn’t particular about methods.’
Juin! Back to the scientist! Grant eased himself in his chair and tried to interpret the activities of the past week, the equipment which had been brought up from the south and the team which had manhandled everything into the huge laboratory which now ranked as the most expensively intricate research unit in Britain.
The Big House had gone far since the Department had taken it over from those Americans who had first used it as a convalescent home for their Polaris Base on Holy Loch. But the loneliness of the place had made it a first choice when the Admiral had felt a need for a special centre of his own in which agents could be trained for undercover duties which demanded intensive training in the use of bizarre weapons like his own ‘nerve gases’ and ‘micro-rockets’. ‘How many are going to be there?’
The Admiral twinkled slightly. ‘Seven. Our distinguished visitors, Juin with his two assistants, and ourselves.’
‘And the drill?’
Cooper’s eyes darkened. If Grant had a fault it was that he wouldn’t take ‘no’ f
or an answer. ‘Juin will explain the set-up and give a demonstration to prove his point.’
‘With his assistants drinking in every syllable.’
‘Balls.’ The old man was angry now. ‘What in hell’s name do you think we are? Bloody amateurs? Juin once tracked down a couple of Jewish youngsters who had shown brilliant promise in Cracow and Prague before the war. Later, of course, the Germans clapped them into camps, and it’s a pity that when they came out some commandant or other had blown in their eardrums. However, he fixed them up in jobs as part of a resettlement programme for refugees, but drafted them into his own team when it became clear they were still a couple of winners. So when we took over in ’58 they came with him. Stone deaf, though. Both.’
‘Lip-reading?’ Grant had learned to doubt everyone.
‘That’s taken care of. Masks all round.’
‘Enough to hide features? The Prime Minister is pretty well known.’
The Admiral smiled sarcastically. ‘Surgical caps and masks, if you want to know: surgical gowns to make assurance doubly sure and operating boots clumsy enough to make us even walk differently. Satisfied?’
‘Food, drink and smoking?’
‘Juin’s staff exit after the demonstration and after that we can relax.’
Grant looked out again towards the hills. One chopper was still on view and he marked at least one head cresting the horizon directly in front of the house. The place was surrounded. And yet he was restless. A quivering instinct for danger was his finest weapon and even Admiral Cooper rated it as a supra-sensory perception. ‘What goddam bug is biting you now, David?’
‘I’d like to know more about how Juin got on to this story: how many other characters have got wind of it and exactly how dangerous they could be.’
The old man flopped into a lug-chair and thumped the bowl of his pipe against the grate. There would be more about that later, because the same problem was bothering more than Grant, but there was nothing to be done about it right now. And Juin knew David Grant better than any of them. They had worked and lived together for months over that nerve-gas business[2] and the Professor seemed to think that Grant’s instinctive appreciation of the tactical value of this new weapon could be valuable. Anyhow, it was still Juin’s party and he was entitled to play the stricken thing any way he wished. So if he wanted an information black-out until he took over that was the way it would have to be. ‘Zero hour at eleven ack emma, David,’ he said. ‘I see the point, but you’ve got to play this cool. Though naturally if you really feel that something is wrong do what you like to check up. Otherwise no dice until Juin has finished his count down.’
‘The lab?’ Grant’s knuckles suddenly blanched as he slammed the arm of his chair. ‘I saw a miniature TV camera the other day which could transmit a picture up to three miles through a transistor and an aerial disguised as a bit of wrought iron. Has Juin double-checked his apparatus? Because modern electronic and transistor backgrounds really make total security virtually impossible nowadays. As we’ve both learned to our cost.’
His thoughts darted back to that tautly disciplined organisation which operated against all governments for the private gain of a few ruthless top men, and to the bland genius who now controlled it. The Society for the Activation of Terror, Anarchy and Nihilism probably knew more about counter-espionage and cracking security than even Moscow or the Pentagon, and from his own experience of its boss man, Zero was better informed about everything which led either to power or hard cash than any world leader alive. ‘If Juin knows something, sir,’ he said flatly, ‘then you can bet your last dollar that Zero was on to it a week earlier. And if it’s big enough to bring the Premier and a top American up here then it’s big enough for SATAN.’ He hesitated. ‘Let me have a word with the Prof.’
Admiral Cooper shrugged his shoulders and left the room.
Juin was an Alsatian by birth and a cosmopolitan through experience, but Grant knew that his main line was biophysical research and that it would be easy enough for him to miss a well-hidden mike or wide-angle lens. And it now seemed that no expert had searched the one place which really mattered. He sighed as he heard their returning footsteps. Better late than never! Better sure than sorry!
The Professor was irritated at being interrupted, but listened while Admiral Cooper made it clear that he had nothing to do with this and stood toasting his tail at the fire until Grant had made his points. There was still an occasional bark from distant rifles outside and the helicopter still continued to hover like some obscene insect over the valley just beyond the first cordon.
‘Very well, monsieur,’ said Juin at last. ‘I agree. It is theoretically possible for some enemy or other to have interfered with our equipment. The lorries which brought it up stopped for food at two different road houses on M.1 and M.6. Against orders, of course. But the apparatus is not secret, and, anyhow, they did it. I’ve also discovered that the lorries were left unattended for just under an hour on each occasion and I accept that they might have been tampered with. But padlocks and seals were intact when they arrived. Though I also agree that that in itself means little or nothing where SATAN is concerned. So what do you want me to do?’
Grant smiled sourly. ‘You have an X-ray apparatus here which could be turned on for long enough to saturate the room with radiation. How about long enough exposure to ruin any hidden film? Then later we can set about seeing if we find any.’
‘Oui, monsieur. Can do.’ Juin always mixed his languages when he became excited. It was his one give-away signal. ‘But that would never counter a mini-television camera, though given another hour I could also contrive an electro-magnetic field which would neutralise any known apparatus even of that sort.’
‘Then contrive,’ said the Admiral sourly. ‘Time loss won’t do anything to sweeten the politicals, but we’ll issue coffee and postpone your lecture until midday. Okay?’
The Professor looked curiously towards Grant. Did he seriously believe that someone could overhear them or see what would be going on?
The Admiral struck still another match. Scientific trinkets had now made any decently organised service life impossible. But thank God for guys like Grant who worked on instinct and got a bull or an inner nine times out often. Worth their weight in gold even if they did create near chaos from time to time. ‘What Dr. Dav-id Grant says goes, so far as security is concerned in this show, Professor.’ His voice was deep with passion. ‘I hate every minute of life ever since science truth became more far-fetched than science fiction. Conventions have gone by the board and I’m too old to keep up with the times. But,’ he added coldly, ‘I’m still not too old to choose the right men for the right jobs and you two will continue to work in the closest co-operation. So if David wants to see inside your lab, then he sees. And that’s an order. Understand?’
Juin smiled thinly. The Admiral’s bark was worse than his bite and he knew him too well to be offended. ‘You also wish me to tell him the story behind this project?’
‘Not unless he says it’s a must. But I do wish him to have freedom to explore as he wishes.’
‘Not necessary at present,’ said Grant impatiently. ‘Better not disturb apparatus or delay things any longer than we can avoid. I’ll be quite happy if the Prof neutralises any film in the place and then does his stuff with electro-magnetic fields along the lines indicated. The short-wave radio barrage outside will still kill sound transmission and I just want to make sure that we’ve stymied all possible communication. Our object is to create total isolation.’
‘Then don’t let’s keep Professor Juin here any longer,’ said the Admiral curtly. ‘Fix these neutralising things and I’ll introduce Grant to the politicians.’
He glanced at the wall-clock as Juin crossed to the door. Just over an hour left. And two very top people probably wondering what all the delay was about. He stared at Grant thoughtfully. Almost anything could happen. The man was no respecter of persons and America’s Ambassador was a tough citizen. ‘Know
much about him?’ he snapped.
Grant smiled. ‘The Premier, yes. His American Excellency, no.’
‘Then let me wise you up. The Ambassador is an Arizona farmer. Stiff rich and with a solid silver fountain in the front hall of his ranch. Trains cowboys to win the Calgary Rodeo and runs the world’s best short-horn herd. Owns two private aircraft and the biggest Rolls outside of Saudi Arabia. Dead keen on children and thinks his own five are the tops. Married once. Daughter of a third-generation Bostonian senator and with enough private cash in her own right to pave Fifth Avenue with twenty-dollar bills. But never having known anything different she is still simple and unspoiled.’
Grant laughed. ‘Sounds as though you loved them like poison.’
The Admiral grunted non-comittally. ‘He was in my own grade at school.’
‘And the Premier?’ Grant could have written a book about the man but was curious to hear the Admiral’s appraisal.
‘Like all the rest. Looks like a city slick on the surface but tough as they come inside. Razor-edge brain and vivid imagination. Kind to animals and old people, but no holds barred where it affects the country’s interests. Better in reality than his television image, but sharp-tempered with juniors and dead suave with both the Press and opposition leaders. Keeps his temper at a price and said to be a candidate for either a coronary or a stroke if Sunday cartoonists continue to pillory him the way they are doing. In fact, a human kind of guy with human faults and a strong streak of sober patriotism.’
‘But has he enough imagination to cope with whatever problem it is that you’re keeping up your sleeve? The mystery which has brought the Ambassador up here with authority to speak for the President.’
‘He may have that for the moment,’ corrected the Admiral. ‘But in the end he’ll probably turn out to be only a message boy, because the President ought to be in the picture before Monday and it’s my bet that H.E. won’t be golfing much after Juin and I have finished with him. Not at least until he’s made a trip back home and sipped some rye at the White House.’
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