The Hour of Camelot

by Alan Fenton

  Lancelot cut in. ‘Lead Titan braking. Speed dropping sharply.’ Agravaine wiped the sweat from his bald head. Crouched over the table monitor, Arthur muttered, ‘The wings! Look at the wings!’ In the wings of both Titans four portholes had opened.

  From Techforce came the news they were all dreading:

  ‘Missile motors start-up! Missile motors start-up!

  Twenty Seven

  NIWIS

  High above the ocean the Titans floated like great birds, their wings quivering in the turbulence created by the opened portholes.

  From Techforce: Fighters four minutes from target, Titans fourteen minutes from US coast.

  ‘Excalibur fully charged,’ reported Lancelot, conveying by his tone of voice his extreme disapproval of the high-risk waiting game they were playing. Why had Arthur not ordered him to take out the Titans? If the US fighters arrived too late, the consequences would be unthinkable.

  ‘Stand by, Lance,’ said Arthur. The President was on screen and came straight to the point. ‘NASA is picking up infra-red signals from the Titans. The missile motors are running,’ he said, ‘but I guess you knew that already.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Arthur.

  ‘My experts assure me it will be at least another four minutes before the Titans are able to launch their missiles. By that time our fighters will have taken them out.’

  ‘I hope your experts know what they’re talking about,’ said Arthur.

  ‘That makes two of us,’ said the President.

  From Techforce: Fighters two minutes from target, Titans twelve minutes from US coast.

  The strain showed on everyone’s face. Agravaine in Galaxy and Tich in NIWIS were both thinking the same thing. Had Arthur left it too late? Agravaine’s fingers hovered uncertainly over the keyboard, but there was nothing to feed into his computer, nothing to transmit, nothing to be done but wait.

  From Techforce: Fighters one minute from target, Titans eleven minutes from US coast.

  From the lead fighter, relayed by Techforce, came the signal confirming that all five fighter aircraft were locked on to their targets. Five seconds later the dispassionate voice of the pilot was on speaker: ‘Missiles launched . . . twenty seconds to impact.’ Then silence.

  As Agravaine hammered the keyboard, Galaxy’s wall monitors displayed ten missiles homing in on their targets. Over the speakers Techforce relayed the final countdown . . . seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen . . . Agravaine bounced nervously on his stool, Arthur sat motionless, eyes bright . . . Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three . . . On the count of two came Lancelot’s frenzied shout: ‘Titan missiles launching!’ As the US missiles hit their targets the two aircraft disintegrated, the dramatic images captured on the big table screen and on the banks of monitors lining the control room walls. Two flowers of fire bloomed in the blue sky, merging instantly into one massive fireball that was itself obliterated by a billowing mass of dust and smoke. A split second later, from the centre of the seething maelstrom, the boom of two near-simultaneous explosions reverberated in Galaxy. As if protesting at this affront to their kingdom, the Atlantic winds shrieked and howled their fury, tearing apart the dust cloud and scattering it to the four corners of the globe.

  The unspoken thought was on everyone’s mind. In those last dying seconds before they were destroyed, had the Titans launched their nuclear missiles? Arthur was the first to react. ‘Calling Eclipse.’ No answer.

  Once more he tried. ‘Lance, do you copy?’

  The gravitational waves were silent. ‘Lancelot, do you copy?’ After what seemed an interminable delay came the response.

  ‘I copy.’

  ‘Were Titans’ missiles launched? I repeat – were Titans’ missiles launched?’

  ‘That’s a negative,’ said Lancelot. ‘Missiles were not, repeat not launched,’

  The tension in the control room eased. Agravaine slumped on his stool, Arthur breathed an audible sigh of relief. ‘Missiles were destroyed when the Titans blew up,’ confirmed Lancelot, who sounded less than pleased. ‘Another second,’ he could not resist adding, ‘and it would have been a very different story.’

  As Eclipse, still mantled, hovered at sixty thousand feet, Techforce analysed the incoming data: Prevailing wind east- north-east, dust clouds have re-formed into one main cloud mass one thousand metres high, three thousand metres wide . . . now moving towards US east coast . . .

  Agravaine handed Arthur the calculation. Based on current wind speed and direction the cloud would reach the east coast in half an hour. Data from a mini-satellite sent into the cloud by Eclipse revealed that it was filled with millions of fragments and dust particles all contaminated by radiation from the destroyed nuclear warheads and fissionable material on board the Titans. Though the President was exultant that his fighters had destroyed the Titans and their deadly payload, he too had received disturbing data from the dust cloud. ‘Frankly, Arthur, this whole business is turning into a major disaster for the United States. We’re being made to look like fools. We’ll just have to handle it the best way we can, but I’m gonna make damned sure nothing like this ever happens again.’ ‘How will you do that?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘Nuke the bastards,’ said the President harshly.

  It was what Arthur had feared. ‘No,’ he said, ‘that’s not the answer. It could start a world nuclear war, and it would kill thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of people.’

  The President shrugged. ‘I didn’t make the world the way it is,’ he said. ‘From time to time I ask myself who’s guilty and who’s innocent. And you know what? There’s no answer to that question. Of course I worry about taking civilian lives. If I could kill Sadiq and Khalid with one surgical strike and no collateral damage, don’t you think I would? Unfortunately that’s not how it works. And remember, Arthur, I have to think about all those American lives we could be saving by destroying those goddam bastards. If those Titans had launched their missiles, millions of Americans would have died. As it is, the contamination from the dust cloud could affect the whole eastern seaboard of the United States.’

  ‘Nuking the DOR and the KOE won’t make the dust cloud go away.’

  ‘I can’t do anything about the dust cloud,’ said the President. ‘No, but I can,’ said Arthur.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Eclipse can Elimat the dust cloud.’ ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Just take my word for it,’ said Arthur. ‘Eclipse can take care of the dust cloud.’ He waited a few seconds for the words to sink in. ‘I’ll do it on one condition.’

  The President had an aversion to conditions – unless he was the one making them. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You take no action of any kind against the KOE and the DAR for twenty-four hours. Let Camelot take care of them.’

  ‘With nuclear weapons?’

  ‘I told you before,’ said Arthur, ‘we don’t have nuclear weapons. No, we shall try and capture Sadiq and Khalid and hand them over to you. If that proves impossible . . . we shall kill them.’

  Impressed by Arthur’s calm confidence, the President was tempted. ‘And their missile sites and military bases?’

  ‘Will be destroyed,’ said Arthur.

  The President meditated for a few moments. ‘You do understand,’ he said, ‘that if you fail in either of those objectives, the United States will be free to take whatever action it chooses when the deadline expires?’

  ‘I do.’

  Under normal circumstances, the President would not contemplate making such a deal with any world leader. These were, however, clearly not normal circumstances, nor was Arthur a normal world leader. What’s more, he was right. If the US launched a nuclear strike, hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of people in the KOE and the DAR would surely die, and many more would be contaminated by radiation. Moreover, now that so many nations possessed at least some nuclear capability, the consequence could well be a nuclear attack on the USA, or even global war. The deal Arthur was offer
ing might be a long shot, but it was the only deal on offer.

  ‘You got it,’ said the President.

  Seconds after the order was given, Eclipse directed a positronic beam at the dust cloud that was now only twenty minutes from the east coast of the United States. In less than a second the cloud had vaporised, and with it all trace of radioactive contamination. As Arthur knew, the Americans would now be searching for the dust cloud, checking by every available means, including satellites, meteorological balloons, radar, and ships and aircraft in the area. When the President appeared on screen again, the expression on his face was one of grudging admiration. ‘The United States is in your debt, Arthur. I gotta hand it to you guys, you know your business.’

  Arthur acknowledged the compliment with a nod and a smile.

  The President consulted his watch. ‘It is now seven p.m. here in Washington,’ he said. ‘You have until seven p.m. Eastern Seaboard time tomorrow evening – midnight British time.’

  With that the screen blanked.

  Agravaine had bad news for Arthur: ‘We can’t find either Sadiq or Khalid. They’ve done a runner. Obviously they know their plot has failed, and they’ll be expecting the Americans to hit them hard.’

  ‘We’ll find them,’ said Arthur and called up Eclipse.

  ‘Lance, your estimated time of arrival KOE and DAR?’

  After a few seconds came the answer. ‘ETA in one hour, four minutes.’

  ‘Make your way there immediately and open channels when you arrive. Programme all mini-robots on board Eclipse to release micro-tracking devices and organisms. You copy?’

  ‘I copy, sir.’

  His fingers flying, Agravaine tapped out Arthur’s orders to Techforce Ten. On Galaxy’s wall screens and on the big central monitor a hundred orbiting and static satellites and UAV’s focused their attention on the KOE and the DAR, sending back swarms of data. So far, though, none of them had located either Khalid or Sadiq.

  Precisely one hour, four minutes later, Lancelot was on speaker. ‘Eclipse overhead Middle East.’

  ‘Excellent, Lance. Programmed mini-robots are to be dropped on targets Techforce Ten has given you: mostly palaces, military bases and missile sites. We need urgent feedback on the whereabouts of Khalid or Sadiq. Also on the activities of their generals and close advisors.’

  Meanwhile, controlled by Agravaine, a team of computer hackers specialising in code breaking had already broken into a number of key KOE and DAR sites controlling missiles, air and sea transport, communications, oil terminals and military operations. The first breakthrough came just before 2 a.m.. A small group of circular red markers floated onto the big table monitor when suddenly one of them began transmitting the continuous lock-on signal. Sadiq had been located holed up in the command post of a missile site in the western desert of the KOE.

  Arthur needed to be sure. ‘Are Techforce certain it’s Sadiq?’ Agravaine rapped the keyboard, and in seconds Sadiq’s face was on the table screen. Arthur was considering his next move when a second satellite locked on to Khalid in a military base in the south of the DAR.

  ‘We have located Sadiq and Khalid,’ Arthur told Lancelot. ‘Techforce are transmitting the co-ordinates. I want you to take them prisoner using Demat and Remat.’

  ‘We have a temporary problem, sir,’ said Lancelot. ‘Our batteries are too low to operate Demat and Remat. We don’t even have sufficient power to remain mantled. It looks as though we suffered some system damage when the Titans exploded. Robot Controller is confident we can fix it, but it may take a while.’

  ‘How long?’ said Arthur.

  ‘A few hours. Maybe more,’ admitted Lancelot reluctantly. ‘After that we’ll need another ten hours to recharge to full Excalibur power.’

  ‘Only ten?’

  ‘Well, say fifteen, but I’m confident . . . ’

  Arthur needed to hear no more. ‘Return to base, Lance.’ Lancelot was mortified. ‘I must protest, sir.’

  Arthur was in no mood to argue. ‘Your protest noted. Return to base.’ There was no point in a crippled Eclipse remaining in a hostile zone. It could play no further part in this operation.

  The deadline was now twenty-one and a half hours away. With no Eclipse, and Kraken too far away to reach the target area in time, it seemed there was nothing more to be done. Pleading for more time would be a wasted effort; the President would refuse to extend the deadline. Camelot’s failure to perform would make the US military more hawkish. For the first time since 1945 the United States would almost certainly launch a nuclear attack.

  Agravaine’s fingers twitched impotently on the keyboard. Over the speakers Tich’s voice boomed. ‘What kind of surveillance satellites do the KOE and the DAR operate?’

  ‘They don’t have surveillance satellites,’ said Agravaine. ‘Why not?’

  ‘They’re too expensive, and they’re quite difficult to launch and maintain.’

  ‘Then how come they know what’s going on in the world?’ asked Tich.

  ‘They send up anchored balloons packed with cameras and sensors,’ explained Agravaine. ‘They’re relatively primitive, but effective enough for most purposes.’

  At first there was no reaction from Tich. And then: ‘Could I ask you, sir, and you Agravaine, to step across to NIWIS? I have something to show you.’

  With Mordred looking over his shoulder, and flanked by Arthur and Agravaine, Tich eased his bulk carefully onto a stool, rested his hands on his belly and puffed out his bulbous cheeks. In front of him was the NIWIS command computer from which flowed a stream of instructions implementing what Tich termed ‘my tricks’. In the rooms adjoining the control room were the ‘conjurers’ – all cyberspace travellers and masters of the black art of deception.

  On Tich’s face was that distant look Arthur and Agravaine had seen many times before. The big man was thinking illusion. ‘Balloons are good,’ he said in his dark chocolate voice. ‘Now if they had satellites, it would be difficult, perhaps impossible. Since it’s balloons, I think we can do it.’

  ‘Do what?’ asked Agravaine, piqued at being kept in the dark.

  ‘Fool them,’ said Tich, ‘fool them into seeing things . . . like this.’ Using the keyboard he drew a dove on his screen. When he snapped his fingers, the dove flew out of the screen straight at Agravaine’s head. Agravaine ducked, and the dove disappeared.

  ‘Fine, Tich,’ said Agravaine, ‘we all know you’re a magician. You create illusions. I may not know how you do it, but I still know they’re illusions.’

  ‘Then why did you duck?’ asked Tich, to which Agravaine had no answer.

  Arthur was intrigued. ‘What’s on your mind, Tich?’

  ‘We are going to plant a Trojan Horse in their midst,’ said Tich. ‘It will not be there, but we’ll convince them that it is.’

  As he spoke NIWIS’ control room speakers boomed an alarming message: Red Alert! Red Alert! Missile launch on screen! Missile launch on screen!

  On the wall monitors was a satellite map of the Middle East over which was superimposed wave after wave of missiles soaring into the sky in a north easterly direction. As the missiles were tracked by satellites the monitor data counter indicated their precise speed and direction. Target Camelot! Target

  Camelot! Three minutes to impact! The countdown began:

  Two fifty-nine, two fifty-eight, two fifty-seven . . .

  Agravaine, his hands shaking, tried vainly to realign cups and tissue boxes, Arthur was strangely relaxed, Tich inscrutable, Mordred brooding.

  Two forty-five, two forty-four, two forty-three . . .

  ‘For God’s sake, what are we waiting for?’ said Agravaine, ‘let’s take those missiles out before we’re all toast.’

  ‘What do you say, Tich?’ said Arthur coolly, ‘shall we take them out?’

  In the circumstances it seemed to Agravaine an absurd question. Why was Arthur consulting Tich when it was crystal clear what had to be done?

  ‘It’s your call,’ said Tich.


  Agravaine stared uncomprehendingly at Tich, then back at the flight of missiles heading ever nearer Camelot, then at Arthur, then back again at Tich. In less than two minutes the missiles would be on them, and no one was doing a damn thing about it. And still the ominous countdown continued . . . one-fifty two, one fifty-one, one fifty, one forty-nine . . . ‘Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?’ he demanded.

  End of missile strike simulation! boomed the speakers. End of missile strike simulation! End of missile strike simulation! End of missile . . .

  The control room was deathly silent. Agravaine slumped over his keyboard, his face drained of blood. ‘You rotten bastard,’ he said, ‘why didn’t you warn us it was a simulation?’ Mordred was grinning. ‘Not funny,’ said Agravaine.

  ‘The object,’ said Tich, ‘was to see if you were fooled. You were.’

  ‘There is no shame in being deceived,’ said Arthur. ‘Tich made his point.’

  ‘What point exactly?’ said Agravaine irritably.

  ‘The point,’ said Arthur, ‘that throughout history wars have been won and lost by deception. Tich has reminded us that deceiving the enemy can be the best way to defeat him.’ He clapped Agravaine on the back. ‘Let’s go, Agro. It’s nearly four a.m. – twenty hours to the deadline. We have work to do.’

  As their hovercraft sped back to Command Control, Arthur was thinking what the Magus had once told him . It’s not a man’s weakness you use to destroy him. It’s his strength. Sadiq had the power to destroy Khalid. Khalid had the power to destroy Sadiq. Yet how did that help Camelot? It was unthinkable that two such close allies would turn on each other.

  Twenty Eight

  NIWIS

  Arthur glanced at the control room clock: 19.06 hrs. – less than five hours to the deadline, and there was still much to do. A nod to Agravaine, and within seconds the connection was made. If Sadiq was surprised, he did not show it. ‘Mr. Pendragon, what a pleasure. You have a message from the President?’