High Requiem: A Johnny Fedora Espionage Spy Thriller Assignment Book 6

by Desmond Cory

  Wray made no reply to this. Emerald, leaning forward so that the chair creaked complainingly under his weight, said:

  “What about the radioactivity?”

  “It’s hard to say,” said Wray. “We estimate that, at the moment of impact, that fragment must have been discharging something between ten and twelve röntgens; and since then the poor chap’s been absorbing its entire radioactive output. Naturally. Of course - he’s amazingly fit. He’s only just beginning to feel it. But in the long run, it’s quite obvious—”

  “Well, but in how long a run?”

  Wray shrugged. “Ten days to a fortnight. I can’t be exact. They reckon the lethal dose at five hundred and twenty-five röntgens - very approximately. Clearly there’s not —”

  “We haven’t got a fortnight. We haven’t even got ten days.” The Director looked at his watch. “We have precisely thirty-seven hours and forty minutes. I’d like to emphasise that, doctor. That fragment must be analysed immediately; which means that you’ve got to undertake that operation right away.”

  “Me?” Wray looked horrified. “But that’s out of the question. I can’t carry out an operation like that; I’m totally incompetent. Nobody but a highly qualified specialist would dream of undertaking it.”

  “Then we’re going to get one out here, right away. Who would be a good man?”

  “Well - there are plenty of excellent men.” There was a hint of obstinacy underlying Wray’s hesitation. “But I’ve got to make it clear, Mr. Mitchell, that the operation is a highly dangerous one from the viewpoint of the patient. No medical man will do it without having first obtained the patient’s permission.”

  “Then for God’s sake obtain it, obtain it.” Mr. Mitchell brushed aside all such trivialities with a sweeping motion of his hand. “I’ll get in touch with London—”

  “The trouble is that he won’t give it.”

  “… He won’t?”

  “He refuses to undergo an operation of any kind whatsoever.”

  The Director breathed deeply. “Does he understand what is involved?”

  “Not in all its ramifications. Naturally not. All the same—”

  “Now, look here, Dr. Wray, I’m not going to be delayed by this sort of absurdity. In the first place, O’Brien’s wanted for murder, and is probably going to hang for it, anyway. Secondly, if we don’t operate on him, then he’ll die in ten days’ time - and a damned unpleasant death, from all accounts. Thirdly, if we don’t operate on him, we’re unnecessarily imperilling the success of the most important scientific experiment of modern times - and risking the lives of other men. We have to operate on him. We have to get that blasted fragment out of him, and under analysis … There’s just no two ways about it.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Fedora turned his head to regard the Director expectantly; he had not believed Mr. Mitchell to be capable of such sustained animation.

  “… All the same,” continued Wray doggedly, “there are professional ethics still to be considered. The patient comes first, no matter what the circumstances are. By all means get in touch with whatever specialist you wish. I’ve no doubt that - when he hears the facts of the case - he’ll agree with me.”

  The Director made no further comment, but remained staring at Wray dispassionately. On the table, his right fist opened and closed rhythmically. “My advice,” said Wray stolidly, “assuming that O’Brien continues to refuse this operation, is to postpone the second flight for a couple of weeks.”

  “Impossible.”

  “For two or three weeks only.”

  “No. I’m not going to do it. For all we know, that fragment is changing its nature hourly. If we wait a fortnight, then we may not learn anything from it at all.”

  “We may not, anyway.”

  “I know that, but it’s a chance we’ve got to take. Why, surely you agree that we’re justified?” The Director wiped the palm of his hand agitatedly over his brow. “And what about my pilots? If I postpone the next flight again, they’ll both be nervous wrecks before their time’s due. You know how Bailey’s reacting, even now. Besides - there’s the opposition to consider. If the Kharkov group …”

  His voice died away slowly into the stillness of the room. Everybody heard Dr. Wray’s sudden inhalation of breath.

  “You’ll have to get replacements for the pilots. If you don’t postpone the experiment, then you’ll have to take the responsibility if anything goes wrong again. I refuse to have it laid on my shoulders in this way.”

  “Responsibility, doctor,” said Mr. Mitchell wearily, “is a thing you have relatively little experience of. I happen to be used to it. I am not afraid of it. And I am telling you, and anyone else who may be interested, that the second flight will take place exactly as planned. Fragment or no fragment. O’Brien dead or O’Brien alive. Irrespective of anything. Nothing is going to stop it, nothing whatsoever … I hope I make myself clear.”

  Wray nodded slowly. “In that case, I don’t think I have anything further to say.”

  “I don’t suppose you have. All right, Dr. Wray; that’ll be all. I’ll have London send me a competent specialist immediately, and I’ll see O’Brien myself. I’ve no doubt he’ll agree to an operation when the facts have been made clear to him; and then our little difficulty will be comfortably resolved.”

  “It will indeed,” said Wray. He stood up and poised himself for a moment angularly, like a heron preparing for flight. “I’ll have the röntgenograms sent to you right away.” And he went out, stepping delicately, his long neck inclined at an angle. The door closed softly behind him.

  “Emerald?”

  “Yes, Mr. Mitchell?”

  “… Take steps in this matter, will you? Get through to Trilling and explain the situation as precisely as you can. The important thing is that there’s not to be a second’s delay; I want this infernal fragment to be in the laboratories by noon tomorrow, at the latest. All right; you understand perfectly what’s required. Carry on … I’ll entertain Mr. Fedora while you’re gone.

  … The Director’s manner of entertaining his visitor was really rather rudimentary. He did so by sitting back in his chair, placing the tips of his fingers and thumbs together, and staring fixedly at the ceiling. After some three or four minutes had elapsed, however, he removed his spectacles; polished them; replaced them; then turned to examine Fedora curiously. “We live in troubled times, Mr. Fedora,” he stated in measured tones.

  “Yes, indeed,” said Johnny.

  He awaited further profundities, but none were forthcoming. Instead, the Director rose to his feet, stepped across the floor to a large cupboard which stood in the corner; the nearest corner to the desk. “It’s getting rather dark now,” he said matter-of-factly. “Would you switch the light on, if you please?”

  Johnny obediently inclined himself forward and thumbed the desk-lamp switch. The room instantly leaped into alarming chiaroscuro; Mr. Mitchell returned to his chair, with his shadow tottering darkly over the white wall behind him.

  “I’ve received several communications concerning you, Mr. Fedora. One from John Squires. Another from Colonel Wainwright. Both gentlemen are known to me personally. You remember Colonel Wainwright, I suppose?”

  “Very well. Though I haven’t seen him for … it must be a couple of years.”

  “He continues to enjoy the best of health. Anyway, what he has said about you facilitates my position considerably.” He fumbled in his coat pocket. “You may care to see his cable.”

  Johnny unfolded this document and glanced quickly through it. Its place of origin was given as the Foreign Office, London … Ref your inquiry, it said:

  Sean O’Neill Fedora has excellent record with this Department in war and immediately post-war period He is considered politically reliable but personally unpredictable If sympathies genuinely engaged may be most brilliant operative in Western Europe but always individualistic in method Nevertheless thoroughly trustworthy Give him my regards Full details from archives f
ollow Wainwright.

  “… John Squires’ cable is on very similar lines.” Mr. Mitchell recovered the flimsy, crumpled it between his fingers and dropped it back into his pocket. “So that, although your situation is altogether unprecedented, I’m quite confident of the course that I shall adopt. My information at the moment is that, purely fortuitously, you’ve managed to gain some idea of what is going on in this ostensibly Secret Establishment. Is this true?”

  “Some idea, yes. But a very vague one.”

  “Well, to be perfectly safe I should, of course, imprison you forthwith. However, Emerald tells me that you have given your word not to attempt to leave the station nor to communicate with the … er … outside world. And so, in view of your excellent connections, I’m inclined to respect your parole.” The Director paused for a moment, though more as a rhetorical device than from any need to collect his thoughts. “But furthermore, Emerald tells me that he is anxious to enlist your positive assistance, and that you have, indeed, already been of great help in tracing this O’Brien fellow. So if you are willing to act as Emerald’s assistant for the next few weeks - by which time we hope our experiments will have reached a happy conclusion - I’ve no objection to revealing to you the precise aims of the establishment.”

  Johnny nodded. “I like to have things to occupy my mind. And as I’m going to be stuck here in any case—”

  “Pre-cise-ly. You are most certainly stuck here in any case. And tomorrow will be a dull day for you, anyway; the Security formalities must be complied with. But, as I take it you are willing to assist us—”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Then,” said the Director, glancing at his wrist-watch, “I will devote five minutes to outlining our purposes here at Bir Azahara. Now, this” - and he raised to the desk the object that until now had been concealed in the deep shadow - “this is the Bandit. You may care to examine the model closely.”

  Johnny got up, stooped over the desk.

  “Yes. As you see, it has the appearance of a conventional swept-wing jet-powered monoplane with, of course, many unusual features. Since the scale is exactly one-fiftieth of actual size, you will appreciate that it is slightly larger than one might expect.” The Director tapped the fuselage with his forefinger. “The machine takes off in the vertical plane with initial rocket assistance. These installations partly account for the tubbiness of its aspect. At a height of approximately five hundred feet a Rolls-Royce ramjet takes over; the angle of ascent is lowered to sixty degrees and the plane climbs at a steadily increasing velocity to thirty thousand feet. It then accelerates to supersonic speeds in a shallow dive. Then the wings and a part of the engine assembly are jettisoned and power is provided by an atomic drive.” The Director sat back in his chair. “The aircraft immediately recommences to climb in a vertical plane again at approximately fifteen hundred m.p.h., a speed increasing rapidly with the decline of gravitational pull. When to all intents and purposes beyond the range of gravity, it levels out; the engine is stopped; and it cruises in space in the condition popularly known as free fall.”

  “I see,” said Johnny. “In … space.”

  “Yes. As a kind of subsidiary planet. It could, of course, remain there for all eternity. Actually, though, the pilot will return after spending little more than an hour there. You will appreciate that I am giving the simplest possible résumé of scheduled events, without employing technical terms or, indeed, any unnecessary explanations. Really, the fact that it uses a three-stage ascent hardly concerns you, anyway.” Mr. Mitchell flipped carelessly at the Bandit’s rudder. “It will suffice you to know that our intention here is to build a piloted machine capable of attaining free fall and of remaining there for a limited space of time. We think we have done so. All that remains to be done is to carry out the experiment itself, and to carry it out before various other interested parties have the opportunity of doing so.”

  “So there’s competition?”

  “There is indeed. The Russians have already sent a guided missile into free fall, and have withdrawn it successfully.”

  “They have?” Johnny’s tongue protruded slightly. “So we’re behind them?”

  “Good gracious, no. We managed it four months before them. Or, to be precise, the Americans managed it. Unfortunately, for Security reasons the centre of operations had to be switched from Nevada to here in North Africa, and the move lost us a great deal of our lead. No - the whole point is that we want to send a piloted missile. That raises a whole crop of new difficulties. Medical ones, of course; but also practical ones - the extra weight of the human body, the less exact responses of the human brain …” The Director’s voice died away again, lost in a wilderness of thought.

  “And … what’s the object of this experiment?” asked Johnny.

  The Director stared at him. “Are you devoid of all imagination, Mr. Fedora?”

  “It’s not my strong suit. Is this what you might call the first step to … the moon? To space travel, in fact?”

  “Not merely the first step. Four-fifths of the way. Because this first step is so much the hardest … Yes. You’re quite right, of course; in the long run, that will be the most valuable aspect of all. But also, the military significance of the experiment is incalculable. An aircraft in orbit can hit and never be hit back; it’s in a virtually unassailable condition. That is why we must get there before the Russians.”

  Johnny took a deep breath. “Then—”

  “War must move on to a new plane, Mr. Fedora. At one time, command of the sea could decide the issues. Now, command of the air is all-important. In the future, everything will depend on the command of the stratosphere and ultimately … space.”

  “… Let’s get back to the present,” said Johnny.

  “H’m?” Mr. Mitchell’s eyes swivelled, behind the lenses, to touch upon Fedora, their rapt near-mysticism supplanted by a faintly injured expression. “Back to the present?”

  “Yes. What went wrong?”

  “How do you mean, wrong?”

  “Why did Benthall crash?”

  “… I don’t know,” said Mr. Mitchell.

  Johnny returned to his chair and sat down, somewhat perplexed. “You mean you have no idea?”

  “I mean I have no idea.”

  Johnny said, “That’s difficult.”

  There was rather a lengthy silence. Then Johnny said, “When did it happen, anyway?”

  “You witnessed the incident yourself.”

  “I mean, at what point in the ascent?”

  “Immediately after the switch-over to atomic power.”

  “Doesn’t that fact suggest anything to you?”

  “It suggests a variety of possibilities. The most likely is some form of stress alteration in the physical construction of the machine. That, of course, would be revealed by analysis; if only—”

  “If only there were something left.”

  “Yes, that’s the disaster. Of course, travelling at that speed, the frame would inevitably have been almost totally vaporised on contact with the earth’s surface. But there would have been various fragments …” Mr. Mitchell paused. “The haboob settled all that. We were definitely unlucky there. We’ve had whole platoons out, of course … with Geiger counters, neutron monitors, everything … but all gone. Gone to the four winds. Under tons of sand. Except—”

  “The piece that O’Brien stopped.”

  “Yes. Exactly. It’s only a minute chip, naturally. But it’s highly radioactive. If it’s a part of the power assembly, that doesn’t prove much. But if it’s a part of the pilot unit or the screen, that’s another matter.”

  “Screen?”

  “Yes, the screen. The pilot has to be protected, you understand, from the radioactive rays emanated by the nuclear motor. That was the biggest problem of the lot … at one time. We’ve solved it, needless to say. But now that a question of physical disintegration has arisen—”

  “That fragment’s important, anyway.”

  “Oh, it may be
the key to the whole situation. No less than that.”

  The Director gave Johnny a severely thoughtful glance. Johnny kept his eyes fixed on the curious construction that still stood on the desk, its sharp nose erected skywards as though hungry for space.

  “Why is it called the Bandit?” he asked inconsequentially.

  “I don’t know. Somebody thought of the name.”

  … It looked like an unusually tubby dart, a finned bullet with thickly grooved sides. There was certainly something murderous about it; something cruel and commanding; a machine built not for mere war but for conquest by annihilation. It was the realisation of the dream of power of some new Alexander … Its name was by no means inappropriate; but inadequate.

  “Did anything untoward happen to the guided jobs?”

  “Um?” said the Director intelligently. Johnny repeated his question.

  “No. No. The Americans have sent up seven in all. I observed the last four flights personally. Everything went according to our expectations.”

  “And is the model the same as the ones they used before?”

  “No. Naturally not. The Bandit is a much-improved version. Though the triple-drive power unit is identical; rocket, ramjet, nuclear drive, all incorporated - that’s the real genius behind the thing. The Germans worked it out, mostly; while the Russians were still playing around with triple-stage rockets. They’ve caught on now all right; they’re following us pretty closely … Our main alterations have been the scrapping of all the recording equipment to compensate for the weight of the pilot; and, of course, building in the shield. The total pay-load is pretty much the same.”

  “So the pilot really has to pilot? The switches aren’t carried out by remote control?”

  “No. Ideally, they would be. But we just can’t carry the extra weight of apparatus involved.”

  “It’s not the sort of job I should like.”

  “Perhaps not. There is naturally an element of risk,” said the Director, with notable understatement. “Fortunately there are young men in whom the spirit of adventure is not yet dead. There are—”