‘Claire?’
He walked across and sat uncomfortably on the edge of the bunk, letting his hand lie gently on her shoulder. Her shoulders were heaving; deep, rasping sobs shook her whole body. He had a momentary feeling of helplessness.
‘I’m sorry, Claire. I wanted to be the one to tell you but I was on duty. I’ve only a few minutes before I have to go back.’
She did not speak. They remained in a silent tableau for a while. Only the sound of the deep, racking sobs broke the stillness
‘Let me get you a drink,’ Macmillan said after a while.
‘No, no … ‘ she turned hurriedly on her back and held out a hand to him. ‘Don’t go, Danny. Please!’
He could not see her face in the gloom. It was a mass of shadows. He reached forward and gently traced her cheekbone. He could feel the salty wetness on her cheeks.
‘I’m here, Claire,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’
She reached up a hand to grasp his, gripping it so tightly that Macmillan nearly winced.
‘He never thought I loved him, Danny,’ she said, after a long silence. ‘I never acted as though I did.’
Macmillan did not reply. He could not intrude himself into this world of hers — not yet. His role was merely to support and help her.
‘All my life I wanted his love,’ she went on. ‘He was too remote, too austere. He wasn’t a man who displayed his emotions. I suppose that’s why I always tried to draw attention to myself, so that he would notice me, love me. I wanted him to love me more than anything.’
Macmillan patted her hand.
‘We all have to grow up eventually, Claire.’
‘But he’s dead now. He never knew … ’
She stopped and gulped, flinging herself into Macmillan’s arms and moaning softly. Macmillan sat there, arms around her shaking body, making soft comforting noises in his throat and feeling totally inadequate.
Chapter Eight
Billy Heath, working over his navigational charts, checking figures, glanced up.
‘We need a five-degree starboard course change, skipper.’
Carson acknowledged and looked across at Saxon.
‘Disengage automatic pilot, Tom.’
Saxon reached forward, flicking switches in the required pattern.
‘Disengaged,’ he grunted when the green light came on.
‘Starboard five, commencing the turn now,’ Carson began and then frowned. ‘Is the auto-pilot fully disengaged?’
Saxon checked.
‘I’m getting no response on rudder and elevator controls.’
Behind them, Macmillan and Billy Heath exchanged anxious glances.
Carson fiddled with the controls.
‘Still no response,’ he muttered. ‘Switching to the secondary circuit.’
There was a silence.
‘No response.’
Saxon began to go through the checks and then examined the secondary circuit responses. The computer controls showed that the elevator and rudder controls on the tail section were perfectly aligned and should be responding normally but were not; the course correction data which Carson was now feeding into the circuit was simply being ignored.
‘Danny,’ called Carson, check out the systems on your monitor.’
Macmillan started to go over the procedural checks. The elevator and rudder controls of the vessel were the main steerage systems. The controls worked through five computer circuits, as most of the important control systems did. All computer circuits had to be running in synchronisation or a warning light would start blinking in the flight deck control panel. However, even with four of the synchronised circuits knocked out, the Albatross could still be flown on the fifth. But it was to be a rule of airship flight that all five systems had to be working in synchronisation before take-off.
Macmillan was looking worried.
‘According to the check-out, everything should be working fine,’ he reported. ‘Trouble is, there’s just no reaction from the tail section.’
‘Jesus!’ breathed Billy Heath, ‘does that mean we’re stuck at this course and altitude forever?’
Carson grinned.
‘We can make course changes by shutting down our engines and using them to turn. It’s a cumbersome technique but efficient. Also, we can change our altitude with gas and ballast. However, our primary control systems should make those old-fashioned methods obsolete. The worry is — what is wrong with the systems?’
Saxon gazed at him anxiously.
‘The mad bomber again? Sabotage?’
‘Could be,’ replied Carson as he sat puzzling over the controls. ‘Switch back to auto-pilot, Tom. Billy, keep an eye on our course and make sure you know by how much we are deviating from our flight plan. Before I start any cumbersome method of course changing I want to check out the tail section controls.’
Saxon went through the procedure to bring the auto-pilot into action again and then, with an acknowledgment that it was done, he turned to Carson.
‘You reckon you know where the problem lies, Garry’?’
‘The only place I can think of is the tail maintenance section terminal, that’s where the computer feeds into an induction control which then gives information to the tail section. I think I’d better go down there for a look.’
‘If it’s our saboteur you better not go alone,’ advised Saxon.
Carson half-nodded.
‘Billy, patch me through to Van Kleef.’
A moment later he was explaining the problem to the chief designer of the Albatross.
‘I am going to the tail maintenance section terminal now.’
‘Okay, Garry,’ acknowledged Van Kleef. ‘I’ll join you there.’
Carson was just about to stand up when the ship lurched. He was pushed back into his chair.
‘What the … ’
The gigantic vessel was trembling slightly and peering across the control board to the altimeter, Carson saw its needle swinging downwards. Saxon was staring at the controls, his hands still resting on his knees.
A red warning light and bell came on simultaneously. Saxon automatically reached across to silence the bell, leaving the red light winking like a baleful eye.
The auto-pilot has just taken us down five hundred feet,’ he whispered in disbelief.
Carson stabbed at several buttons.
‘The auto-pilot override warning has come on,’ sang out Saxon.
Carson was checking the systems again.
‘Indicator says that the auto-pilot is being overridden manually,’ he gasped.
‘Skipper!’ It was Maxmillan. ‘Rudder control is in operation now.’
‘We’ve just made a ten-degree port course change!’ cried Billy Heath from his navigation console.
Carson swore softly.
‘Disengage auto-pilot, Tom.’
Saxon had broken out into a sweat.
‘Auto-pilot off but … damn it! … we’re climbing. The damn controls are operating themselves!’
‘Get me Van Kleef again, Billy,’ snapped Carson. There was a moment’s pause.
‘Oscar … the control systems on rudder and elevators are being controlled manually. We can’t control the ship!’
There was a long pause before Van Kleef replied.
‘Alright, something is interfering with the signals. Something is giving spurious signals on all five computer control systems … hell, even if those controls are fourteen microseconds out they could destroy the Albatross.’
‘I’m on my way to the tail section now!’ said Carson. He began to climb out of his seat. Tom, you have the con. Put her back on auto-pilot but there’s not much we can do until we get the control systems back.’
Saxon looked up with a pinched expression.
‘Let’s hope the auto-pilot doesn’t decide to take the Albatross down any further, otherwise we’ll be the first airship to go through undersea trials.’
No one laughed.
*
In the lounge, the S
ecretary for Air shifted his weight in his armchair and tried to mop up the remains of his drink.
‘That was some air pocket we must have hit,’ he grinned ruefully to Maclaren.
Maclaren nodded absently and glanced across to where Oscar Van Kleef was taking a phone call at the bar.
The British government official followed his eyes and smiled. ‘Doctor Van Kleef is rather a strange man, isn’t he?’ Maclaren swung his gaze back to the man.
‘Oscar? I suppose all inventors are a bit goofy. Oscar is quite a genius. After all, we have the proof of his genius about us.’
He gestured round the luxurious lounge of the airship.
‘Strikes me that you were all a little goofy,’ said the Air Secretary. ‘Attempting to make airships viable again when you have to fight against history.’
Maclaren sighed. The Air Secretary’s favourite theme was airship disasters, especially since the news of the Charles de Gaulle.
‘Remember the American Navy R38?’
‘That was 1921, Mr. Secretary, and this is slightly larger and designed with a higher degree of technology.’
‘Yes, but the point is that during its trial flight it broke in two and killed thirty-two of its crew of thirty-seven. Then the USS Shenandoah, our own one hundred per cent American-built airship, broke in two … ’
‘After flying more than nine thousand miles in complete safety,’ Maclaren pointed out. ‘And even when it did break, its forward section managed to land in safety and twenty-nine out of its forty-three crew members were saved.’
The Air Secretary smiled.
‘Okay, so you’ve done your homework on the history of these things. The point is, with all the disasters, how are you going to convince Joe Public that airships are safe?’
‘Example, I suppose,’ replied Maclaren. ‘But it sounds as if you’ve changed your mind about airship safety since you spoke at the press conference when we took off at Portland.’
‘Me? Don’t get me wrong. It’s Joe Public out there. What is he going to say after the disaster of the Charles de Gaulle, eh? I would be putting my political career on the line if I stood up and started telling him how safe airship travel was in the face of that disaster.’
‘Why not tell your Joe Public the truth?’
The Air Secretary looked surprised.
‘The truth is a heady wine, Maclaren.’
Maclaren was distracted by Van Kleef leaving the lounge in a hurry. There was a look on his face which the project manager did not like. He stood up and excused himself. Outside the lounge was the Chief Purser’s office. He went in and called the flight deck.
Saxon explained the position.
‘We just had another altimeter drop,’ he said. ‘We are now down to one thousand feet above sea level. Another couple of drops like that … ’
He didn’t finish.
‘You say Carson and Van Kleef are headed towards the tail unit?’
‘Yes.’
‘So am I,’ snapped Maclaren.
*
Carson groped his way along the darkened catwalk towards the tail section of the Albatross. Away from the insulated and protected areas of the main part of the vessel, he could hear the whistling of the wind over the skin of the airship. He shivered slightly, more in reaction to the noise than to the drop in temperature.
It was dark in this part of the ship, apart from the occasional inspection light. There was no need for anyone to enter the area except the technicians who made regular inspections when the ship was at her moorings. The entire working of the elevators and rudder section on the tail was governed by computer control and, usually, it was unnecessary for anyone to go near the manual override section.
Carson paused to light his flashlamp and peer round in the darkness.
The induction control was on the third level and he climbed one-handed up the metal service ladders. The control was housed in a black metal casing, its cover held in place by half a dozen butterfly nuts. It was the work of a few moments for Carson to undo them and shine his torch among the wiring circuits that led from the main computer controls to the actual mechanism of the tail section.
He whistled softly.
Someone had obviously re-wired the circuits and there, nestling among them, was a small black transistor pack, identical to that which Van Kleef had removed from the gas valve controls. The saboteur had re-wired so that the auto-pilot would appear to be working normally, yet the transistor could give its own orders. That required a lot of electrical and technical knowledge.
Carson swung his torch round, looking for the intercom.
He pressed the button code for the bridge.
Tom? I’ve found the fault. Someone had re-wired the induction synchronisations into a transistor sender and that’s the device which is creating the spurious signals.’
‘Repairable?’ Saxon sounded casual.
‘I think so. Van Kleef hasn’t got here yet. Maybe you’d better send Macmillan along.’
‘Alright, skipper.’
Carson turned back to the transistor and tried to see how it was wired up. He shivered slightly in the colder temperature.
A scraping sound on the ladder caused him to glance up.
‘Oscar? Is that you?’
A figure emerged into the semi-gloom. Carson recognised the figure and turned away.
‘Have you been sent to help me sort out this mess?’ he asked.
He suddenly felt a sharp pain just below his ribs. He stared down in astonishment at the dark object which protruded from his body. He opened his mouth to protest but his world seemed to turn black and he sank slowly to the floor.
The figure bent over him and, with a quick jerk, withdrew the sharp chisel from Carson’s inert body. The figure paused and then began to climb upwards to the higher levels.
Chapter Nine
Harry Maclaren swung swiftly along the catwalk into the dark tail section of the airship, scrambling up the service ladders into the induction control area. As he climbed into the section, he abruptly halted in the gloom. A figure was bending over something which lay slumped on the deck. The figure started and turned. It was Oscar Van Kleef.
‘Who’s that?’ he demanded, his voice high-pitched with tension.
‘Maclaren,’ answered the project manager. ‘What in hell’s going on?’
Van Kleef’s face was drawn and white.
‘It’s Carson … he’s dead.’
‘Dead?’
Maclaren’s voice cracked with disbelief. He moved forward. The pilot lay crumpled on the deck. Maclaren bent forward and felt for a pulse on the man’s neck, just behind the ear. Van Kleef was right. Garry Carson lay lifeless.
‘What happened, Oscar?’ Maclaren asked, staring at the chief designer curiously.
‘There was a problem with the tail unit control. Carson asked me to meet him here. When I arrived he was just lying there.’
He moved his hand into the light of Maclaren’s flashlight.
It was covered in a red sticky substance.
‘He’s been wounded in the chest.’
Maclaren swung his torch back to the body.
‘Looks like a knife wound.’
He gave a swift inspection of the compartment and then unhooked the intercom.
‘Terrasino? Yeah, Maclaren. Come to the tail section maintenance area. We have a problem. Yeah. Carson — someone has killed him.’
There was a movement on the ladder below. Both men tensed as a shape came up the ladder into the section.
‘Macmillan!’
Danny Macmillan stared up, his flashlight swinging towards Maclaren.
‘Oh, it’s you. Where’s Garry?’
Maclaren stood aside and pointed.
‘Someone’s killed him, Danny. Our mad bomber most likely. We’re waiting for Terrasino.’
Macmillan looked as if someone had punched him in the jaw. He shook his head like a prizefighter recovering from a blow.
Before he had time to say anything th
e intercom buzzed. Maclaren answered. It was Tom Saxon.
‘Hello, Maclaren. I didn’t realise you were down there. How are Carson and Macmillan doing with the control override? We’ve just taken another five-degree starboard course change and are decreasing our height slowly.’
‘One moment, Saxon,’ replied the project manager. ‘We’ll get back to you.’
He looked at Macmillan.
‘Did Carson ask you to come here and help out?’
The flight engineer nodded.
‘Garry had found a transistor overriding the elevator and rudder controls.’
Maclaren shone his torch to the induction control unit. It was still open where Carson had been inspecting. It did not take long to locate the small black transistor.
‘Can you re-wire?’ demanded Maclaren.
Macmillan examined the box.
‘Yeah; easy.’
‘Let me help,’ muttered the chief designer and found a special emergency light switch which bathed the induction control box in a white glow.
‘Sabotage?’ asked Maclaren, as he watched the two men bending over it.
Van Kleef nodded.
‘But why did the saboteur kill Carson?’ he demanded.
Terrasino burst into the compartment. One of his men, Parish, was hard on his heels. The security chief went straight to the pilot’s body and examined it carefully without touching it.
‘Stabbed with something, eh, Harry? I guess it went through the upper stomach and under the rib-cage into the heart.’
The security chief gazed up.
‘Our mad bomber?’
‘We have a sabotage problem here,’ affirmed Maclaren.
‘Okay,’ said Macmillan, standing up. He handed Terrasino the small transistor. ‘It’s fixed now but mad or not, that was a neat bit of wiring that he did.’
Terrasino took the transistor. It was no use talking about prints. He glanced at it as he thrust it in his pocket.
‘Same as before?’ he asked Van Kleef.
The chief designer nodded.
‘So what have we got?’ mused Terrasino. ‘Carson came here to investigate?’
‘Yeah,’ affirmed Macmillan. He explained briefly the control problem. ‘Our tail section was all fouled up. He found the trouble and then asked me to come down to help him clear it.’
Airship Page 34
