by Tom West
For several moments, Kate, Lou and Ester Lamb stared mutely at the screen. Then Lou exhaled heavily, whooped, ‘Un-fucking-believable!’, and turned to kiss Kate on the mouth.
‘What the hell is happening?’ Kate asked Ester as she pulled away from Lou.
‘They’ve called off the attack,’ Lamb said. She was focusing on the control panel in front of her and tapping illuminated plastic tabs. ‘And if I’m not mistaken . . .’
A loud buzz was followed immediately by a deep whirring, churning sound. ‘We have power back to the engines.’
‘How?’ Kate asked.
‘The Chinese must have used an electromagnetic pulse to knock out the power. Everything, well almost everything, is back online. We don’t have comms . . . yet.’
Lou was unbuckling.
‘What’re you doing?’ Lamb asked.
He lifted the attaché case retrieved from Phoenix. ‘Checking this out. It was not easy to get our hands on!’
He placed it on his seat. The metal edging was heavily corroded. The lock had partially disintegrated and it took no effort to lever up the latch and open the lid.
‘Easy,’ Kate said, getting out of her seat.
From the case, Lou lifted an old tan-coloured cardboard file. With enormous care, he opened the front cover and they saw typed Russian text. He turned back the first few pages, holding them from underneath with his spare hand so that they could see lines of mathematical formulae and Cyrillic sentences.
‘Grenyov’s work.’ Kate said taking the file and placing it on her seat.
At the bottom of the case lay a rectangular object sheathed in brown paper. Lou found a seam in the paper and prised away with expert care. Inside was a single sheet of metal foil etched with a complex array of symbols, letters and numbers.
‘This is it,’ Lou said in hushed tones, barely able to believe what lay before them, ‘. . . the original Kessler Document.’
66
North Sea. 9.36 a.m.
Wing Commander Geoff Anderson, operations code name Acer 1, pulled on the pair of joysticks of his F35 fighter and the newly commissioned jet tore away at an angle of almost ninety-five degrees, screaming skyward, accelerating to Mach 1.2 in a matter of seconds. Through his cockpit windows he could see three of his squadron, but the remaining two were just out of sight, their signals blinking on the head-up display he wore showing a range of detailed information.
‘All systems green, Ark Royal,’ Anderson said into his comms.
‘Copy that, Acer 1.’
Anderson studied the complex array of information before his eyes. The HUD included altitude, attitude and speed meters, a radar sweep and a detailed set of coordinates giving the precise position of the Chinese Shang sub in relation to his F35.
Anderson tapped at the display panel a few inches from his armrests, his other hand steady on the left joystick. The parameters in the HUD shifted accordingly. The plane banked and levelled off.
‘Acers 2 to 6. I’ll make a solo pass before we go in. Over?’
The other five pilots acknowledged the command one by one and swept through a predetermined broad arc as Acer 1 dipped its nose and began a sharp descent.
The fog had entirely cleared, but in places the cloud line was as low as six hundred feet.
On his HUD, Anderson watched a computer representation of the enemy sub, then breaking through the cloud, he saw it for real, immobile on the surface, its nose two hundred yards from Gladstone’s bow.
‘Have visual of Shang,’ Anderson said. He moved the joysticks, banked to the west and streaked over the submarine ninety-six point seven feet above the conning tower.
Even through the triple-plated steel of the Chinese sub’s hull, those aboard the Shang heard the scream of the F35 as it shot overhead.
‘Status please, Ark Royal.’
‘Unchanged, Acer 1,’ came the reply from the bridge of the aircraft carrier. ‘No word from the Chinese. Orders from London unaltered.’
‘Copy that, Ark Royal. We’re going in.’
Anderson’s plane cut through the clouds and into the bright afternoon sunshine. The other five F35s slipped into view. Anderson caught up with them and they swept east, then north.
‘Acer 3 and Acer 5, follow me. Formation Gamma 9-A. Acers 1, 2 and 4 hold back for second wave, maintain altitude and course.’
The squadron leader pulled away and saw the other two planes fall in behind him. His fingers tapped a series of patches on the flat screen at the centre of his control panel. ‘Weapons armed and ready.’
‘Armed and ready,’ Acers 3 and 5 responded.
‘Ark Royal, preparing for attack mode 9443.’
‘Copy that, Acer 1.’
‘Good luck, gentlemen,’ Anderson said into his plane-to-plane comms and with a delicate nudge of the joystick, he was pulling round and down. The nose of the F35 dipped into the clouds once more.
‘Keep close and wait on my command,’ Anderson said.
They were through the clouds. There was the Shang sub, the water grey about its black serpent shape.
‘Final sequence patched in,’ Anderson said.
‘Copy that,’ came the response from Acer 2 and Acer 5.
‘Remember. Wait for my command.’
Six miles east of the Chinese vessel and travelling close to one thousand miles per hour, Acer 1 and the two other planes descended to three hundred feet. Twenty-one seconds to target.
A red light flashed on Anderson’s display. He knew the same thing would be showing on the displays aboard Acer 2 and Acer 5. It was the warning light indicating a pair of Storm Shadow cruise missiles were now primed.
‘Target locked,’ Anderson announced. ‘Distance 3.5 miles and closing. Nine seconds to target. Eight . . . seven . . . six.’
‘Acer 1.’ It was Ark Royal. ‘Abort, Acer, abort.’
Anderson had his finger poised a fraction of an inch from the fire button.
‘Acer, abort. Call off attack.’
Anderson lifted his finger and thundered over the Shang, Acers 2 and 5 a fraction of a second behind as the three aircraft rocketed up towards the low cloud and the clear blue, sun-soaked sky beyond.
Thousands of feet below, the Chinese sub began to turn slowly to starboard and accelerate away north, pulling away from Gladstone, Ark Royal and the other NATO ships.
67
North Sea. 10.05 a.m.
As JV3 docked with Gladstone, the bridge crew watching it all on the wall monitors erupted into applause. Jerry was there clapping along with the Royal Navy officers and Adam Fleming, who was seated towards the back of the control room sporting a big grin. They could all see the look of incredible relief on the faces of Kate, Lou and Ester Lamb as the engines of JV3 powered down and the hatch into the docking bay opened.
‘Permission to leave bridge, sir?’ Jerry asked Captain Windsor. At the captain’s word, he headed for the door and the corridors and stairways leading him down to the dock.
Two minutes later, he met his friends a few steps ahead of Commander Lamb. He saluted Lamb and hugged Kate and Lou. ‘God, it was touch-and-go there for a while, guys,’ he said.
‘You’re not kidding,’ Lou replied. He was clutching the object he had retrieved from Phoenix.
‘And that’s definitely it?’ Derham said, nodding towards the silver-foil encased rectangle.
‘Checked it on the way to the surface,’ Kate said. ‘After the Chinese backed off. It’s the real deal.’
They were walking along a grey corridor. Lamb had dashed on ahead to report to the engineer giving JV3 a check-over.
‘And speaking of the Chinese,’ Lou commented. ‘What the fuck was all that about?’
Derham stopped abruptly and held up a hand. Lou and Kate stood still giving him a puzzled look.
‘I’ll explain about that later. First though, there’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Can’t it wait, Jerry? We need to get this material photographed and analysed asap.’
> ‘No it can’t. Just listen . . .’
*
Lou and Kate came onto the bridge to more applause from the crew.
Fleming stepped forward. ‘Well done, you two. Well done! So, you retrieved the Kessler Document?’
Holding the case, Lou walked slowly to the centre of the bridge where a small metal table stood. He walked around it, facing the back of the bridge and the exit to the rest of the ship, the bow and the expansive grey sea behind him. Kate came round beside him. Lou opened the case and removed the cardboard file and the sheet of foil.
‘So, this is really it?’ Fleming looked down at a small sheaf of papers, frayed at the edges and discoloured in places.
‘Doesn’t look much . . .’ Lou began, before raising his eyes and seeing the muzzle of a Glock a few inches from his face. He looked straight into Adam Fleming’s eyes and began to shake his head slowly.
‘Adam?’ Kate glared at him.
‘Oh, Katie, dear Katie. I’m sorry you had to be dragged into this.’
Captain Windsor took two steps towards them, reaching for his holstered pistol.
‘Please don’t,’ Fleming snapped.
Windsor pulled the gun an inch away from its resting place and Fleming fired, the bullet shattering the man’s forehead in a spray of red, his body crumbling in mid-movement.
Kate screamed.
‘Get up and put your guns on the floor,’ Fleming shouted to the three crewmen. Two were still seated at their consoles, the third poised half out of his chair. They obeyed silently, let their guns fall, and raised their hands.
‘Thank you. Now, who’s in charge here?’
‘Me. Lieutenant Taylor,’ said the lead operator.
‘OK, Lieutenant, we shall try to get this right . . . yes?’
The young man nodded.
‘Fuck, Fleming! I never liked you.’
‘Shut up, Lou,’ Fleming said quietly. He turned back to the lieutenant. ‘Right, Taylor, I want the chopper warmed up.’ He flicked his head back an inch to indicate aft where the helipad was situated.
‘Who are you working for, Adam?’ Kate asked.
Fleming kept his eyes on the naval officers. ‘Long story, Katie. Perhaps we can chat about it when you and hubby come on a chopper ride with me.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to persuade Admiral Hornbee on the Ark Royal to let you do that,’ Taylor said.
‘Don’t you, Lieutenant? Well, in that case you must make Hornbee understand that for every five-minute delay one of you dies . . . OK? Now get on the phone.’ He nodded to the receiver nestled up against the nearest monitor and Taylor stepped towards it gingerly.
‘Tell us what this is all about, Adam. Now!’ Kate cried.
Fleming drew breath. ‘I was working for Eurenergy. You have heard of them?’
‘Of course,’ Kate replied. ‘“Was”?’
‘I accepted a better offer.’
‘The Chinese,’ Lou said coldly.
‘I wasn’t sure which way the wind was going to blow in this little escapade. So I kept my options open. Evidently, the Chinese are better organized than Eurenergy.’
‘But they backed down.’
‘Indeed, they did. So Plan B has kicked in. I take the document and you two as hostages and then I consider the options . . . Who will pay the most for Kessler and Grenyov’s work? Maybe the Yanks!’ He snorted contemptuously.
A noise came from the door.
‘Put the gun down, Fleming.’ Jerry was poised in the doorway, his gun grasped double-handed, at arm’s length.
Fleming did not flinch. He had his back to Derham, his gun covering all five people in front of him, Lou, Kate and the three naval officers. ‘Ah, Jerry, old boy.’
‘Drop it.’
‘Why should I, Captain? You go to shoot me, I’ll shoot Lou, or Kate. You willing to risk that?’
‘Now,’ whispered Derham into his comms.
A burst of light came from beyond the starboard window of the bridge and Gladstone rocked. Fleming lost his footing and Derham fired. The MI6 man screeched as the Glock flew from his shattered fingers and he was thrown to his left. Jerry was across the bridge in a fraction of a second, standing, feet apart, the barrel of his gun pointed down at Fleming’s head.
Fleming’s contorted face was spattered with his own blood, his right hand a mess. He made to get up.
‘Don’t,’ Derham barked. ‘Move another inch and I swear it will be the last fucking thing you do.’
Bending down, he picked up the Glock, thrust it into his belt and looked towards Lou and Kate. ‘You two all right?’
They nodded in unison. Taylor picked up the phone again.
‘They know already, Lieutenant,’ Derham said.
The door onto the bridge slammed inwards as three Royal Marines in flak jackets carrying MP5s ran in. Two of the bridge officers retrieved their pistols. Taylor knelt beside Captain Windsor’s corpse. One of the Royal Marines pulled Fleming roughly to his feet, gripping his arm. Fleming shook him off.
Lou stepped forward and landed his fist in the centre of Fleming’s face, smashing his nose and knocking him backwards against a console. Fleming straightened, gripped his nose with his good hand and gave Lou a poisonous look.
‘Been dying to do that from the moment I met you,’ Lou panted, shaking his hand out.
One of the Royal Marines snatched at Fleming’s arms, yanked them back fiercely and snapped on cuffs.
‘How did you know, Captain Derham?’ Fleming said, blood streaming down from his nostrils and over his lips.
‘We have Sergei to thank for that. Turns out he has a better intelligence network than any of us. He learned you had been working for Glena Buckingham at Eurenergy. You used the name Herman Toit, a man with a completely fabricated identity – a South African ex-mercenary. It is important to Sergei where the Kessler Document and Grenyov’s work end up. Yes, a multi-billion-pound enterprise such as Buckingham’s may have been able to make good use of it, but he would have preferred that either my guys or your official employers got it. He cared because Dimitri Grenyov, the scientist who managed to get the document out of Soviet Russia, was his great uncle, he told us that. It is understandable that he wanted the man’s work completed.’
‘Unreal,’ Lou interrupted. ‘So you knew something would happen out here?’
‘There’s more, Lou. Sergei’s people learned that our friend Adam Fleming was being paid by at least two separate groups – Eurenergy and the Chinese. He was playing both ends against the middle.’
Fleming managed a small twisted smile. ‘And it nearly worked.’
‘Nearly,’ Derham said. ‘But when Sergei learned about your Asian pals, Fleming, he really wasn’t happy. In fact, he was really pissed. The last thing he wanted was for the Chinese to get their hands on the Kessler Document, because with them holding it and the West in possession of the other half of the information – what Einstein knew – there would never be any chance that Dimitri Grenyov’s work would be completed, and therefore his great uncle would have died in vain.’
Derham sighed. ‘I couldn’t do anything. I just had to wait. Max was given the task of informing me – just after we rescued you from the apartment, Kate. I had to keep it quiet because I needed proof.’ He nodded towards Fleming. ‘I needed him to make a move. I didn’t know when he would act. I realize now he was waiting to see what the Chinese would do and was improvising towards the end.’
‘And the guy, Zero, in Moscow? Fleming killed him?’
‘His own people, the FSB, bumped him off.’
‘And the kidnap?’ Kate hissed. ‘That was . . .?’
‘A delaying tactic, I believe. He needed to put the brakes on you getting out here – to give his Chinese buddies time to make arrangements. As I said, improvising.’
‘Not exactly improvising, Jerry,’ said Fleming. ‘Respect where respect is due.’
‘Respect?’ Kate hissed. ‘Respect you . . . a traitor. You make me sick.’
‘Get him away from me . . .’ she said, her face contorted as though she was coping with a very bad taste, ‘. . . before I smack him in the face too.’
68
Flotta, Orkney Islands. 10.09 a.m.
On the giant screen in the Main Control Hub of Flotta Base, Glena Buckingham and her team had seen the F35 fighter jets scrambled from Ark Royal; seen them swoop down towards the Shang-class submarine and pull back seconds away from destroying it.
And now, thirty minutes after the stand-off, JV3 had returned to the safety of the submarine bay of Gladstone and she could hear the marine archaeologists Kate Wetherall and Lou Bates walking onto the bridge.
‘Toit, or Fleming as they know him, must be about to make a move,’ Buckingham hissed half to herself. ‘. . . he must . . .’
‘So, this is really it?’ came Fleming’s voice from the bridge.
‘Doesn’t look much . . .’ Lou’s voice replied.
‘Adam?’
‘He’s done it!’ Buckingham said.
‘Oh, Katie, dear Katie. I’m sorry you had to be dragged into this.’
In the main control hub, they heard shuffling, voices, a gunshot, a scream. More shouting.
There was a dead silence on Flotta. None of the technicians dared to move. Then a burst of interference shimmied down the line from Gladstone. Buckingham turned and gave the nearest technician a deadly look. He scrambled to correct the problem. A confusion of sounds came through the speakers, then the crack of a pistol shot.
Buckingham spun on her heel. ‘Prep the chopper, Freeman. Sounds like Toit’s fucked. Get me off this pisshole of an island . . . NOW!’
She had not moved so quickly for a very long time, having grown accustomed to making other people move at top speed for her and was wholly unused to the role. Buckingham reached the lift with Secker close behind and Freeman trailing a few yards back looking scared and more than a little confused.
She stabbed at the lift button and hollered over her shoulder to the chief of operations. ‘I want us off here without delay!’ She ran into the lift as the doors opened. Freeman extricated his mobile and tapped in the number for the chopper pilot, whom he assumed was still out in the helicopter with it refuelled and ready for take-off at a moment’s notice.
