‘Why don’t they get their source to confirm the data?’
Taylor shook his head. ‘They can’t,’ he replied. ‘They’ve had no contact with him since he sent this assault message.’
‘Hence the reason for them sniffing round SIS,’ Richter said.
‘Exactly.’
‘Have you told them you can’t help?’
‘Not yet,’ Taylor replied, ‘but we’re going to.’
Hammersmith, London
Richter delivered a negative report to Simpson.
‘So where does that leave us?’ Simpson asked.
‘No further forward,’ Richter replied. He was almost thinking aloud. ‘If Payne’s presence at Sosnogorsk was simply to service an existing source, it can have nothing to do with the Blackbird over-flight a week later.’
‘We know that,’ Simpson interjected suddenly, ‘but the Russians didn’t.’
Richter looked at him with sudden respect. ‘That’s right,’ he said slowly. ‘They didn’t. Maybe it was just a horrible coincidence. If they have got something devious going on in that area that the Americans know about and haven’t told us, and if they had identified Payne as the Moscow Station Deputy Head, his visit to Sosnogorsk could easily be interpreted as an investigation by SIS. In that case, snatching Newman, as Payne’s superior, for questioning does make some kind of sense.’
They sat silently for a moment, both considering the matter from this new angle. ‘Recommendations?’ Simpson was suddenly icily efficient.
‘Two,’ Richter said. ‘First, I think I should talk to JARIC again and see if the vehicle concentrations they noted were anywhere near Sosnogorsk. Second, I wonder if we’re missing the obvious. The Americans are the ones who started this hare running when they flew the Blackbird. I think you should talk to the CIA London Chief of Station and try to find out what the hell it is that they think they’ve found up there.’
Simpson nodded. ‘Good idea. I’ll catch him at the next meeting of the Joint Intelligence Committee.’
‘Has anything come in since about the Blackbird surveillance films – from the Americans, I mean?’
Simpson shook his head. ‘Nothing. We had a brief note – sent direct from Langley to SIS, in fact – stating that the results had been negative. That was a couple of days after we released the films to them.’
‘Did you believe that?’
‘Of course not. Would you?’
‘No,’ Richter said. ‘There’s no way that the Americans would have made an over-flight of Russian territory in the Blackbird, risking a major international incident, unless they were certain that there was something there to find. And they certainly wouldn’t then simply drop the whole thing like a hot brick and do nothing about it. Something is going on, and I get the distinct feeling that we’re about to be handed the shitty end of a heavy stick. There’s something else you should know,’ he added, ‘which may make you decide to talk to the CIA London Chief of Station sooner rather than later.’
‘What?’
‘According to Piers Taylor, the Cousins have information that some sort of covert assault is in progress, directed against the West by Moscow.’
‘Details?’ Simpson snapped.
‘That’s the problem. There aren’t any. The Cousins are really cagey about it, Piers said, not least because Langley has slapped a NOFORN caveat on the whole thing. But they are serious,’ Richter continued. ‘They actually asked Piers if SIS had a high-level source in Moscow who could confirm the data they have.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘You move in more exalted circles than me,’ Richter said. ‘Have you heard any whispers? Anything at all?’
‘Nothing,’ Simpson replied. ‘Has Taylor any corroboration of this assault?’
Richter shook his head. ‘No, but he’s definitely taking it seriously. He thinks SIS will be tasking us with investigating it any time now.’
‘Right,’ Simpson said. ‘Try your contacts in the CIA. See if you can get any hint of what’s going on from them. Then try JARIC again – there must be something on those bloody films. I’ll try to get some sense out of the CIA Chief of Station or his deputy.’
Theatreland, London
Harvey Sharpe did not fit the popular image of a CIA officer. Short, balding, around fifty pounds overweight, and perspiring freely in the London heat, he gazed pinkly at Richter through thick-lensed glasses from the far side of his second dry Martini. He mopped ineffectively at his brow with a large green handkerchief, and Richter ordered him another drink from a passing waitress.
‘I wish you limeys would discover air conditioning,’ Sharpe complained. ‘This room is hot even without the crowd.’ It was seven twenty, and they were sitting at a tiny corner table in a packed wine bar just off Drury Lane, where the buzz of conversation made anything they said to each other completely inaudible to anyone else.
‘We’ve got a lot to learn from you, I’m sure,’ Richter said, and Sharpe gazed at him suspiciously.
‘Why the meeting, Paul? I’ve got a wife and kids I’d like to get back and see.’
Richter looked at him for a moment. He had three possible contacts in the London CIA – two in the Intelligence Division, and Harvey in Research. In fact, ‘Research’ was something of a misnomer, as the Division was in charge of technical intelligence, which included atomic weapons technology and, crucially, satellite and surveillance aircraft photographic interpretation. Harvey was a photographic and technical analyst – if anyone knew about the Blackbird films, he would. ‘Harvey,’ Richter said, ‘we have a problem. We don’t seem to be getting the co-operation from your Company that we used to. In fact, we seem to be getting nothing at all.’ Sharpe gazed back at him, and took another sip of his Martini. ‘You heard about the Blackbird?’ Sharpe nodded, somewhat reluctantly. ‘Do you know what the films showed?’ The American nodded again, more slowly. ‘Care to share it with me?’
Sharpe drained his glass and, as the waitress appeared with the Martini Richter had ordered, he seized it gratefully. ‘I can’t,’ he said finally.
‘Why not?’ Richter asked. ‘We’ve exchanged before, Harvey. I’ve passed you a lot of good, solid data. We really need to know about this, and I’m calling in the favours.’ Sharpe shook his head again. ‘Harvey,’ Richter said, his voice hard and cold, ‘don’t freeze up on me. We lost our Moscow Head of Station over this.’
Sharpe looked up, startled. ‘You mean—’
‘I mean terminated, Harvey,’ Richter replied. ‘With, as you used to say, extreme prejudice. Probably in the Lubyanka, and that’s a real hard way to go.’
Sharpe took another swallow of his drink, and Richter thought that his face had paled slightly. Around them the pre-theatre crowd ebbed and flowed, a meaningless constant background babble. ‘I heard he was killed in a road accident,’ the American said, almost defiantly, ‘before the Blackbird flew.’
‘That’s the official story, Harvey, but we’re quite certain he died under interrogation, and we’re satisfied that there’s a link. I can’t give you specifics, but we had an SIS officer close to the centre of the ’bird’s flight-path a week or so earlier, and we guess that the Russians connected that with whatever the hell they’re doing out in the tundra. And your people must know something’s going on up there, otherwise you’d never have flown the Blackbird.’ The American sat silently, sipping his drink and looking anywhere except at Richter. ‘Harvey.’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Harvey, please.’
Sharpe took another drink, mopped his brow again and leant forward. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet Richter had to strain to hear what he was saying. ‘OK, listen to me. We got copies of the films here last week, but they weren’t like the usual stuff out of Keyhole – the KH–12 satellite. These were restricted circulation, Paul. Analysts and Head of Sections only, and a NOFORN caveat. You know what that means?’ Richter nodded. ‘Usually they’re just the usual US/UK EYES ONLY,’ Sharpe said. ‘And we had a
specific directive from Langley – no sight, no discussion with any non-US personnel. It’s my job if I tell you, Paul.’
Richter had an idea. ‘Did you ever play charades?’
‘What?’
‘Charades. You know, the parlour game. I’d like to try a variation. I’ll ask the questions, you tell me “yes” or “no”. That’s all, Harvey. “Yes” or “no”. OK?’ Sharpe stared across at Richter. ‘You wouldn’t be telling me, Harvey. I’d be telling you. That’s not a discussion, is it?’
Sharpe shook his head slowly. ‘No, I guess not.’
‘OK. Let’s try it.’
Richter paused and marshalled his thoughts. ‘First,’ he said, ‘you know we’ve got copies of the films?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve noticed some vehicular concentrations in one area. Is that important?’ The American nodded. ‘Are the Russians building something there?’
Sharpe smiled for the first time. ‘No, they’re not.’
The way he said it made it obvious to Richter that he was way off beam. ‘Were they destroying something?’
Sharpe nodded slightly. ‘Yes.’
‘Something new?’
‘No, very old.’ He leant forward again. ‘And I do mean very old.’
‘What – pre-war?’
His reply staggered Richter.
‘No,’ Sharpe said. ‘Pre-Christian.’
‘What?’
Sharpe shook his head. Richter thought for a few moments, then continued. ‘Was what they destroyed important?’
‘Completely worthless.’
Richter sat back. He hadn’t expected answers like that. ‘Do the films show this thing before they destroyed it?’
‘Which films?’
‘The ones from the Blackbird.’
‘No.’
‘What about the Keyhole satellite pictures? We have some taken about a month ago. Do they show it?’
‘Yes.’
Richter was getting very confused. ‘I’m getting lost, Harvey. The Russians have destroyed something that was over two thousand years old, but of no value whatsoever, miles out in the tundra, and for that the Company pulled a Blackbird out of retirement at Beale and flew it over the CIS?’
Sharpe nodded. ‘Think laterally, Paul. There are two components to this equation, and you’ve only asked about one of them. Look at the films you’ve got, but don’t look for something that’s there – look for something that isn’t there. I can’t say any more.’
Sharpe stood up, and a final thought struck Richter. ‘We didn’t receive any data from the radiation detectors on the Blackbird, Harvey. Is that important?’ Sharpe nodded. ‘Do they show a high level of radiation?’ Sharpe shook his head. ‘Do they show any radiation?’
‘No.’ The American leaned forward and almost whispered. ‘Normal background radiation only. Nothing else. Remember that – nothing else.’ He eased his way out of the corner. ‘That’s it. I’m going home. Good luck, and remember, you didn’t get it from me.’
Richter sat there, lost in thought, as the American pushed his way through the crowd towards the door.
Chapter Eleven
Thursday
Hammersmith, London
The following morning Richter saw Simpson again. Simpson didn’t understood what Harvey had been driving at, which wasn’t surprising because Richter didn’t understand it either, and he was the one trying to explain it.
‘Who is this guy?’
Richter shook his head. ‘I protect my sources. He’s an analyst with CIA London, and that’s all I’ll tell you.’
‘But he knows what he’s talking about?’
‘Yes. Definitely.’
‘And the films are significant – they do show something?’
‘Yes – or rather, they don’t show something, and that’s what my source told me we should look for.’
‘Don’t confuse me any more. I’ll contact JARIC and tell them we’re coming up.’
‘We?’ Richter asked, surprised.
Simpson smiled slightly. ‘I do get out of this office sometimes, Richter. Yes, we’ll visit the Crabs and see these films. Ring the Pool and tell them we’ll be taking the Jaguar.’
American Embassy, Grosvenor Square, London
‘Anything yet from that Taylor character?’ John West-wood asked, as the two men entered the secure briefing room.
‘Nope,’ Roger Abrahams replied. ‘Don’t forget it’ll take him a while to talk his bosses into letting us access any source they’ve got.’
‘If at all.’
Abrahams nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘If at all.’
‘What have you got now?’ Westwood asked.
‘Langley came through with some new data on the secure link. You saw the preliminary report on the Blackbird films and detectors?’
‘Yes,’ Westwood nodded. ‘Just before I left.’
‘Well,’ said Abrahams, ‘the Langley in-house experts have gone through the films and the seismic records again. I think you said the preliminary assessment was that it was a weapon in the five-megaton range?’
‘About that, yes.’
‘OK,’ Abrahams said. ‘They’ve had to re-think it a bit. Further analysis of the seismic records suggest that the detonation was actually about six or seven megatons. What is troubling everyone is that any radiation that was produced had to have been real short-term stuff, because the detector records on the Blackbird showed no significant radiation. That means that either it’s a radiation-free nuclear weapon, which as far as we know is impossible, or the radiation it produces dissipates astonishingly quickly. So whatever this device is, it’s brand new. At least, a weapon with that yield and that speed of radiation dissipation is brand new. The short version is that this looks like some kind of a super neutron bomb. What bothers them,’ he finished, ‘is that nobody at Langley has any idea why the Russians built it, or what the hell they’re going to use it for.’
Abrahams paused. ‘Langley also came up with a new instruction, John. I don’t think you’re going to like it, but the Company has lifted the NOFORN caveat and authorized full disclosure of all data to the British, initially only at Joint Intelligence Committee level.’
Joint Air Reconnaissance Intelligence Centre, RAF Brampton, Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire
Simpson drove fast but competently, and saw the radar speed trap on the A1 before Richter. They went through the beam at precisely fifty-nine miles per hour, and Richter touched his forelock to the two constables as the Jaguar passed their pursuit car.
‘Bloody woodentops,’ Simpson muttered. He had a very low opinion of the British police force. On the other hand, he was scrupulously fair – he had a very low opinion of almost everyone. Richter had the Smith under his left arm, and watched the duplicate passenger mirror like a hawk for any sign of HIS – Hostile Intelligence Service – activity, but saw nothing.
Simpson turned into the main gate at Brampton at precisely eleven fifteen, and the two men went through the usual security procedures. Kemp was waiting for them in the JARIC foyer, and extended a somewhat frosty greeting. Richter guessed that Simpson’s call to him had been couched in fairly peremptory terms. As Simpson preceded him through the doorway, Kemp asked Richter in a low whisper what Simpson’s rank equivalent was. Richter told him Air Vice Marshal, which in fact elevated Simpson a couple of steps, but would at least ensure that FOE got any necessary cooperation.
In the viewing room, Kemp introduced Penny Walters, who was waiting by the screen. Simpson smiled briefly and insincerely at her, then turned to Kemp. ‘Right, get on with it.’ Kemp took up a position behind the lectern and began his preamble. Richter could see Simpson start to turn slightly pink, a sure sign of irritation, so he interrupted.
‘Squadron Leader, I think you can take it that Mr Simpson knows the details of the flight, and I can confirm his security clearance as Cosmic Top Secret. What we would like to see is what, if anything, you have found on the films.’
Kemp looke
d slightly confused, and beckoned to Penny. ‘I haven’t been involved in further analysis of this material,’ he said, ‘but I believe that Sub Lieutenant Walters here has had some success.’
Penny stepped forward and smiled nervously at Simpson. ‘The most obvious thing I’ve spotted isn’t something that’s there – it’s something that isn’t. That sounds awfully confused, sir, but I’ll try and explain.’
Simpson sat forward. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is what we hoped you would say. We have had indications from another source—’ he glanced over at Richter ‘–that the significance of these films is what they don’t show, rather than what they do show.’
Penny looked puzzled, but nodded and ploughed on. ‘On the satellite pictures of just over two months ago, there was a small hill, just about here.’ She pulled down the map of north-west Russia that Richter remembered Kemp using on his previous visit, and pointed. Kemp looked interested.
‘So?’ he said.
‘Well, on the Blackbird film, the hill isn’t there any more. I thought at first it had been levelled for some sort of agricultural development, but it’s a bit too far out in the wilderness for that. And there are no major roads anywhere near it, so I don’t think that it can be for any sort of construction.’ She stopped, and shrugged her shoulders. ‘That’s all, I’m afraid.’
‘Where’s it near?’ Richter asked. ‘I mean, what’s the closest settlement?’
Penny looked at the map, measuring distances with her eyes. ‘There’s really not a lot up there,’ she said. ‘The site’s right in the western foothills of the Severnyy Urals. I suppose the closest would be Anyudin, and that’s about forty or fifty miles down to the south-west. But it’s pretty small.’
‘What about the closest cities?’ Simpson asked.
‘Pechora to the north-west, I suppose, or maybe Ukhta due west. They’re both roughly the same distance from the site.’
There was silence for a few moments while Richter and Simpson digested the information, then Kemp spoke. ‘I wonder. Could it be the first step towards the construction of a military establishment? But there should be reasonable road access – it would be prohibitively expensive to fly construction equipment to a site so remote – and that means—’
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