Launch Code

by Michael Ridpath

  Toby wasn’t convinced. Bill noticed. ‘You have signed the Official Secrets Act, Toby.’

  He had. In a way he was grateful. That meant he didn’t have to agonize over whether to tell the police; his duty was clear and spelled out. Or his duty to his country was.

  ‘What about Alice?’ he said.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘You’ve been saying all along that what happened on the Alexander Hamilton had nothing to do with Sam Bowen’s murder. But given what you have just told us, are you sure that’s the case? It’s a cover-up, isn’t it? Did the US Navy kill him? The CIA? To keep him quiet.’

  ‘No. No, absolutely not. The CIA has done some unpleasant stuff over the years, but they don’t kill journalists or historians who are asking difficult questions.’

  ‘Can you be certain?’

  ‘Absolutely. If they did that, imagine the outcry? It would also be illegal.’ Bill coughed. ‘I did check with Admiral Robinson, and he confirmed it. He worked in the Office of Naval Intelligence after the Hamilton – he has good contacts.’

  ‘So what was Alice doing talking to Sam? Was she asking him about Craig’s death?’

  Bill didn’t answer. He was looking worried.

  ‘What is it, Dad?’ Megan asked.

  Bill hesitated. ‘Ever since Mom died, Alice has always been protective of me. She knew that it was me who killed Craig.’

  ‘You told her,’ Megan said.

  ‘Not me. Your mother.’

  ‘Wait. Did she tell Brooke and Maya too?’ Sisterly outrage at being left out was rising in Megan’s voice.

  ‘No. Just Alice. She wanted to tell one of you.’

  And she had chosen Alice, Toby thought. That figured. And Alice hadn’t told Toby. That figured as well. And, actually, that was fair enough.

  Megan grunted. She accepted it was fair enough too.

  ‘OK,’ said Toby. ‘So you think that Alice was trying to persuade Sam to drop the questions about Craig’s death?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Bill looked uncomfortable. Exceedingly uncomfortable.

  ‘My God!’ Toby said. ‘You do think Alice killed him.’

  ‘No,’ said Bill. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly believe she could do that. Not Alice.’

  ‘Yes you do.’

  Bill pursed his lips. ‘Let’s just say I don’t think it would be good for Alice’s case if the police came to the conclusion that that’s what she was talking to him about.’

  Part of Toby was outraged.

  Part of him understood it.

  They heard the front door bang downstairs. ‘Hello!’ It was Lars’s voice. ‘Anyone at home?’

  ‘I’ll talk to him,’ Toby said, and he left Megan and her father in the bedroom.

  Lars was in the kitchen, still in his rain jacket. ‘Hey, Toby,’ he said. ‘How did it go at the police station?’

  ‘They wouldn’t let me see Alice. And she is still locked up.’

  ‘Have they charged her yet?’

  ‘Not yet. We don’t know whether they will. They can hold her for thirty-six hours without charging her, so technically they could let her out really early tomorrow morning, but her lawyer says if they are going to release her, it will be later today.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Given what he had just learned, Toby was hopeful that he could prise more information out of Lars about what had happened on the submarine. Confirm Bill’s story, perhaps. Give him a clue why Sam Bowen was killed, a clue he could use to get Alice freed. But it would be difficult to talk to Lars in the house with Bill and Megan around.

  ‘Hey, Lars. Now it’s stopped raining, do you want to get out of the house? Go for another walk on the beach? With Rickover, of course.’

  The dog was on his feet, looking expectantly up at the two men. His vote was clear.

  ‘Sure,’ said Lars. ‘Let’s go.’

  They were donning their coats in the hallway when Bill came down the stairs and greeted Lars. ‘I’m just going to King’s Lynn to get a new faucet for the Cottage bathroom,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘We’re going for a walk down to the beach,’ said Lars. ‘If you like, I’ll help you fix it when I get back.’

  ‘Glorified plumbers,’ said Megan from the stairs. ‘That’s all these submarine guys are, glorified plumbers. Give them a wrench and they’re happy.’

  Toby, Bill and Lars all stared at her. ‘Have fun,’ she said, reddening, and she turned and hurried back up the stairs.

  ‘You know,’ said Bill to Toby with a sigh. ‘My daughter really should engage brain before mouth. But that’s just an engineer talking.’

  Thirty-One

  They went the same route they had chosen that morning, down to the sea and then right along the dunes. The North Sea was closer this time – the tide had come in and was on its way back out. They could hear the waves clearly, and the grass on the dunes rustling in the breeze.

  There was always a breeze.

  ‘I like it here,’ said Lars. ‘I love the sea. Just the sound of it, you know? It calms me down. But I think I prefer being on top of it than underneath it.’

  ‘It makes a good change from London,’ said Toby. ‘Especially in a rainy November.’

  ‘I can see why Bill comes up here so much.’

  ‘Have you taken a look around outside Barnholt?’

  ‘I went for a little drive along the coast in the rain this morning. Had lunch in a pub somewhere.’

  ‘I’ve been talking to Bill,’ Toby said.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. He told me what happened on the Alexander Hamilton. About how it was you who first tried to incapacitate the captain. About how you were arrested and then Bill smashed Craig over the head with a wrench. And about how the captain then checked his orders and found the launch instruction was an error.’

  ‘He told you all that? That surprises me.’

  ‘Megan had found a letter from Bill to Donna that referred to it. Is that right? What Bill said?’

  ‘Yeah, that sounds about right.’

  ‘So why did you lie to Justin about killing Craig?’

  They were walking on the firmer sand just below the high tide mark, next to the dunes. The wide expanse of beach was almost empty. A woman with a dog was way ahead of them, and a couple were hunched against the breeze down by the sea.

  ‘Bill has been awfully good to me over the years. And to Justin. Bill wrote me when Justin figured out Craig was his real father; that really cut Bill up. And then he lost Donna, and his daughter was accused of murder. He didn’t need Justin causing trouble. It just suddenly occurred to me that it would be better all around if Justin thought I killed Craig. After all, I had tried to kill Commander Driscoll. He didn’t need Justin hating him. I couldn’t give a shit if Justin hates me. Also . . .’ he hesitated.

  Toby waited.

  ‘I meant to kill Commander Driscoll, I really did. But I’m kind of glad I didn’t and it was Bill who ended up killing someone. And that someone was our friend. I’ve always felt guilty about that. So, I was happy to take on a little of the blame.’

  ‘Weren’t you afraid the police would find out what you had told Justin?’

  ‘Not really. The Navy would never set them straight. Frankly, I’m more worried about the stretch in jail in Guadeloupe. It doesn’t look like that has surfaced yet, but it probably will.’

  ‘I’m amazed they managed to keep what happened on the Hamilton quiet for so long.’

  ‘It’s quite an achievement,’ said Lars. ‘There were a hundred forty men on that submarine. But we were all shaken by what happened. Bill and I left the Navy, and so did over half the crew. Most of them failed the Personal Reliability Program that’s supposed to confirm you are psychologically prepared to press the button. After you have been through what we went through, the answer has to be: not really.’

  ‘Were you and Bill court martialled?’

  ‘No. Commander Driscoll and t
he XO came up with a story. I’m not sure how much of the truth they told to their senior officers, but it was made real clear to the crew that no one should ever speak about what happened on the submarine. Bill was a hero. And so was I, kind of.’

  ‘What happened to Commander Driscoll? You told me he was dead, and I assumed Bill had killed him to stop the launch.’

  ‘He did die,’ said Lars. ‘A few months later.’

  ‘How?’ Toby asked. But he knew as he asked the question what the answer was going to be.

  ‘Blew his brains out. He was a decent guy, but he couldn’t handle knowing he had nearly destroyed humanity. Once he was sure the cover-up would stick, he checked out. It was sad.’ Lars stared at his feet trudging through the sand. ‘Made me wonder what I was still doing on this earth. Still does, sometimes.’

  ‘And the XO? He stayed?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lars hesitated. ‘He had his own issues. But he’s done well. Vice Admiral. With the captain gone, he’s the one who holds us all together. Goes to the reunions. Keeps the crew in line.’

  Toby thought how quick Bill had been to get in touch with Admiral Robinson after Sam’s murder.

  ‘And it’s held?’

  ‘It seems to have,’ said Lars. ‘When Sam Bowen came to see me in Wisconsin, he said the rumours about the Hamilton had started from guys who had worked in the Pentagon. I guess a number of people there must have known what happened; Bill told me they set up some commission afterwards to change the launch protocols.’

  They walked on in silence. The beach was empty now, apart from the small green boat dragged up against the dunes. Far out to sea, distant windmills waved desultorily towards them.

  Toby tried to imagine what it would have been like to have come that close to finishing the world. He couldn’t.

  Donna must have felt vindicated. That was probably why she and Bill had got back together again.

  Then Toby remembered something.

  ‘Bill said that the FBI came to see him at the submarine base. And you and Craig. About Donna. Is that right?’

  Lars stiffened. ‘I don’t remember.’

  Oh yes you do, thought Toby.

  ‘Yeah. And there was a woman she had been talking to. Pat Greenberg, I think her name was?’

  Lars shook his head.

  Toby decided to confront him. ‘Lars. You’re holding back on me.’

  Lars glanced out to sea before looking straight at Toby. ‘Maybe I am. But don’t go there, Toby. I mean it, don’t go there. I’m really surprised Bill told you about that.’

  ‘It was only in passing,’ Toby said.

  ‘He’s losing it,’ said Lars.

  ‘Why were the FBI interested in Donna?’

  Lars stopped. ‘No, Toby. Do you hear me? No.’

  They faced each other. Toby knew he was getting close to something. And he wasn’t going to let Lars shut him down.

  ‘Alice is under arrest; the police think she’s a murderer. If you know something, you have to tell the police. Or at least tell me. We can figure out what to do together.’

  Toby could see Lars was wavering.

  ‘Did you kill Sam, Lars?’

  ‘No,’ Lars replied firmly, as if relieved to be able to give a straight answer.

  ‘Then do you know who did?’

  There was a loud crack, and a look of surprise flashed across Lars’s face. A crimson hole appeared on his chest. Another crack, another hole.

  As Lars’s legs gave way and he slumped to the ground, Toby dived to his right.

  There was a third crack, and sand erupted a foot in front of Toby’s face.

  The dunes were no more than ten yards away.

  Toby pushed himself to his feet and sprinted for them, crouching low.

  A fourth shot. Toby didn’t know where it had landed; all he knew was it had missed him.

  He flung himself into a shallow gap between the dunes and crawled as fast as he could.

  He thought that fourth shot had come from the green boat: he believed he had seen a muzzle flash in his peripheral vision, but he wasn’t really sure. He also wasn’t sure what to do. Hide? Or run?

  Toby glanced around him. To his left was the beach and the sea. Ahead was a shallow hollow of beach grass, with the dunes rising in a row beyond it. And beyond that was the marsh and the dyke.

  He dashed across the hollow, Rickover on his heels, waiting for the crack of the rifle or the blow of a bullet in the centre of his back, but it never came. He sprinted up and over a dune, and slid down the other side. Here the dunes were bunched more closely together, which was good. He spotted two humps of grass-covered sand, each about ten feet high, and darted between them. Fear spurred him on, but fear sharpened his mind.

  The marsh stretched ahead, or rather the fields next to the marsh, surrounded by wire fences, ditches and bulrushes. To the right, the path lay in a high straight line on top of the dyke back to the village.

  Exposed. Very exposed.

  Over to the left, at least half a mile away along the coast, the dunes rose into something more substantial, crowned with thick green pine trees.

  That was a better bet. But how to get there without being seen?

  Hide. The ditch would be good, except it ran in a dead straight line, and it would be easy for the shooter to get a good line of sight along it. Toby examined the bulrushes. He would have to cross the ditch and the fence; which should be possible, but would slow him down in the open. Once in the rushes he would be hard to spot.

  Rickover was looking up at him, with a confused expression on his face, wondering what he would do next.

  Shooing off the dog wouldn’t work. Would he keep quiet with Toby in the bulrushes? Maybe, if Toby hugged him close.

  No time to waste. He was just about to make a dash for it, when caution got the better of him, and he tentatively leaned out from behind his dune.

  A figure holding a rifle was crouching low and making its way towards the base of the dyke, with its back to Toby. Toby couldn’t see who it was, beyond that it was a man, he was above average height and he was wearing a green coat of some kind and a woolly hat.

  Toby didn’t hang around to stare.

  Abandoning the bulrush idea, he doubled back through the dunes, across the sandy hollow, and out on to the beach, Rickover keeping pace.

  He estimated the pine woods were half a mile away. Toby was reasonably fit, but the sand would slow him down: maybe three to four minutes at full speed. With luck, the shooter would still be creeping around the dyke on the other side of the dunes, out of sight.

  Without luck? Better not think about that.

  He glanced back at Lars’s body, lying crumpled on the beach, not moving. If he wasn’t dead already, there was nothing Toby could do to save him now. If Toby went back to check on him, he would most likely wind up sprawled on the sand next to Lars, a couple of bullets in his own body.

  So he started running, slowing briefly as he passed the boat, which was little more than a fibreglass tub. There were indeed footprints behind it, and a couple of casings. He bent low, grabbed one and ran on. Every few seconds, he looked over his shoulder, but no sign of the shooter.

  He was getting closer to the pine woods. His breath was short and his chest was pounding, but he kept his legs pumping. Rickover, now several yards behind him, began yapping with the excitement.

  Toby looked over his shoulder to tell the dog to be quiet. Way behind, beyond the green boat, he saw a figure spill out of the dunes.

  The figure stopped and raised his rifle.

  Once again, Toby darted into the dunes, just as he heard the rifle crack. He had no idea where the bullet landed; all he knew was it hadn’t been in him.

  The sand was softer in the dunes and it was slower going. But he was out of sight of the shooter, and soon he reached a barbed-wire fence bordering the pine wood. He flung himself over it, rolled, and pulled himself to his feet. Through the trees he spotted a small car park.

  Three vehicles stood clos
e to each other: a white Range Rover and two smaller hatchbacks, one silver and one blue. A tall woman was loading a golden retriever into the back of the Range Rover.

  Toby sprinted for the car, yelling and waving, but the woman had climbed inside and didn’t hear him.

  He listened out for the sound of another rifle shot, but all he could hear was Rickover yelping somewhere behind him.

  He threw himself at the car door on the passenger side, yanked it open and jumped in. ‘Drive!’ he said.

  The woman was about forty, with well-groomed blonde hair. She was wearing a Barbour. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, her voice cut glass. ‘Will you please get out of my car?’

  ‘There’s a man with a gun,’ Toby said. ‘Just drive.’

  ‘Get out of my car, or I will call the police.’

  ‘I’ll call the police,’ said Toby. ‘You drive, for God’s sake! Didn’t you hear the shots?’

  The woman looked at him. Rickover was barking furiously outside the passenger door. The retriever licked Toby’s ear.

  ‘OK,’ said the woman. ‘Let your dog in.’

  Toby opened his door and Rickover jumped up on to his lap. The woman put the Range Rover into reverse and the vehicle leaped backwards. She slammed the gear into first, and the car surged forward.

  ‘Where to?’ said the woman.

  ‘Anywhere,’ said Toby, reaching for his phone. ‘Just drive fast.’ He punched out 999, while the woman did as he had told her, the car reaching fifty over the bumpy track, flinging Toby and the two dogs off their seats.

  The track from the car park led away from Barnholt through the pine trees. Within two minutes they had reached the main road.

  ‘Which way?’ the woman asked.

  ‘King’s Lynn,’ said Toby to her, and ‘Police,’ to his phone.

  Thirty-Two

  Toby sat in the interview room sipping a cup of tea. It had sugar in it: at least three spoonfuls. He didn’t take sugar, but it tasted good. Some cop technique for dealing with shock, maybe.

  He and his volunteer getaway driver, whose name was Caroline, had remained remarkably cool as they had sped to King’s Lynn. A series of police cars hurtled past them towards the coast, until one peeled off and escorted them to the police station.