The Hour of Camelot

by Alan Fenton

  Arthur recognised this as a not so subtle jibe, intended to convey that he took his orders direct from the President of the USA.

  ‘The message is my own,’ said Arthur. ‘I bring you a warning, Sadiq.’

  Sadiq frowned. ‘I am not impressed by threats.’ ‘I said a warning, not a threat,’ said Arthur. ‘And the warning is?’

  ‘That you and your country are in mortal danger.’

  ‘Let the Americans send their missiles,’ said Sadiq. ‘We shall know how to respond.’

  ‘There will be a missile strike,’ said Arthur, ‘but it is not from America that it will come.’

  Sadiq’s dark eyes gleamed. ‘Who else would dare attack the KOE?’

  Arthur waited for a few seconds, prolonging the suspense. ‘The man who plotted with you to attack the greatest power on earth,’ he said, ‘the man who pretends to be your ally.’

  Sadiq’s face registered first incredulity, then amusement. ‘You are not speaking of my brother, Ibn Khalid?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You are trying to trick me. He is my friend.’ Despite Sadiq’s protestations, there was uncertainty in his voice.

  ‘Khalid’s friendship is a tradeable commodity. He has made a deal,’ said Arthur, who perfectly understood the paranoid nature of his adversary. Trusting no one, not even those closest to him, Sadiq el Shaeb’s only commitment was to self-interest. His suspicions were judge, jury and executioner, as many enemies, as well as loyal friends and family members, had learned to their cost.

  ‘A deal? With whom?’

  ‘With the President of the United States, his old school friend and comrade.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘To save his own skin, and to avoid an American missile strike on his country, Khalid has agreed to launch a pre-emptive strike against you,’ said Arthur. ‘As you know, his missiles are still locked on KOE targets, as are yours on his. That was a vital part of your joint plan to deceive the USA, wasn’t it? It would be relatively easy for him to destroy your missile sites and military bases, not forgetting you, of course, Sadiq. You too would be destroyed. Politically it would be a master stroke, an ideal solution for the US President. Sadiq would be punished for his aggression, and not by his enemy, the United States, but by his friend and brother.’

  Crazy as at first it sounded, the story was beginning to make sense to Sadiq. ‘And the Democratic Arab Republic?’

  ‘Will become an American satellite, sanitised in accordance with the democratic principles of the west. No doubt American troops will be stationed there for a number of years to ensure its good behaviour.’

  Sadiq pondered. ‘And Ibn Khalid goes unpunished for daring to attack the United States? Impossible.’

  ‘Ibn Khalid will publicly beg forgiveness for his treacherous attack, and pledge his loyalty to the West. No doubt he will be tried, probably by the International Court of Justice, and serve a short prison sentence. He will then be quietly released, given a new identity and allowed to lose himself in some sympathetic country on a nauseatingly fat income.’

  Sadiq’s face gave nothing away. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘What you and Khalid did was wrong,’ said Arthur, ‘but I also think it’s wrong that you should be made the scapegoat. The deal Khalid and the President have made will send a confusing message to the world. I find it immoral.’

  ‘Immoral,’ repeated Sadiq, rolling the word round his mouth as though submitting it to a taste test. Though the concept was entirely foreign to him, he was nevertheless able to relate to the theoretical proposition that Arthur believed in morality, and that therefore his story might just conceivably be true. ‘Give me proof,’ he said.

  When he said that, Arthur knew that the job of convincing him was more than half done. ‘You shall have it,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, I advise you to be on the alert.’

  The control room clock showed 19.30 hrs. – four and a half hours to the deadline.

  When he was Prime Minister of the Federation, Arthur met Ibn Khalid two or three times. Had anyone suggested then that one day warm-hearted, dependable Khalid would launch a nuclear attack on the United States, Arthur would have laughed in their face. Clearly though, Khalid was as devious and ruthless as his friend, Sadiq.

  At 20.00 hrs. Arthur was on a secure channel to Khalid via gravitational waves. ‘Good evening, sir. I am Arthur Pendragon. I hope I am not disrupting your schedule.’

  ‘You are welcome at any time,’ said Khalid courteously.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ said Arthur. ‘Sadiq is not the friend you think he is.’

  ‘I never thought he was my friend,’ said Khalid. ‘On the contrary, we are enemies.’

  ‘You were once enemies,’ said Arthur, ‘until common interests made you friends. Together you plotted a nuclear attack on the USA. It was your missiles and his which were on those Titans.’ Ibn Khalid thrust out his lips, expressing his disdain. ‘I know nothing of any missiles, Mr Pendragon. What I do know is that the Americans launched an unprovoked attack on the Titans and shot them down with much loss of innocent life.’

  ‘You were supposed to be on board one of those Titans on your way to talk peace with Sadiq and the President,’ said Arthur. ‘Instead, you were hiding out in your own country. What’s more, you still are. How do you explain that?’

  ‘Why should I explain anything to you?’

  It was obvious there was no point in prolonging the argument, and besides, time was short. ‘The purpose of my call is to tell you that Sadiq has made a deal with the President of the United States.’

  ‘What nonsense is this?’

  ‘Sadiq,’ continued Arthur undeterred, ‘has agreed to make a dramatic policy shift. The Kingdom of the Euphrates will become a staunch ally of the west, and in return will receive much needed economic aid. He has also confessed that you and he loaded the Titans with nuclear missiles, and that you planned a strike on American targets.’

  ‘Why would Sadiq confess such rubbish? And why would he make a deal with the United States?’

  ‘To save his life,’ said Arthur, ‘something he seems to value highly. Frankly he had no choice. If he did not co-operate, the United States was ready to turn his country to ash, and him with it. As part of the deal he is to be tried by the International Court of Justice and sentenced to a short term of imprisonment. After that he’ll be released and offered a new identity and a life of luxury. He will have lost his power, but he’ll live. It seems the idea of living appeals to him, now that the Titans have blown up in his face.’

  ‘These are children’s stories.’ Though Khalid’s reaction was contemptuous, his eyes hinted at his unease.

  ‘What’s more,’ said Arthur, ‘Sadiq has agreed to use his nuclear arsenal to destroy military targets in the Democratic Arab Republic: missile sites, military bases and so on. Obviously he knows where they all are. He’s been targeting them for years.’ Distrustful by nature, Khalid suspected that Arthur’s story, far-fetched as it sounded, might just have an element of truth to it. Concerned, but not yet convinced, he asked a crucial question: ‘The President of the United States could order the destruction of my country in a matter of minutes,’ he said.

  ‘Why does he need Sadiq to do his dirty work for him?’

  ‘I’ll tell you why,’ said Arthur. ‘The President is afraid of provoking a global nuclear war. Attacking either the KOE or the DAR with nuclear missiles would risk doing just that. The US has taken a lot of stick in the last thirty years for throwing its weight around, and it doesn’t want to be seen as the world’s bully boy. The American people would react badly to any military action by their government involving civilian casualties. An important condition of the deal is that Sadiq has undertaken not to target civilians.’ Arthur paused for effect. ‘Unless of course you classify yourself as a civilian,’ he said, provocatively.

  Ibn Khalid winced. ‘Are you suggesting . . . ?’

  ‘That you are part of the deal, Ibn
? Indeed I am. There’s a missile in the KOE with your name on it.’

  Incredible though his story seemed, Pendragon was making sense. Ibn Khalid knew Sadiq of old. He had been a treacherous enemy. No doubt he could be a treacherous friend.

  ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘I have served as a soldier in the KOE,’ said Arthur. ‘I saw terrible things there. Sadiq massacred thousands of his fellow countrymen. I know him for what he is, a tyrant and a murderer. Murderers deserve to be punished for their crimes.’

  Almost ready to believe Arthur, Khalid would need more than words to be totally convinced. ‘I shall need proof,’ he said.

  ‘You shall have it,’ said Arthur. ‘Meanwhile I recommend you watch your screens carefully.’

  As the connection was cut, the hands of the control room clock stood at 20.30 hrs. – three and a half hours to the deadline. Arthur opened the line to Tich. ‘Targets primed,’ he said.

  ‘How long do you need?’

  Tich’s reaction was disturbingly vague. ‘About three hours or so.’

  ‘You have two hours maximum. The deadline expires at midnight.’

  Ian Tichgame blew his cheeks into giant balloons. ‘I’ll get back to you,’ he said.

  Whilst Agravaine busied himself at his keyboard, Arthur closed his eyes and, as Merlin had taught him to do when he was a boy, emptied his mind of all tension and discordant thoughts, replacing it with the harmonious sounds of nature, of breezes sifting through trees, of the rush of the sea, of the evening song of the blackbird – God’s song, as Merlin called it. Moments later, with spirits revived and head cleared, he was focused again on what had to be done. Agravaine flicked specks of dust from his trousers until he was satisfied that there were the same number of specks on each leg. ‘You think they’ll fall for it, nuncle?’

  ‘There’ll be deaths, Agro, many deaths,’ said Arthur.

  ‘And many more will live who would have died,’ said Agravaine.

  Agravaine was right, of course. Small comfort, all the same.

  Arthur consulted the control room clock and was startled to see the time: 22.50 hrs. One hour, ten minutes to go. Where was Tich?

  Less than a minute later, Ian Tichgame’s rotund face reappeared on one of the wall screens, and over the speakers Techforce Ten confirmed . . . Ten seconds to Trojan Horse. The big table monitor divided, images of the KOE and DAR missile sites pixelated on both sides. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . .

  ‘Trojan Horse is ‘go’!’ boomed Tich’s voice over Galaxy’s speakers, and then immediately from Techforce Ten: DAR missile start-up simulation active! DAR missile start-up simulation active.

  In the command bunker that served as the control room for KOE’s missiles sites Sadiq jumped nervously as the hooters blared a raucous warning. ‘What the hell is that noise?’

  Scared by what he was hearing and seeing, and no less scared of his master’s temper, Sadiq’s aide mumbled, ‘The DAR missile motors.’

  ‘I can’t hear you. Turn off those damned hooters!’ The hooters fell silent. ‘What are you saying, idiot?’

  ‘The DAR missile motors, sir!’ The aide was still shouting even though the hooters had been switched off.

  ‘What about them, fool!’ ‘They’ve started up!’

  ‘Liar!’ yelled Sadiq, raising his hand to strike the man.

  The aide flinched. ‘Look sir, look!’ There on screen was the evidence. The DAR missile motors were running. Sadiq fought back a surge of panic. ‘Who are they targeting?’

  ‘Us, sir! They’re targeting us!’

  Fear wrenched Sadiq’s stomach. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t happening. His men were looking at him in bewilderment. Reminding himself that they depended on him, and he on them, he drew himself up, looking proud and confident, remembering who he was. ‘Check surveillance sensors.’ In a few seconds the puzzled aide reported. ‘I don’t understand it. The balloon sensors are picking up no unusual activity.’

  That was odd, very odd. The sensors had never failed them before. ‘A system fault?’ Sadiq suggested, praying that it was, yet knowing there was too much at stake to rely on guesswork.

  The aide was too scared to say either yes or no. ‘It could be, sir.’

  ‘How long to launch time?’ ‘Just over two minutes, sir.’

  There could be only one explanation: Arthur had spoken the truth. Khalid had made a deal with the Americans. The panicky voice of his aide pressured him. ‘Two minutes to launch, sir.’

  In Galaxy, Techforce Ten reported the next phase of Trojan Horse: KOE missile start-up simulation active! KOE missile start-up simulation active.

  In his command bunker, Ibn Khalid stared transfixed at the monitor that showed Sadiq’s missile motors firing. So Pendragon was right. First Khalid’s hands, then his whole body began to shake with rage and fear. Sadiq had sold out to the American pigs.

  A strange message scrolled across the command monitor: ‘Sensors do not confirm missile start-up.’

  How could that be? ‘Can we rely on the sensors?’ he asked his deputy.

  ‘They have never been wrong before, but . . . ’

  Right or wrong, there was no time to check. Safer, much safer, to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

  ‘Permission to start missile motors, sir?’

  Khalid thrashed the air wildly with his arms as though to drive off an unwelcome thought; but he could not dismiss so easily the fearsome prospect of war with his neighbour, of missile strikes and counter strikes, of warring armies and devastated cities.

  The deputy was trembling with fear. ‘What do I do, sir?’

  He was being pushed where he did not want to go. But what option did he have? ‘Start missile motors,’ he said, his voice so low that his deputy wavered uncertainly, and Khalid was forced to repeat the order. ‘Start missile motors!’ This time he yelled the words.

  In the KOE command bunker Sadiq’s face was grim. He was about to order the launch of nuclear missiles against a neighbour and former friend. It was unthinkable, his worst nightmare. He looked at his deputy, a man in the prime of life, as were all the other technicians and soldiers who worked in the bunker. He knew exactly what they were thinking; they were all going to die.

  ‘Start missile motors!’ he ordered.

  In Galaxy, Techforce Ten reported the penultimate phase of Trojan Horse: KOE and DAR missile launch simulations active . . . KOE and DAR missile launch simulations active . . . In his bunker, Ibn Khalid was having second thoughts. The start-up could be aborted. There was still time, precious time, time to talk, time to make one last effort to keep the peace. ‘Get me Sadiq,’ he ordered. Even as the connection was made, his terrified deputy pointed a shaking finger at the monitor. From the KOE sites six missiles were rising slowly into the sky, their slim bodies flashing in the sun. Over the bunker’s speakers a panic-stricken voice cried, ‘KOE Missiles flying! KOE Missiles flying!’

  Khalid grabbed the phone. ‘You crazy bastard!’ he yelled, ‘you launched your missiles?’

  ‘I never did. I swear it!’

  ‘You lie, you dog!’ screamed Khalid.

  ‘DAR missiles flying!’ cried a frightened voice over the bunker’s speakers. Sadiq and his men shrank back in horror as on their monitor screens six DAR missiles rose from their launch sites.

  ‘Khalid, you treacherous pig,’ sneered Sadiq, ‘you are the one who launched his missiles.’

  Khalid clasped his hands. ‘For the sake of peace,’ he pleaded, ‘for the sake of our beloved brothers and countrymen, let us talk.’

  ‘It is too late for talking,’ said Sadiq. ‘We are all going to die.

  It is the will of Allah.’

  ‘There is still time to destroy our missiles,’ said Khalid.

  Sadiq hesitated. ‘I will do so, but only if you destroy your missiles first.’

  Khalid knew from long experience that Sadiq’s word was worth little. One day he was your friend, the next your enemy
. If it was Allah’s will that he should die, he would make sure Sadiq died with him. ‘Let us destroy our missiles at precisely the same time,’ he suggested.

  ‘Pig! Liar! Traitor! Satan’s dog!’ Sadiq screamed his rage and frustration and broke the connection.

  In the silence Ibn Khalid’s aide asked, ‘What are your orders, sir?’

  ‘Shoot down the KOE missiles,’ he said in desperation.

  ‘We don’t have the weapons to do that.’ The aide looked at the bunker clock. ‘I need a decision, sir. It is less than one minute to impact. If we don’t fire our missiles now, they will be destroyed on the pads.’

  They would not, could not save themselves, they would simply lose the power to retaliate in kind. Mutual destruction. Was there no alternative? ‘Give me options,’ pleaded Khalid. ‘I will make a decision if you give me options.’

  His voice shaking, the aide answered: ‘There are no options, sir.’

  Khalid lifted his shoulders and let them drop in a gesture of surrender. ‘Launch missiles,’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  ‘Missile launch in ten seconds,’ his deputy confirmed, his face ashen. The countdown began . . . ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . .

  Sadiq paced his bunker, his aide following him with his eyes. Suddenly he stopped pacing and confronted the frightened man. ‘Are you afraid to die?’ The man cowered. ‘Forgive me, sir.’ To his astonishment Sadiq patted him on the shoulder, a compassionate gesture, the first he had ever known his master make. It crossed his mind that for the first and last time he and his ruler shared a common fate. They were both about to die. Sadiq stared mesmerised at the monitor, murmuring, ‘Do not be afraid. We must all die when Allah wills it.’ The aide bowed low, kissing his master’s hand, and Sadiq patted his head consolingly. ‘Launch missiles,’ he said, and fell to his knees in prayer.

  ‘Missile launch in ten seconds,’ said the aide. The countdown began . . . ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . .

  As Arthur and Agravaine crouched over Galaxy’s big table monitor, Techforce Ten relayed the sombre news: Missile motors firing in KOE . . . missile motors firing in DAR . . . ten seconds to launch in KOE . . . ten seconds to launch in DAR