by Alan Fenton
‘I am, as you well know, Lance, which makes this all the more painful.’
‘What do you want me to tell you?’ ‘The truth.’
He considered lying; it would be the prudent thing to do. But lying was for lesser men. He was too honest and too proud to lie. ‘Is it so important to know the truth?’
That was enough for Ian. ‘So it is true,’ he said.
Lancelot looked away. ‘I wish it were not.’ ‘But why, Lance, why?’
Lancelot lifted his arms, and let them drop to his side. ‘It happened, that’s all. I wasn’t looking for trouble, it came looking for me.’
Some things were more important than friendship. ‘You must end it, Lance, and end it now,’ urged Ian. ‘You owe it to Arthur, and to Camelot. You owe it to yourself. It’s a matter of principle, I don’t need to tell you that.’
‘There was a time when I would have died rather than betray my principles,’ said Lancelot. ‘Now I would die rather than lose Guinevere.’
Ian had never known what it was to be in love, had even doubted that such a thing existed. Now, looking at Lancelot, he had to admit that he was wrong.
‘So what do you intend to do about it?’ asked Lancelot. ‘Will you look the other way? Will you do that for me?’
Ian hesitated. Hard to resist the appeal. He could scarcely remember a world in which Lancelot had not been his best friend. No man had ever been closer to his heart. Yet now it appeared that Lancelot was not the man he thought he was. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘truly sorry, Lance. I need your assurance that you will give her up. If you don’t give me that assurance, I shall go to Arthur.’
‘A long time ago you saved my life,’ said Lancelot. ‘You should have let me die.’
‘You were not meant to die,’ said Ian. ‘You have a divine mission, Lance.’
‘You believe that?’ ‘Yes, I do.’
‘I need time, Ian, time to think.’
Ian hesitated, touched by his friend’s distress. ‘We’ll speak about this again,’ he said.
Either way he was damned. Confess to Arthur, or end the affair. Both were unthinkable, yet nothing else would do, not now that he had confessed to Ian. After a sleepless night, he appeared in Guinevere’s apartment without warning, unshaven, eyes wild.
‘What’s wrong?’
He blurted it out. ‘Ian Duncan knows everything. I don’t know how he found out. People are talking.’
Guinevere responded with that characteristically proud tilt
of the chin. ‘Let them talk.’
Lancelot threw himself into an armchair. ‘We shall have to cool it for a while. If we don’t, he’ll go to Arthur.’
‘He would never do that.’ ‘I’m afraid he would.’
Guinevere directed a withering look at Lancelot. ‘This is not about Ian, is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s about you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been looking for an excuse to end it, and now you’ve found one.’
‘That’s not true, Ginny,’ he protested, ‘I love you. I’ll never give you up.’
‘Make up your mind. You just said you wanted to cool it.’ ‘I’m suggesting we keep our heads down for a few weeks, that’s all.’
‘A few weeks? Or months? Or years?’ ‘You’re being unreasonable.’
‘Perhaps I am, but at least I’m being honest.’ She was close to tears. ‘You say you love me, but how much is your love worth if you scamper away like a scared rabbit at the first sign of trouble?’
Too angry and too emotional to argue any more, Lancelot left, head down, feeling thoroughly wretched. Guinevere wept for a minute or two, dried her eyes, washed her face and thought of calling Lanky. No, she decided, this was something she would have to deal with herself. No one could help her. The first question she asked herself was a simple one. Could she imagine a world without Lance? The answer was no. The second question was more problematic. Was Lancelot as committed to her as she was to him? She wanted to believe he was, yet, at this moment, she doubted it. His love for Arthur was curiously untouched by the fact that he was sleeping with his wife. That in itself was infuriating, reminding her constantly that she would always be excluded from that masculine brotherhood of men who talked and laughed and drank together, and were friends in a way they could never be friends with women.
Consumed by an irrational desire to possess her lover, she burned with those emotions she had once scorned: passion and jealousy. Why did she have to share Lancelot with anyone or anything? She had convinced herself that it was possible to love two men, albeit in different ways. Now she was in danger of losing them both.
Thirty Six
Bad Boy
In command control, Arthur and Agravaine stared at the disquieting message on the central computer monitor.
Doctor Giraud and his team of doctors and nurses are in the hands of the Cambodian People’s Government. They will be released when I receive the money and military equipment I need to fight the illegal and corrupt regime in Phnom Penh. As an indication of the seriousness of my intentions one nurse has already been executed and the video of her beheading released. If my demands are met in full, there will be no more needless deaths. If they are not, one nurse or doctor will be executed every week until they are.
Bad Boy
‘Short, sharp and cruel,’ said Agravaine with a shiver. ‘What do we know about Dr. Giraud?’
‘He’s a member of One Planet, the international relief organisation,’ said Agravaine.
‘Didn’t he develop a vaccine that he claimed was a cure for AIDS?’
‘He did,’ said Agravaine, ‘but then several major pharmaceutical companies lobbied governments, and the testing programme was suspended.’
‘I remember,’ said Arthur. ‘They said the vaccine was unstable and would never work.’
‘Right,’ said Agravaine. ‘I’ve downloaded a couple of articles from leading medical journals published at the time. They strongly support the pharmaceutical companies, and more or less suggest that Dr. Giraud is a charlatan.’
‘What happened to him?’
Agravaine tapped his keyboard. ‘These are news releases from last year. He disappeared for a time, and then reappeared briefly in a remote forest region in the north of Cambodia.’
Arthur meditated. ‘Hasn’t Cambodia lost millions of people to AIDS?’
‘Yes,’ said Agravaine. ‘No doubt that’s why he chose to go and work there.’ His fingers roamed the keyboard. ‘Now look at this. A few weeks ago several TV channels in Cambodia reported that AIDS has been all but eradicated in the area where the doctor’s team is working. The news didn’t receive much publicity. The pharmaceutical companies kept quiet.’
‘No doubt they had their reasons,’ said Arthur.
‘And then the French government stepped in. They asked Doctor Giraud to come back to France, and promised him unlimited financial backing to produce the vaccine. Giraud agreed. A few days later he and his team were seized on their way to Phnom Penh airport.’
‘What do we know about Bad Boy?’
‘Very little,’ said Agravaine, ‘except that he leads one of several rebel groups fighting the central government. He’s tough and resourceful, and he has a reputation for brutality.’
For two weeks nothing further was heard from the rebel leader; and then, on day fifteen following Bad Boy’s ultimatum, a video of Dr. Giraud was sent to a TV station in Paris. The rebels were deadly serious, he said. Two more nurses had been executed in the last two weeks. Only five nurses and three doctors still survived. The situation was desperate. He pleaded with world leaders, and the French government in particular, to accept the rebels’ terms for the release of his team and himself, not just for their sakes, but for the sake of millions of people around the world suffering the ravages of AIDS.
Following secret negotiations between the French government and the rebel leader, a deal for the release of the One Planet team was agreed. The exact terms were not revealed, but
were thought to involve a ransom in excess of three billion dollars, and an unspecified quantity of automatic weapons, mortars and hand-held missile launchers. Camelot’s Neural Network was able to monitor the exchanges during these negotiations and obtain Bad Boy’s voice signature.
Less than an hour after the agreement was announced, it was vetoed by the Cambodian government, claiming they had not been consulted by their French counterparts. There would be no further negotiations, and the rebels would be caught and brought to justice. Since there was little hope of rescuing the hostages, world leaders pleaded with the Cambodian President. In view of the exceptional circumstances, would he not accept Bad Boy’s terms? A day passed whilst the world awaited his response. Finally it came. There would be no deal.
It was stalemate. The countries whose nationals had been taken hostage were compelled to await developments, leaving any action to the Cambodian government, even though the Cambodian army was no nearer to locating the rebels than it had been when the hostages were first taken.
At a meeting of the Round Table summoned to discuss the problem, some members were eager to rescue the hostages, some were less enthusiastic, feeling that it should be left to the Cambodian government, supported, it was hoped, by the international community. Arthur urged immediate action, pointing out that Bad Boy had nothing to lose by executing all the remaining doctors and nurses, with the possible exception of Dr. Giraud himself. It was finally agreed that Camelot would attempt to rescue Dr. Giraud and as many of his team as possible. No warning and no ultimatum were to be given, since Bad Boy was unlikely to be persuaded by threats.
In view of the difficult terrain in the mountainous north of Cambodia where huge tracts of land were covered by dense forest, it was decided that this would have to be a ground- based operation. When the rebels were located, a troop of actives would be dropped as close to their camp as possible. Because the hostages were being held in a confined space, it was considered too risky to use Excalibur portables.
In view of the special nature of the rescue mission, the competition to participate was fierce. Lancelot was besieged by officers, all making a forceful case to command the nine man ground force. As Chief of Staff, Lancelot was excluded from leading the actives himself, and would, as in previous operations, be piloting Eclipse. One by one he considered the qualifications of the volunteers, and one by one, eliminated them until he was left with three names: George Bedivere, Gawain and Ian Duncan. The leading contender had to be Gawain, George Bedivere being a little too old, and Ian Duncan relatively inexperienced. ‘You know very well,’ Gawain told Lancelot, ‘that apart from Arthur, you and I have more experience in ground ops. than anyone in Camelot. You can’t do it. That leaves me.’
Gawain was right, of course; he was the natural choice to lead the mission. Yet for some reason Lancelot hesitated. ‘I’ll let you have my decision in the morning,’ he said.
The door panel buzzed, the speaker crackled.
Name?
‘Lancelot.’
In a nano-second the computer had matched voice and iris with its records.
Enter, Lancelot.
Guinevere ran to him, her eyes anxious. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I just wanted to talk.’
Now she was angry. ‘You are always telling me not to take risks. It’s madness to come here without any warning. Someone might have seen you.’
‘I was careful.’
‘Arthur could have been here.’
‘I checked. He’s in Command Control.’ He wanted to kiss her, but she was on edge, the look in her eyes hardly inviting.
‘What is it?’
‘You know about Operation Bad Boy?’ ‘Yes. Why?’
‘I have to appoint the commander of the rescue team. I wanted to know what you thought.’
Strange, she thought. Since when did Lancelot consult her about military matters?
He chose his words carefully. ‘Gawain is the leading contender. The problem is, this is likely to be a dangerous mission – very dangerous – and he’s my deputy, one of our key men.’
She understood immediately. ‘So if anything happened to him . . . ’
‘It would be a huge loss,’ said Lancelot, ‘and a big blow to morale.’
‘You have someone else in mind?’ ‘There’s a short list.’
‘Who is on it?’ ‘George Bedivere.’ ‘Anyone else?’
He looked at his hands. ‘Ian Duncan.’
A long pause. ‘I’m sure he would do an excellent job,’ she said finally.
‘Yes, he would.’ ‘That’s settled, then.’
At the door they said an awkward goodbye, the unspoken thought between them; they could be sending Ian to his death.
Ian was surprised and delighted to be offered the command. ‘You do understand, Ian,’ said Lancelot, ‘that this is not an order, it’s an offer.’
‘I accept the offer with thanks,’ said Ian.
Lancelot hesitated, considering how best to put it. ‘I presume you know that it’s likely to be a highly dangerous mission?’
‘Trying to scare me?’
‘I just want you to be clear that the decision is yours,’ he said, half hoping that Ian would back off. ‘If you prefer not to do the job, no one will know I asked you, so no one will know you turned me down.’
‘I’d be crazy to do that. It’s the chance of a lifetime.’ ‘You are quite certain?’
‘Absolutely.’
The two men shook hands. ‘That – um – that matter we were discussing,’ said Lancelot. ‘Can we forget it?’
Ian shifted awkwardly on his feet and said nothing. ‘Put it on the back burner, then?’
‘For the time being,’ said Ian.
When Eclipse lifted off with Lancelot at the controls, Ian Duncan took his troop through the various contingencies that mightarisewhentheywereontheground. Intwohourstheywere hovering, mantled, over the mountains and forests of northern Cambodia. Satellite sensors were launched, some static, others circling the area. It was not known how sophisticated the enemy technology was, but in order to confuse any potential surveillance from ground or air, Lancelot switched Eclipse to satellite mode, and began to send out weather reports to throw the enemy off the scent.
A day passed, then a second and a third, and still the rebel camp had not been located. In Camelot Command Control, Agravaine and Arthur, perched on their stools, worked at the Galaxy table monitor.
From Eclipse came worrying news. ‘We’re running low on power, sir,’ reported Lancelot.
Agravaine had updated the calculations with Neural Network and Techforce a hundred times over the last three days. ‘Eclipse must leave in two hours, or they may not be able to make it back to Camelot,’ he told Arthur.
‘Permission to unmantle Eclipse,’ said Lancelot.
Unmantled, Eclipse would consume far less power, and would probably be able to remain in the target area another twenty-four hours.
Agravaine weighed their limited options. Unmantled, Eclipse would be vulnerable to ground-to-air missiles, the more so since she was designed for speed and was therefore only lightly armoured. On the other hand, she was hovering at fifty thousand feet, well out of range of most missiles.
‘Do the rebels have ground-to-air missiles?’ asked Arthur. ‘Months ago they shot down a government helicopter,’ said Agravaine, ‘so there’s circumstantial evidence that they probably do.’
‘What about long range missiles?’
Agravaine winced as his raw fingertips hit the keys, asking the question. ‘Neural Network is ninety per cent sure they do not have long range missiles.’
Ninety per cent. A one in ten chance of losing Lancelot and Ian Duncan and his troop, together with Eclipse. A ten per cent risk could not be dismissed. ‘The only risk-free option we have,’ concluded Arthur, ‘is for Eclipse to return to base, recharge, and head back to Cambodia.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘How long would that take?’
Agravaine was prepared for that qu
estion. ‘Including recharging time here, approximately twenty-two hours.’ He could see that his uncle was struggling to make the right decision. ‘If you ask me, nuncle,’ he said, ‘we have no choice. We can’t afford to take risks with Eclipse.’
‘What are the chances of locating the rebels’ position in the next twenty-two hours?’ said Arthur.
Agravaine grimaced. ‘I’d say low to zero.’
Arthur made his decision. ‘Open the gravitational link, Agro.’ The link crackled. ‘Eclipse online.’
‘Return to base, Lancelot,’ said Arthur. ‘You are to remain mantled. You will recharge in Camelot and take up your present position again as soon as possible. We estimate that will be twenty-two hours from now.’
‘If we abandon these poor people, they’ll all be murdered,’ said Lancelot. ‘Don’t ask me to leave, sir.’
Arthur reconsidered his options, and concluded that the primary object of the mission was to rescue Dr. Giraud, and that everything else was secondary, even the possible death of more hostages. Though Lancelot was the operational commander, the overall strategic decisions were not his, but Arthur’s. He could not allow his Commander-in-Chief to overrule him. ‘There is no question of abandoning the One Planet team,’ he said. ‘The fact is, there is no reasonable prospect of locating the rebels in the next twenty-four hours. Eclipse will be back long before then.’
‘I know they’re in the area we’re patrolling,’ said Lancelot. ‘Just give me a few hours to find them.’
‘I’m sorry, Lance,’ said Arthur, ‘it’s too risky. My order stands.
You are to return to Camelot immediately. Do you copy?’ No response.
‘Do you copy, Lance?’ Silence.
‘Lancelot, do you copy?’ Still no response.
Arthur glanced at Agravaine. ‘Is there a problem with the link?’
‘Link functioning normally.’ Seconds later Agravaine was bouncing on his stool and pointing at the table screen. Instead of a pulsating bleep on the screen, there was now a perfect miniature image of Eclipse. ‘He’s unmantled Eclipse, nuncle!’