‘You didn’t tell him.’ Rosen said.
‘No need to reveal everything yet, Professor Frederick has a long journey ahead of him. If he knows too much then it could upset the balance.’ Rothschild inhaled. ‘But in time he will learn the truth.’
Chapter 49
The Awakening
Moscow Suburbs – Soviet Union – 10:53pm
Friday 6th March 1953
The two men huddled around the dying coal fire, trying to draw what little heat they could to warm their freezing hands. The coal scuttle lay empty on its side. One of the men reached for a dirty shot glass and bolted it down. ‘Where is he for god’s sake he should have been back hours ago.’
The men had been waiting several hours for their comrade to return. The room in which they waited was sparsely furnished, an old sofa, a dresser and a table with four chairs which had been pulled in front of the dying fire. A flickering electric light provided dim illumination.
‘Perhaps the rumours are false and he’s been caught by Stalin’s secret police, they are everywhere.’ The man’s eyes darted towards the window nervously. The light outside cast a shadow from two people trudging through the deep snow in the narrow street.
A faint tapping alerted the two men who looked in the direction of the door. One of them stood and picked up a Russian TT-30 pistol off the table. When he reached the door he pressed his ear against it and called out as loud as he dared. ‘Who is it?’
‘It is me comrade, please open the door.’ A voice answered.
The man hesitated and looked back at his counterpart who nodded.
‘Comrade it is me please open the door.’ The voice called out again.
The door creaked open and the man stepped inside quickly. He glanced at the pistol the other man gripped. The visitor walked over grabbed the bottle of vodka and took large gulps until the bottle was empty. The visitor wiped his mouth and sat down, glancing at what was left of the fire. The man with the pistol sat back down.
The visitor took a few moments to let the vodka settle and to compose himself. ‘I have just spoken to comrade Bulganin, the rumours are true my friends, Comrade Stalin is dead.’
The man with the pistol leant back in his chair and smiled. ‘This is a joyful moment, the vale of darkness which has lasted over thirty years has now lifted.’
‘We will be able to proceed with our work without the threat of comrade Stalin and his paranoia. The Tunguska Project has floundered. Stalin’s death will bring new life to the Siberian project. I will inform Doctor Anna Vilenko, she will get a chance to redeem herself.’
The visitor stood and walked over to the dresser opened one of the doors and pulled out a full bottle of vodka. He walked back towards the other two men and poured vodka into the two shot glasses.
The man with the pistol leaned forward placed it on the table and picked up the shot glass along with the other man sitting opposite.
‘To comrade Stalin’s death.’ The visitor said holding up the bottle. ‘And to a new era of scientific understanding.’
The two other men knocked back their shot glasses, but before they had time to put them back on the table the visitor grabbed the gun with lightning speed. He pointed it at the head of the man who had answered the door and fired. The man was thrust backwards, the back of his head exploding splattering over the fireplace, snuffing the dying flame.
‘What are you doing!’ The other man cried out.
‘Killing you.’ The visitor answered, before pulling the trigger.
Moments later the door opened and three men stepped inside. Two wore Russian army uniforms and the other was in a plain black suit. They surveyed the bloody carnage. ‘You have done well comrade Lakatos.’ The man in the suit said. ‘Your service will be rewarded.’
Igor Lakatos nodded. ‘Thank you comrade Bulganin.’
‘You are to make contact with your informant in the United Kingdom and begin intelligence gathering.’
‘I will do so immediately comrade.’
‘The Tunguska project will now receive priority.’
The two soldiers picked up the body of one of the dead men and carried him outside to a waiting truck, before returning for the second body.
Chapter 50
Emneth – Wisbech – Cambridgeshire – 8:36pm
Sunday 8th March 1953
Frederick gazed lovingly at his young daughter who peered through the telescope he had set up in the back garden. The night sky was crystal clear and the stars glistened overhead.
‘Daddy.’ Elizabeth said with the enthusiasm only a child could display.
‘Yes sweetheart.’
‘Do you think there are other people up there; you know who live on other planets?’
Frederick looked up into the night sky pondering his daughter’s question. For a moment he wanted to tell her everything he knew and everything he had seen. The image of Susan crying over the body of her dead mother flashed in his mind. Sadness washed over him knowing that he could not reveal the nature of his work. He drew a deep breath taking in the cold night air. ‘Well let's see, there could be, there are lots and lots of stars up there.’ He said.
‘Do you think they’re just like us daddy?’ Susan enquired.
‘Who knows they could be, or they could be very different.’
‘Do you think we will ever meet someone from another planet Daddy?’ Susan continued to question.
‘I don’t know, there are so many stars in the night sky. Some of these planets will be very far away.’
Susan stepped back from the telescope and looked up at her father. ‘When I grow up daddy I want to be just like you, a scientist. Then I will build a rocket ship which will take us to other planets.’
Frederick knelt down, smiling at his daughter. ‘I’m sure you will young lady.’ He took her in his arms and hugged her.
‘Hey you two, are you finished gazing at the stars?’ Elisabeth Frederick said peering out of the back door.
Susan ran towards her mother. ‘Mummy when I grow up I’m going to build a rocket ship so that you daddy and me can go and visit other planets.’
Elizabeth laughed as she scooped up her daughter. ‘Well young lady before all that you need to go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.’
The telephone in the hallway began ringing. ‘I’ll get it.’ Frederick offered marching towards the back door. ‘Hello.’ He said picking up the handset.
‘Professor Frederick it’s Rothschild.’
Frederick looked down the hallway. His wife had taken Susan upstairs and could be heard tucking her in. Fredrick cupped his hand over his mouth and the receiver. ‘How did you get this number doctor?’
‘That’s not important, what is Professor is that Joseph Stalin is dead.’
‘Dead.’ Frederick repeated.
‘Yes Professor, I’m telling you this because the wheels of espionage are about to turn and there are those in the Kremlin who are eager to accelerate information gathering. Believe me when I say this, Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean were just the tip of the iceberg.’
‘Are you saying there are more foreign agents inside the British government?’
‘Yes, but as to who they are I have no idea. What I can tell you Professor is that the new Soviet regime will stop at nothing to get their hands on intelligence that you and your team have gathered.’
‘I should inform the committee immediately.’
‘You could do that, but if you do then the finger of suspicion will be pointed at you. For now Professor you must carry on as normal. Whoever will be activated to gather intelligence will be careful not to be discovered. The Soviets have learned their lesson with Burgess and Maclean. The only piece of advice I can give you for now is to keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.’ The line went dead.
Whitehall – London – 11:23am
Monday 9th March 1953
‘Should we be celebrating his demise then?’ Malcolm Chambers asked thoughtfully.
‘It’s
hard to tell.’ Morris Stanford replied. ‘Our operatives in Moscow have heard rumours of a power struggle in the Kremlin, but it’s too early to say who will be the top man.’
‘Who do you think will replace him?’
‘There are a number of candidates, but they seem so intent on stabbing each other in the back, it’s hard to know what’s going on.’ Stanford explained. ‘Georgy Malenkov, Nikolai Bulganin and Nikita Khrushchev are in the running. But as I just said all we’re getting are whispers at the moment.’
Chambers nodded slowly taking a sip from a glass of brandy. ‘What do we have on the UFO scene?’
‘It’s been a relatively quiet month. A report came in last week regarding a sighting by two military pilots, but nothing to match last year’s events, well not yet anyway. I’ve spoken to both Ralph and Arthur, they are both ready to return after the experience at Stoke Lacy. Although I do fear for Doctor Lloyd, he kept his illness from us all.’
‘Doctor Lloyd is a proud man he never likes to bother anyone with personal issues. Still I dread the day when we receive the terrible news.’
Chapter 51
Cat and Mouse
Heathrow Airport – 11:42pm
Wednesday 18th March 1953
Alan Parker stared bleary eyed into his radar scope. Working nights did not agree with the 24 year old. Despite sleeping for much of the day he still felt like sleeping for another day. As he stared at the scope Parker became aware of several unidentified targets coming in from the south east. He glared into the scope intensely trying to figure out what they could be. Terry Bishop the senior supervisor noticed the look on Parker’s face and marched over to his position.
‘Problem Alan?’ he stated bluntly.
‘You tell me.’ Parker replied gesturing towards the radar scope. ‘We have eight unidentified aircraft coming from the Channel.’
Bishop looked at the radar and took a deep breath. He looked across the control tower at a young woman. ‘Iris give Northolt a ring ask them if they have anything in the air.’
The young woman nodded and picked up a telephone.
Parker shook his head. ‘I don’t think it’s anything military, they’re moving way too fast and erratically to be jets.’
Northolt RAF base/radar station
11:54pm
‘Sir, we have just received a call from Heathrow. They want to know if we have anything on exercise coming from over the Channel.’
Group captain Wilfred Smith viewed the young airman with a mocking suspicion before he lifted his overweight body from a creaking chair. ‘Better get up to the radar tower see what’s going on.’
Heathrow Airport
11:57pm
‘Heathrow this is BEA flight 212 over.’
Bishop grabbed the mike. ‘BEA 212 this is Heathrow over.’
‘Heathrow we’re on rout to you from Paris over. We’re currently tracking eight unidentified aircraft at our two o’clock position approximately five thousand feet above us over.’
‘Roger that BEA 212 we have these aircraft in our scope now, waiting Northrop verification over.’
‘Heathrow, these aren’t military over.’
‘Say again BEA 212.’
‘Heathrow I say again these are not military aircraft over.’
‘BEA can you describe the aircraft over.’ Bishop requested nervously.
A moment of silence followed before the pilot of the Vickers V1 Viking aircraft said something. ‘To be honest Heathrow I’m not sure what I’m looking at, all I can say is they’re eight spherical balls of light blue in colour over.’
RAF Northolt – 12:07am
Thursday 19th March 1953
Group Captain Smith and the young radar operator both gawped at the radar screen, at the cluster of objects which were present in the scope. Smith had been silent for a few minutes contemplating the image in front of him. Finally he reached for a telephone receiver and dialled a number. ‘Scramble Foxtrot one, Foxtrot two, scramble scramble.’ A few minutes later two Vampire jets taxied onto the runway and thundered past the control tower before climbing into the inky blackness of the night sky.’
Heathrow airport – 12:17am
‘Heathrow the aircraft are descending over.’
Terry Bishop wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. ‘Roger that BEA 212, be advised Northolt have scrambled aircraft heading for your location over.’
Static crackled through the tower speaker. ‘Roger that Heathrow, objects are still descending request instructions over.’
‘BEA 212 drop to a height of eight thousand feet over.’
‘Acknowledged Heathrow descending to eight thousand feet.’ Static continued to crackle. ‘Heathrow the objects are now keeping pace, off to our one o’clock position.’
Bishop breathed in. ‘Roger that BEA 212 maintain your height.’
‘Roger.’ Several seconds of intense silence followed before the pilot spoke again. ‘Heathrow, the objects are now running parallel with us at three o’clock. They now look more like flat discs..’ The pilot’s voice became distorted by static. ‘Jesus...!’ The pilot called out. ‘Heathrow the objects have split and are now on all sides of our aircraft over. There are two above, two below and two each to our left and to our right, we’re boxed in, repeat we’re boxed in.’
‘BEA 212 maintain your course over.’ Bishop clung grimly to the mike, his voice cracked under the strain.
‘Bloody hell.’ Parker yelped. ‘They’re gone.’
Bishop dropped the mike. ‘What?’
‘The objects no longer appear on the scope.’
‘Heathrow the objects just accelerated away, Jesus they were fast.’ The pilot called out.
Bishop grabbed the mike he had just dropped. ‘Roger BEA 212 glad you’re still with us. Continue your course over, a ground crew will meet you when you land.’
‘Roger that Heathrow.’
RAF Northolt – 12:19am
‘Shit.’ Group captain Smith cursed. ‘Recall the Vampires, tell them to stand down.’
The radar operator couldn’t stop himself from smiling. ‘Those objects were fast.’
‘You can wipe that stupid smile off your face corporal.’
‘Yes sir, sorry sir. It’s just I have never seen anything move that fast.’
‘My boot will be up your backside faster, if you even mention the word flying saucer to anyone you got it.’
The radar Operator nodded before turning back towards the radarscope.
Heathrow Airport – 1:56am
Alan Parker swallowed hard as he looked at the radarscope. He glanced over at Terry Bishop who was mulling over the report he was now having to write concerning the earlier incident. The Vickers Viking aircraft had landed safely and had been met by a ground crew before reporting to Bishop. The pilot and the co-pilot gave a detailed account of what had happened.
Finally Parker spoke. ‘Mr Bishop sir.’
Bishop slowly looked in Parker’s direction. ‘What!’ he barked.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, but..’ Parker checked the radarscope again. ‘But they’re back.’
Bishop rose to his feet and then strolled over to the radar operator. ‘You better not be pissing around Parker or it’s the labour exchange for you.’ Bishop looked into the radarscope at the eight objects. ‘Shit.’ He seethed. ‘Call Northolt again tell them what’s going on.’
RAF Northolt – 2:12am
For the second time group captain Wilfred Smith watched two Vampire fighter jets scream past the control tower. The objects on radar were directly over London and a concerned Smith could only look on as the planes headed for the area.
‘Sir shouldn’t we alert the Air Ministry.’ His junior officer asked.
‘I’m not telling them anything until we have something to tell them, knowing our luck this could be a flock of bloody geese.’
‘Yes sir.’
Several minutes passed before the radio crackled into life. ‘Northolt this is Foxtrot Tango on
e over.’
‘Go ahead Foxtrot Tango.’
‘Northolt we have positive contact with the aircraft over, you should be able to see them yourselves from the tower over.’
Smith looked out at the night sky, his eyes trying to focus through the darkness. Here and there were breaks in the cloud allowing Smith to see pinpricks of starlight. But his attention was soon drawn to the eight circular shaped lights which were fast approaching the air force base.
He picked up a pair of binoculars, the lights flew in a v formation, the two jets could be heard in the distance, but the approaching objects made no sound at all.
‘Tower do you have a visual on the aircraft over?’
‘Roger that Foxtrot Tango we have a visual, stand by over.’
The objects slowed to a full stop and hung motionless at the edge of the airbase. The two jets were closing fast.
‘Sir what do we do?’
Smith didn’t answer, he just stared at the objects. Then in an instant they shot directly upwards into the sky and were gone. The two Vampire jets came into view and overflew the control tower.
London Evening Examiner – Fleet Street – 12:13pm
George Rayman and Bill Mirren listened enthusiastically as Alan Parker relayed his story to them.
‘And you are sure that what you witnessed last night wasn’t another aircraft.’ Mirren asked.
‘Positive.’ Parker replied. ‘There were a number of objects. At one point the pilot shouted over the radio that the objects had surrounded his plane.’
‘It’s a bloody good story.’ Rayman said. ‘If we can get other newspapers interested it could cause quite a stir.’
Mirren looked at Parker. ‘Mr Parker would you excuse us for a moment.’
‘Parker got up and left the room.’
‘What?’ Rayman said as he noticed the look on Mirren’s face.
‘You’re right it is a good story.’
‘But!’
‘George we can’t just print every UFO story that comes across our desk. The London Evening Examiner has a reputation. Our esteemed owner Mr Bradshaw would boot us both out of the door.’
Codename Angel (The Angel Chronicles Book 1) Page 15