by John Gardner
‘Here you must call me Sorcerer.’
‘Why Sorcerer?’
‘Why not? It is the rules. On secret projects there must always be the sense of intrigue. One must have code names. Surely you’ve read the novels. In books and movies they always have code names so why should it be different in real life?’
‘Yes.’ Boysie sadly remembered the years he had spent surrounded by intrigue, codes, ciphers and pseudonyms which he could never quite grasp.
‘You must be thinking to yourself that I am a bit of a black horse, no?’
‘Sheep,’ corrected Boysie. ‘A black sheep.’
‘Sheep, horses, what’s the difference? You think I’m one?’
‘Well I gathered at Cape Kennedy you had a reputation. People feared you. You kept them on their toes. Security and all that.’
‘Good. Good. A smoke screen, Oakes, a curtain of smoke to hide behind. Draw their attention to weakness in security and they will not think of you when you break the rules. This is why it is good that I am known only as Sorcerer. I hope to go back to Cape Kennedy as soon as this project is completed. I’m only on leave you know.’
‘I didn’t know, but can I ask who you’re working for?’
‘Myself, of course. I have worked for Nazi Germany, for the Russians, for America. All of them. Now I work for myself. The project itself? I understand it will go to the highest bidder. Russia has provided a great deal of her own free will, and now, here,’ he spread his arms wide to indicate the ship and its cargo, ‘the United States is providing one of the necessary elements, not quite of its own free will.’
‘What is the project? You said that if I …’
‘All in good time. I can only tell you of part of the experiment. First, we will reach our destination this afternoon. You know where we are?’
‘Well we haven’t gone into the Med so I reckon we’re either off Greenland or Russia.’
‘Good. Very good. You get high marks for observation. We are about two hundred miles off the Northern Russian coast. To be exact, in the Kara Sea, and we are heading for a small island which lies one hundred and twenty miles west of the Severnaya Zemlya group. The island has some unpronounceable name beginning with OZ. That is why we call it Wizard.’
‘I see,’ said Boysie, quite lost. He had only got Greenland or Russia by a wild guess and remarks made by Constanza. ‘And what do we do at Wizard?’
‘We carry out an experiment of great interest and value to space exploration. In fact a stride forward in the space race.’
‘On a Russian island? Then you can’t be working for yourself. You must be doing it for the crimson lads.’
‘The …? I beg your pardon?’ von Humperdinck narrowed his eyes behind the huge glasses.
‘Forget it,’ said Boysie. ‘You must be working for the Reds, the Russians.’
‘Not necessarily. For three years now I have been working on the problem of Lifting Bodies.’
‘Sort of Burke and Hare stuff.’ Boysie smiled, cheerfully proud of his little witticism.
Ellerman von Humperdinck looked at him gravely with creased brows. ‘They are working on it as well?’ he asked.
‘They used to. Not any more though.’ It was too difficult to explain. The joke was now a corpse.
‘So,’ continued the doctor. ‘Part, and I must stress that it is only a part, of the experiment concerns my revolutionary Lifting Body. It will amaze you.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘As you know the Lifting Body is a wingless vehicle designed so that the astronaut can control his re-entry into the earth’s atmosphere, and, after that, control his landing as with an ordinary aircraft.’
‘Yes.’ Boysie’s interest rose.
‘The Americans have been doing experiments for some time. ‘They have done a lot with the Northrop HL-10 research craft and now they have the SV-5D PRIME.’
‘Prime?’ repeated Boysie.
‘Precision Recovery Including Manoeuvring Entry. But I don’t have to tell you that. I forgot you are an expert.’
‘So do I when I hear people like you talking.’
‘Ach. Good.’ Von Humperdinck warmed to the flattery. ‘The trouble is that the Americans are fools. Everything must be done just so. One cannot take such-and-such a step until a previous set of experiments has been completed. My position can illustrate this. I have had designs for a perfect Lifting Body since 1966 but they say we can’t use it until we reach a certain stage in our own experiments. They admit that I have something ready before its time. That is really why I am here.’
‘Don’t tell me. You’ve built your own craft on, what’s the name of the place — Wizard?’
‘In a nutskin.’
‘Shell,’ said Boysie.
‘Quite extraordinary how it happened. Just after my craft, my Lifting Body, I call it “Sext” by the way.’
‘Sext?’
‘A little humorous play on words. The Americans have PRIME. So …’
It was Boysie’s turn to be dim about jokes. ‘Sorry.’ He said looking blank.
‘The ancient Catholic Church offices, services, were called Prime, Terse, Sext, Nones and Compline. The Americans have reached Prime but I am two moves ahead of them so I call my Lifting Body “Sext”. No?’
‘I suppose so.’ Boysie tried a light grin. Why do these guys make such heavy weather of it? Always the same with the eggheads, heavy on the laughs.
‘Anyway,’ there was no stopping von Humperdinck. ‘It was just after my craft was first turned down by the Americans. I was visiting Britain for a conference with a number of European space scientists. I unfolded all my grumbles to Professor Sch … No I had better not name him. On this project we call him the Seducer.’
‘What does he do? Talk people into taking space rides they don’t want to take?’
‘He will have to tell you, for his experiment is linked to mine. Just as exciting and probably more important. But, as I was saying, I told him of my troubles and it turned out he had a similar problem, an experiment which was before its time and in which he could interest nobody. But he had a proposition for me. Through some wealthy contacts in the City of London, my friend, the Seducer, had managed to get facilities and money to set up and finance a part of his project. The Russian Government provided the island, Wizard, and one very specialized technician.’ Von Humperdinck seemed highly amused at this last revelation.
‘So the Seducer asked you to come in with him?’
‘Quite. There is a whole launch complex and laboratories and workshops on Wizard. Under my directions we have built Sext and its mother capsule which will be used for the Seducer’s experiment. The last thing we needed was a rocket large enough to carry the capsule and Sext into orbit. Tentative feelers were put out. America said no. Russia claimed they could not interrupt their programme. So, we had to borrow a rocket.’ He cackled, rubbing his hands together.
Boysie turned the matter over. Finally he said. ‘How come hard-headed business men have invested in the project?’
‘Simple. As soon as the experiment is under way we offer the results to the highest bidder. And, when you hear the Seducer’s experiment you will see how important the outcome will be, both to the space race and for the honour of which ever country bids the highest.’ He chuckled again. ‘It is enough to tell you that there will be two astronauts. One Russian and one American.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘So. You would like to help me in preparing Sext for this operation?’
Boysie had no alternative. ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,’ he said.
Doctor von Humperdinck proceeded to launch into an incomprehensible scientific analysis of Sext, its aerodynamic-qualities, fuel and electronic systems and controls. Boysie assimilated about one per cent of the description, and when the doctor left, an hour later, his head was reeling.
Around four, Solomon arrived.
‘Get a duffle coat on, Oakes. The Captain and the Sorcerer want
you on the bridge. Apparently you’ve agreed to assist the Sorcerer.’
‘That’s it, Mr. Solomon. Now I’m a kind of Sorcerer’s Apprentice.’
Solomon showed no signs of friendliness. ‘Just remember it doesn’t give you any special privileges.’
‘You mean I’m still going to be treated like a prisoner?’
‘More or less. Until we’ve had a chance to check you out. We’ll decide what to do with you when the Silversmith arrives.’
‘The Silversmith?’ screeched Boysie. ‘What gives with all these crazy code names. We’ve already got the Sorcerer and the Seducer, now we have the Silversmith. Who else is left. You only need the Shafter, the Shagger and Shitter and you’ve got a round half-dozen.’
‘We don’t laugh about the Silversmith,’ said Solomon without a flicker. ‘He’s the money man.’
‘Well I’m glad you choose the letter S and not F,’ grinned Boysie. ‘A straight flush in Fs would’ve really had you in trouble.’
‘They’re waiting for you.’ Solomon stood, lack-humoured, by the door.
*
As he stepped on to the bridge a sight of extreme beauty met Boysie’s eyes. The water ahead of them shone, polished dark glass without a ripple. Though it was late in the afternoon the sky was bathed in a white light, reflecting blues and greys, colours elusive to any artist, from the few scattered clouds. Out on the horizon a long hazed and fragmented lump rose from the sea like some hillock suddenly revealed on the landscape of a flat, forgotten planet.
Ellerman von Humperdinck, the Sorcerer, turned from his place beside Constanza, with a welcoming smile. ‘Ah, Oakes. Come and look here.’ He pointed towards the horizon. ‘There it is. There is the island of Wizard.’
Constanza looked up. ‘Nearly at journey’s end.’ A liquid sadness in her eyes.
‘You know what they say,’ Boysie touched her arm. ‘Journey’s end in lovers’ meeting.’
Constanza gave him a half smile. March sunshine. Then her face went solemn as she returned to her duties as captain.
Slowly, the lump rose and took on definite shape. A substantial land mass, roughly ten miles long, Boysie reckoned. The snow and ice had not yet completely gone. Inshore they had to slice through thin wedges of ice. The island gave the impression of being fairly flat except for the blackish rocks which climbed upwards menacingly, from the shore. Occasionally these gave way to more gently sloping rises, pitted with areas of snow, between which the rough tundra showed dark.
‘It covers an area of around fifty square miles.’ The Sorcerer acted as guide. ‘There is a bay on the south side which, I understand, they have dredged and converted into a harbour for us’
‘Will it hide the ship from the air?’ asked Boysie watching von Humperdinck out of the corner of his eyes.
‘We won’t have that trouble.’ The Sorcerer kept his gaze on the island. ‘Weather planes go over once in a while.’ Then, looking up with a broad smile. ‘But, with any luck the ship will not worry us. We should be able to unload during the hours of darkness and then …’
‘Then what?’
‘Then the ship can go.’
‘Where? They’ll be mounting a full scale search soon. It can’t be long anyway.’
‘You are probably right. So the ship must go downwards. It must be skittled …’
‘Scuttled.’
‘To the bottom. Davy Jones’ lock-up.’
‘Locker.’
‘What you said.’
And what about Constanza?’
‘Solomon is taking care of that. He says she should stay here.’
Boysie felt a twinge of concern. Doctor von Humperdinck was a shade too flip about Constanza’s future.
Boysie’s thought processes could never be described as Mach Two, but he now had the first stirrings of fear about the ludicrous little doctor. Who the hell do I trust, he asked himself. Certainly not Solomon, he had no soul-feeling about that man. Yet, he had thought of von Humperdinck as merely an eccentric involved with strange outlandish criminal endeavours.
Constanza had acted as a kind of sexual soporific; something to keep his mind in obsession during the journey. Now, he began to wonder how much of that was an arranged and carefully plotted act. Boysie swallowed nervously as they rounded the headland. He could see the entrance to the bay ahead. Perhaps stepping on to the island of Wizard would be his last act. Or worse. You could never tell with those who had a scientific turn of mind. They might well be using him as a guinea pig.
Darkness came rapidly as they entered the bay, which must have been nearly two miles across. Slowly, and with a minimum amount of noise, the Warbash Admiral came to rest alongside a thrusting concrete dock which stretched from the harsh-looking shore into the deep central water of the bay. Arc lights flared on from dock and ship, while, before Solomon reappeared on the bridge to take him below, Boysie watched a pair of floating cranes being towed into position, one on the far side of the dock, the other beside the ship. They stood, diametrically opposite one another, as though poised, ready to lock jibs in battle.
In the cabin, Boysie heard the gentle whine of hydraulic jacks opening up the ship’s hold and, as the hours passed, he could feel the throb of activity throughout the ship.
Just before nine, Constanza came into the cabin. She looked white and tired.
‘Trouble?’ asked Boysie, stomach now well aflutter with crazy butterflies.
Constanza put her hand to her mouth, motioning silence until she had closed the door.
‘I’ve been ordered off,’ she said, confidence drained from her voice and manner. ‘They’ll still take an hour or so to finish unloading. But I have to pack. So do you, Boysie. The Sorcerer’s friend, the Seducer, is here. He wants to see you.’
‘And what about you?’ Boysie played it cagey.
‘I don’t think he’ll want me.’ Either she was acting with the ability of Peggy Ashcroft or she had already given up. ‘Solomon says I will be kept on the island until the Silversmith arrives. His plane will take off — after he’s paid me.’ She lifted her arms and dropped them again with a sigh. The gesture of defeat. ‘Boysie. I don’t know what to believe.’
‘Politically or …?’
‘About the whole of this.’
‘Nothing much you can do about it now. Anyway I don’t suppose they’ll be able to keep us very far apart. Shouldn’t think they’ve got the facilities. Living accommodation.’
‘You’d be surprised. I gather it’s pretty well organized. I just get a bad feeling. I’ve had it since … well, since us …’
Boysie, for all the butterflies which seemed to have begun copulating in his guts, decided to pass off the girl’s fears.
‘Don’t worry about me, Constanza,’ he said. ‘Me, I really ought to have the old tattoo right across my chest. You know, the one that says “find them, phone them, do the other thing and forget them”.’
Constanza did not laugh. Boysie noticed his hand was trembling in harmony with the butterflies. ‘The worst they can do is kill us.’ As he said it, Boysie felt horribly sick. Bloody Mostyn and his American trips, he muttered to himself as he gloomily set about packing. God knows what they thought he was. They were setting him up for something. He was certain about that. But who was conning him to do what? That, as they say, was something else.
Solomon arrived an hour later with four members of his goon squad to help with the baggage.
Two gangways had been let out from the lower bridge deck. Boysie turned his eyes away from the sudden glare of the arc lights as Solomon shepherded them to the top of the forward gangway. The cranes had their metallic noses dipped, like a pair of great rooting birds, into the trough of the Warbash Admiral’s hold, their chains dangling into the ship’s interior.
‘Straight down on to the dockside.’ Solomon had begun speaking to them as though he held a gun. It was freezing cold and Boysie felt most unhappy. He had taken one step on to the gangway when the loudspeaker system became suddenly active. ‘Sto
p working and stand still everyone.’ The disembodied voice echoed uncannily around the bay.
‘Kill the arcs.’
The arc lights died, leaving blisters of colour unpleasantly bright in the darkness behind the eyes.
‘There is an aircraft passing approximately ten miles east of us,’ the voice continued. ‘Just keep still until we know it’s gone over.’
*
Ten miles east of Wizard, the Grumman Albatross bearing markings of the Luftvorsvaret, the Royal Norwegian Air Force, grumbled its way through the night sky. Its antennae clawed at the air, trying to catch signals, while the electronic equipment of the twin-engined search and recovery aircraft pricked up its ears in the bulbous radome.
On the flight deck, the radar and electronics officer suddenly stiffened, turned and shouted in Norwegian, towards the captain.
‘I’ve got a fix.’
‘Can you mark it by yourself? Or do we need another aircraft?’
‘Let me have a go.’ The radar and electronics officer turned back to the controls of his D/F set and the noises in his earphones.
One signal was weak but predominant. Tweet-twit-twit, twit. Tweet-tweet-tweet. Tweet-twit-twit-twit-twit. Tweet-tweet-tweet. Tweet-twit-twit-twit. Tweet-tweet-tweet.’ Went the signal, which, being translated, means ‘B-O-B-O-BO’.
CHAPTER SIX
SEDUCER
Thou strong seducer, opportunity!
THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA: John Dryden
It was not by accident that the flight path of the Norwegian Air Force Gumman Albatross took it only ten miles from Wizard. Its presence was directly attributable to Mostyn.
The ocean-going cutter, in which the Warbash Admiral’s crew and passengers drifted had been sighted after only twenty-four hours, by a Portuguese, NATO-committed, Lockheed Neptune.
The aircraft’s captain reported the facts to his base: a large cutter adrift with members of the crew waving distress signals. From then on, the cutter was kept under constant air surveillance until the advent of a Portuguese frigate squadron to take them in tow.
After a hurried exchange of signals the squadron commander radioed an alert to all local NATO bases and proceeded to board the cutter. There followed a long and heated conference which resulted in Mostyn being lifted out by helicopter, the commander realizing that Mostyn was the most important link between any NATO forces and the missing Saturn V. By this time frantic messages were pulsing out and the strategic brains of NATO were becoming edgy, the purloining of a multi-million US space rocket being not the happiest way to keep the balance of power.