by A J Marshall
Rothschild shook his head. “All I’ll say at the moment is this. The initial report from an ISSF-commissioned investigation into Epsilon Rio’s manufacturing activities over the last financial year has been promulgated. Of course their management was highly obstructive. A good deal of the information was derived from online accounts, including those of several suppliers. Large discrepancies were discovered and as a result a team went in immediately. Amongst other things, it seems that material deliveries, particularly of etheral alloy, celluloid and an advanced electrolytic fluid called Zimteflate Zaragon 4000, far outstripped what would nominally be required to construct their annual allocation of low-grade cyber systems. It appears that they have been running a parallel production line for some time, only it’s not clear what, exactly, was being built. The facility was being dismantled when the inspection team arrived. Apparently, had they been given another week or so, there would have been no evidence to suggest that such a facility had ever existed. Further, the authorities have traced at least one unauthorised shipment to the Huang Hai Industrial Zone in Eastern China. There was no inventory relating to the shipment and no addressee has been found either. However, it is well known that Tongsei Heavy Industries unofficially governs that zone.”
“Are you thinking Humatrons, Peter?” Richard frowned. “I’ve heard of that Zaragon 4000 electrolyte before, although I can’t recall where.”
Rothschild shook his head. “We don’t know. It seems the cover-up has been well orchestrated. Material orders are being examined closely in order to get an idea of residuals, but that could take a few weeks. Between them, and despite attempts at regulation, these conglomerates completely control a variety of vital sectors. They have developed monopolies that the International Commission can’t seem to break. Spheron, for example, manufactures more than half of the world’s pharmaceuticals and Tongsei effectively oversees the world’s mineral wealth. Nobody wants to upset them – they respond with heavy-handed methods: people go missing. We have to be sure. Anyway, there are many other things pressing.”
Rothschild’s attention was attracted by a red flashing light on the communication panel. “Please excuse me,” he said, and he opened the left-hand desk drawer and initialised his projected desktop computer keyboard. His personal code activated a notebook with a glass lid that Richard had seen before and, after removing it, he closed and locked the draw again. His meticulous attention to security borders on the obsessive, thought Richard.
Rothschild looked up and stared at Richard for a moment. Richard fidgeted slightly as if his thoughts had been overheard. “In the early hours of this morning,” continued Rothschild, “I passed the initial results of a particularly interesting experiment to Brian Grant. It seems Brian has worked through the night. I’ll put the call on speaker.” With that Rothschild pressed a button. “Laura, open the line please . . .”
“Peter, Brian Grant here. Thanks for picking up – I know how busy you are. Listen, the results of the RVer experiment that you sent me . . . something’s come up and it can’t be coincidence. It seems that a good deal more credit is due to those Americans than was first thought.”
“Go on . . .”
“News from the ALMA submillimetre deep space telescope in Chile . . . the facility manager’s latest update.”
“Yes, go on.”
“The object continues to close rapidly. There is no change in its trajectory – it’s still coming directly towards us. The distance is now nought point five eight light months. Based on current computations, Mr Grillo has stated that we can expect an impact in six days and eighteen hours. This includes a deceleration permutation and other measurements. Based on this, the IFFS Council is meeting shortly to review the Icarus protocol. It seems that this time they may instigate Icarus Imminent.”
“So they know where it’s going to hit?”
“No, not exactly – it’s still too far away.”
“Well how can they make that decision if they don’t know which areas need evacuating?”
“It appears that many of the delegates are growing nervous about the lack of action. They want to move to the next phase in order to mobilise the military generally and other national and international resources. The protocol wasn’t designed for an incoming at this speed.”
“I can understand that, but we must work with what’s in place, otherwise it will be a free-for-all. The protocol parameters are quite clear. To go Imminent we need to know the exact point of impact. What are the Prime Minister’s advisors saying on this?”
“Admiral Hughes is over there now, as is Professor Nieve. No statement has been issued as yet. The thing is, Peter, there’s been a development, but nobody’s taking it seriously. That’s where your RVer report may help. It may add weight to the hypothesis. I think we need to release the report to the committee, even though it’s only a first draft.”
“What hypothesis?”
“Listen, the telescope in Chile has been picking up a radio signal for a few hours now. They thought it was spurious at first because of its random nature. But it appears to be coming from the object and that appears more and more likely as it gets nearer. Mr Grillo’s team have checked and rechecked their calculations and he’s convinced.”
“What about the facts?”
“The signal is intermittent. It’s very weak and heavily distorted because of the range, but it is in the micrometre wavelength, and a common frequency used for deep space communications. The Australian facility can’t hear it at the moment and neither can Andromeda – and that’s the problem. NASA and the Committee will not entertain the object as being of an intelligent nature until the signal is verified by other sources – just in case it’s space feedback of some sort.”
“Sounds entirely logical, given the gravity of the situation.” Rothschild thought on the best course of action. “Brian,” he said, “we should be wary of forwarding such a report, particularly in a basic format. We are on thin ice already with the subject matter . . . This extrasensory perception thing, it’s difficult to grasp and it will be dismissed in an instant if we don’t put up a convincing case. Tell you what . . . ask Abbey to tidy it up a little – she has results from other experiments going back decades. Then pass it on to Professor Nieve. Get his opinion first. If he agrees, we will go public.”
Rothschild sat for a while considering recent events. Outside his office, Richard was talking to Abbey Hennessy; she had acquired his portfolio and would take over as his controller at midnight. They had a better relationship this time but Rothschild could hear that Abbey was very reluctant to let Richard pursue a particular course of action, although he was not party to what Richard wanted to do. “Let’s run it past Peter, then,” he heard Richard say and almost immediately there was a knock on his door.
“Yes, come in.”
Richard pushed his head around the door. “Peter, just discussing arrangements for tomorrow,” he said. “As you’re still my boss, so to speak, I would like you to give your approval.”
Rothschild looked past Richard at Abbey; she had a stony expression. “Right, come in,” he said.
Richard pulled up a second chair for Abbey and they both sat down in front of Rothschild, who paused from his work.
“So, Richard, I’ve approved your return to Cairo, but clearly you want to complicate matters and do something else.”
Abbey looked at Rothschild and then at Richard. “I don’t think it’s advisable, not at all,” she said.
“I may need to go back to Eritrea, Peter, that’s all. I have a contact; I’m relying on him being able to trace Asharf Makkoum. I can’t explain how, but it could be the only way to find Madame Vallogia – and the Ark for that matter. Cairo first, as agreed, and then if she doesn’t arrive for her duties I’ll know for sure that she’s been abducted.”
“When will that be?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Rothschild nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Make your preparations for Cairo. I’ve had confirmation o
f your flight details – one of our own Typhoon Five fighters and a Navy Division crew member, like you. Take off at 14:00 from Northolt, three hour flight time. Destination is an Egyptian Air Force base about thirty kilometres south of the city. The pilot will wait for you. You will have a driver to take you to the museum. I’ve already informed Mubarakar’s people. Abbey and I will discuss Eritrea if there is a requirement. Now, anything else?”
Richard took a deep breath. “Um, yes. There is one other thing.” He fidgeted. “My Mother, she’s not very well, getting on a bit, you know. I need to see her, it’s been some time, and there’s been a burglary too – I should visit the house. You may recall that she lives in Somerset. Just a few hours tomorrow morning, leave at six, be back by midday. I’d like a car please, if that’s possible, or I can arrange one myself.”
“I think we can stretch to that. The alternative would be very expensive. I’ll ask Laura to arrange it.”
“Thanks, appreciated.” Richard felt Abbey’s stare. He had not mentioned this request to her. She suspects I’m up to something, he thought. He looked at her innocently. “Er, what do you have planned for New Year’s Eve, Abbey?” he asked, hesitantly, changing the subject.
Abbey shook her head in exasperation.
“Is there anything else, Richard?” asked Rothschild. “I’ve got a lot to do,”
Richard stood to leave. “Oh, there’s this,” he said, and reached inside his jacket. He unzipped a pocket and pulled out the transparent plastic bag that Reverend Mother Antoinette Rousseau had given to him in the convent. The sample bag’s self-sealing strip and the small white plastic box inside remained unopened.
“What is it?” Rothschild asked, taking the bag and holding it up for Abbey to see.
“Apparently it’s the dry residue from inside the Ark. Naomi will have collected it prior to the cleaning and renovation. Oxidised dust and sediment from the corners and the flaking material brushed from the walls by all accounts. She wouldn’t have missed a trick. Anyway, it might be worth a check. The residue will definitely contain carbon molecules and so accurately dating the Ark is an option and a mass spectrograph could help with an origin.”
“I see. Very well, I’ll get it over to the laboratory. Thank you, Richard. See you in a few days then, and remember our conversation regarding communication, please.”
Richard nodded his understanding and smiled briefly at Abbey. “I’ll keep you informed,” he replied.
Richard was about to leave the room when Rothschild said: “I almost forgot. I wanted to ask you something, Richard – just your opinion on something, if you don’t mind.”
Richard’s heart missed a beat. He held his breath and turned slowly on his heels. Was it about the crystal? How could he know? he pondered. “Delighted,” he said, raising both a half-smile and his eyebrows in anticipation.
“You know the orbital dynamics of the Moon and the set up of the Space Traffic Control there better than anyone. Do you think that a vehicle of any sorts could land – or, for that matter, anything be dropped – onto the dark side without the lunar authorities knowing about it? I mean, is it possible to evade the sensor ring?”
Richard hid his relief, but all the same he was surprised by the question. “No!” he answered emphatically. “The Lunar Colony takes its security very seriously. The space traffic situation is highly automated and controlled. It’s a procedural environment and most procedures do not allow for dark side manoeuvring. The sensor ring includes state-of-the-art submillimetre radar, secondary surveillance and solar scatter antennas. Three hundred and sixty degree coverage . . . no, it’s impossible.”
“Take a moment to think, Richard. Just to be sure. Would there ever be a situation when the sensor ring would be deactivated?”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Essential maintenance, that’s the only time. And then it would be promulgated in advance.” he replied. “The system works on a hemispherical overlay principal. If one side is switched off for rectification work – and that’s the only reason it would be – then the other side would always be functioning at optimum level. A vehicle couldn’t orbit on the dark side without being seen, or without authorisation for that matter. No, it’s impossible.”
“Okay, good, thank you . . . it was just a thought.”
Richard left the room and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 16
A Secret Secret
“No harm done,” Richard muttered under his breath as he considered the burglary. And how fortunate he was that his father’s old workshop had been discounted as a hiding place for such a precious item – it could have been so different. With the crystal retrieved and in the boot of the ministry vehicle – an ageing black XF Type – the stakes had been raised considerably. I can’t pay lip service to safety any longer, nor rely on kismet to ease my progress. From here on in every risk must be calculated, he concluded. He thought of Rachel: he would call her from the airport before his flight to Cairo. His thoughts drifted to Naomi: tomorrow was the full moon. If she didn’t arrive at the Great Pyramid of Khufu to perform her duties as High Priestess to the Temple of Osiris, his fears would be confirmed. He realised that her association with him had put her life in danger. He was responsible for her predicament, whatever that might be, and he was pessimistic.
Sitting on the back seat of the car as it sped eastwards towards London, Richard’s attention was diverted by the passing of Stonehenge. He remembered his time on Mars. And he remembered how, not long after he had discovered the Flight Log of the crashed spaceship Star of Hope and deciphered some of its text, he realised this ancient monument featured not as a place of religious ceremony, but as a navigation facility – the religious inference coming much later, perhaps four thousand years later. He felt the car accelerate. The driver had put his foot down as the road opened into a dual carriageway and, without another car to be seen in either direction, they could expect to arrive in an hour or so.
Richard felt his telephonic pager vibrate in his pocket. He had acquired a short, dark blue woollen coat with a convenient zipped quilted lining that doubled as a smart jacket, and the other inner breast pocket held his passport, lunar citizen’s permit and security papers. He was wearing the only other pair of trousers he had brought – a similarly coloured pair of lined cotton chinos, and also his favourite brown leather brogues with non-slip soles, having left his flying suit and boots in the office in London. He had two white cotton roll necks for use under his flying suit and the other Laura Bellingham had promised to take to the laundry. Over that was a navy blue microfibre crew neck pullover. The pager display indicated a call from Peter Rothschild – too good to last, he thought.
“Good morning, Peter. Everything okay, I hope?” Richard asked, holding the device to his ear.
“Yes, quite. Where are you now?”
Richard studied the passing suburban scenery. For decades public debate had centred on a third runway for the old London Airport but, contrary to long-standing government plans, not only was that runway never built, but the existing northern strip and the surrounding land had been given over to property developers twenty years earlier, and now the vicinity was a sprawling estate of low-rise housing. The new airport, London Main, with its four runways, had been built in the Thames Estuary near Whitstable in Kent.
“Just passing Heathrow Regional,” Richard replied, “about to go into the tunnel.”
“Good. Say another fifteen minutes then. I’m here to meet you.”
Crikey! That’s all I need, thought Richard. He’s certain to ask what’s in my holdall. “Okay, fine, a reception committee then,” he said, and switched the device off.
The sleek XF emerged from the underground section of the A40 City Road close to the Royal Air Force base at Northolt. Richard showed his electronic identity badge at the security gate and the driver proceeded another kilometre to the terminal building. He had acquired a Diplomatic Luggage Tag from Laura Bellingham prior to leaving Whitehall – a very fortuitous fore
thought – and had secured the document to the handle of his beige canvas holdall. Inside the holdall was the rigid helmet box that contained his Kalahari crystal and the green, glass-like shards that surrounded and shielded it. However, with the spare clothing that he had stuffed around the box, his bag had become suspiciously bulky. Staring at it on the back seat of the car he grew nervous.
The XF drew to a halt outside the two-storey building. After climbing from the car and at the very last minute, Richard had second thoughts – more a minor panic attack. To make matters worse, he saw Peter Rothschild inside the glass-fronted terminal building awaiting his arrival. There would be little chance of hiding the contents should the bag be searched! Could he rely on diplomatic immunity? He shuddered at the thought of the crystal passing through an X-ray screening machine. It was one hell of a risk and, calculated or not, the consequences of discovery did not bear thinking about. Suddenly he made a decision and placed the holdall on the ground. He unzipped it, withdrew the helmet box, placed the box carefully on the back seat and then secured the bag again, trying all the while to keep his back towards Rothschild. Then he gave the bag to the MOD driver and asked him to take it directly to the VIP luggage facility. Richard drew a deep breath, tucked the helmet box under his arm, closed the car door and turned for the terminal’s main door. Moments later, in the low-ceiling, open foyer he was met by Rothschild.
The room and the adjacent corridors were adorned with numerous framed pictures of the airfield’s most memorable moments – scenes that dated back more than a century. As he walked past, Richard saw pictures of aircraft from the 1930s and 1940s and, on occasion, he stopped to take a closer look, only to be chivvied along by Rothschild. He tried to portray a nonchalant manner, even though his heart was pounding. After a few words to an armed security agent, Rothschild proceeded through a set of double doors and then up a flight of stairs to a private suite. Richard followed him closely.