Marine D SBS

by Peter Cave

  He had Bright’s interest now. ‘What sort of a problem?’

  Mallory came clean. ‘I can design something which will get off the ground, and set it to fly at any height, and for whatever distance, Martin wants,’ he explained. ‘The sticky part comes in putting it down cleanly on the water again. It’s a question of trim and balance.’

  Bright suddenly thought he understood. ‘So you’re thinking of two separate floats – like a seaplane?’

  Mallory nodded. ‘Something like that,’ he agreed. ‘But it would also help to give the vessel some stability in the water while the engine and extraneous parts were being dismantled. That in itself is going to be a tricky little problem that I bet nobody else has thought about.’

  The American was probably right, Bright reflected. Thinking about it more carefully, it became clear just how much of a problem that part of the operation could be – especially in choppy water. He turned to a clean page in his sketch pad and roughed out a pair of thinner, slightly asymmetrical hull shapes. ‘I suppose I could incorporate some kind of a locking assembly around the mast seating assembly without affecting the overall aquadynamics,’ he said as he drew another quick but confident diagram. ‘That the sort of thing you had in mind?’

  Mallory nodded eagerly. ‘Now you’re cooking,’ he said. ‘And if the mast itself is assembled out of two identical lengths of tubing, then I’d have the bracing struts I need to stabilize the floats.’

  Bright thought about that idea for a few seconds, before shaking his head. ‘I’d rather you thought in terms of two curved bracing bars,’ he said. ‘That would then give me a quick and easy way to design the wishbone for the boom assembly. The mast would be better in one piece – perhaps serving its initial purpose as the central spine for your wings.’

  Mallory’s eyes were sparkling now. ‘Yeah, no problem,’ he said generously. He let out a little whoop of exhilaration. ‘Jesus, Mike, we’ve almost cracked it.’

  Bright grinned quietly to himself, not yet quite able to accept his colleague’s somewhat naive dismissal of the countless technical problems still to be tackled. It was so typically American, he thought – that almost childlike sense of enthusiasm. It was something which Bright found quite appealing, although many of his countrymen often mistook it for brashness. He tried to bring Mallory back to reality as gently as he could.

  ‘We’re on the way, Jim, but there are still a few little bugs we need to iron out,’ he reminded him. ‘Like how your wings are going to convert into a sail for a start.’

  It didn’t dampen Mallory’s eagerness for a second. ‘Yeah, well that’s your girlfriend’s job, isn’t it?’ he pointed out. ‘Don’t you think maybe it’s time we brought her in on this?’

  Again the American was probably right, Bright realized. The entire operation was best tackled as a joint project, with everyone free to point out their particular problems and make suggestions as to how best to get round them. ‘Maybe we’d also better bring Martin up to date with our ideas so far,’ he added. ‘After all, he’s still the only person round here who really knows what this bloody contraption is actually for.’

  Mallory was in full agreement. ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘You go find Janice and I’ll see if I can track down Martin. We’ll have a planning conference in the common room in half an hour.’ He paused, eyeing Bright thoughtfully. ‘While we’re at it, how about your buddy Randy? Do we bring him in too?’

  There was a slight edge to the question, Bright sensed. It was almost as if Mallory had some slight resentment, even suspicion.

  ‘You don’t seem too sure about Randy,’ he pointed out, bringing it into the open.

  Mallory looked a little awkward. ‘Well, I guess I’m just not too sure exactly where he fits into this thing,’ he admitted. ‘I mean, where’s his input supposed to come?’

  It was a question which Bright hadn’t yet figured out for himself, though he wasn’t prepared to admit it to Mallory. ‘Well, Martin obviously wants him involved,’ he said, evading the issue. ‘So I suppose we’d better include him in any discussions.’

  ‘And the Russki?’ Mallory asked, even more dubiously.

  Bright shrugged. ‘What would be the point? He hardly speaks any English. We can’t even communicate with him.’

  Mallory grunted sceptically. ‘Or so he lets us believe,’ he said sullenly. ‘Maybe he understands a damn sight more than he lets on.’

  Bright thought about the suggestion. Another stock American characteristic – an instinctive distrust of the Russians – he wondered. Or might Mallory have a valid point? Either way, it hardly mattered for the purposes of their current conversation. It was pretty clear that the consensus was to keep Pavlaski out of things unless Martin specifically ruled to the contrary.

  Bright rose to his feet and picked up his sketch pad. ‘All right, the common room in half an hour,’ he said to Mallory, and left the room in search of Janice and Randy.

  11

  As promised, Selina had checked through her contacts with Greek Military Intelligence and the answer was negative. They had no knowledge of nocturnal activity in the area and were unable to offer any suggestions other than that they step up offshore patrols along that stretch of the coast for a few days. Martin had no choice but to accept, if not believe, this assessment. He did, however, politely but firmly decline the offer of increased surveillance. He needed greater secrecy, not less.

  The mystery, and the doubt, remained. Having agonized over it for most of the morning, Martin finally decided to contact his own highest authority at top secret level. Two hours later he found himself speaking directly to no less a personage than the Foreign Secretary himself, on a priority hotline patched and scrambled through GCHQ in Cyprus.

  ‘Are you asking me for permission to abort this mission?’ asked the Foreign Secretary bluntly, after listening to Martin’s briefing.

  Martin thought carefully before answering. The man’s attitude to the situation had slightly thrown him. He had been expecting more of a panic reaction, given the extremely sensitive nature of the project. Instead, it seemed that the Foreign Secretary wanted to play cat and mouse. Or perhaps it was simply the game of diplomacy.

  ‘With respect, sir, I was merely attempting to sound out official reaction,’ Martin replied warily. ‘After all, if the integrity of this mission has been compromised, then there are almost sure to be severe political repercussions – and that’s your department far more than it is mine.’

  The sound that came back over the line could have been a cough or a short, dry laugh. ‘I wouldn’t necessarily say that, Lieutenant-Colonel Martin. You seem to have a fairly decent grasp of the principles involved.’

  The Foreign Secretary paused, finally continuing on a more serious note. ‘Do you honestly believe that the mission has been compromised?’

  Put on the spot, Martin could only report the situation as he saw it. ‘I really don’t know, sir,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then let’s proceed on the assumption that last night’s unfortunate occurrence was an isolated incident with no real bearing on the issue,’ the Foreign Secretary said. ‘As I see it, there is absolutely no reason to curtail operations at this stage. You have your personnel in place, and we are still several weeks away from any more positive action. So why not carry through the next stage of the mission as planned?’

  The suggestion made sense, Martin had to admit. Scrapping the entire mission in response to a single unexpected incident did seem rather premature. And, as the Foreign Secretary had pointed out, they were still at the theoretical planning stage.

  ‘And if there is any further trouble?’ Martin asked. ‘If there should be a leak in the near future?’

  ‘Then we shall deny it vehemently, of course,’ the Foreign Secretary said firmly. ‘The British Government will stick to the original agreed cover story – that a task force of the Royal Marines was merely carrying out a feasibility study into the development of a new type of amphibious assault craft.’

&n
bsp; ‘And you think the Russians will buy that?’

  ‘I don’t see they’ll have any other choice, Lieutenant-Colonel. I’m quite sure we can handle any flak at diplomatic level. Whether the Russians choose to believe us or not, there will be no way they can prove otherwise.’

  ‘Except through Pavlaski, of course,’ Martin pointed out. ‘My Greek Intelligence liaison officer has already suggested that he might be a double agent.’

  There was a long, thoughtful sigh at the London end of the line. ‘Yes, of course we are all aware of comrade Pavlaski’s unique position,’ the Foreign Secretary replied eventually. ‘Not only is he absolutely crucial to this mission – he must also be seen as potentially its weakest link, and thus expendable should the balloon go up. That, of course, must be left to your discretion.’

  ‘I understand, sir,’ Martin muttered. There was no need for the Foreign Secretary to further clarify the situation. ‘So we proceed as scheduled?’

  ‘Indeed,’ the Foreign Secretary confirmed. ‘But do keep me informed should there be any further developments. And please keep in mind that you have total discretion at all times, Lieutenant-Colonel. You are on the spot – I am not. Should you consider that further or emergency action is required at any time, that decision is purely yours. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir,’ Martin said, grimacing. He replaced the receiver, shaking his head slowly from side to side. The final message had been clear enough – and exactly what he had expected. As usual, he was left holding the shitty end of the stick, and he would have to be damn careful that none of the crap stuck to his hands if he ever chose to throw it away.

  Mallory was lurking in the hallway outside as Martin came out of the room he had adopted as his private office. The vague thought that the young American had been eavesdropping flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away. He was getting paranoid, he told himself.

  ‘Can I do something for you, Mr Mallory?’ he asked, slightly more curtly than he had intended.

  ‘Actually, I thought you wanted me to do something for you,’ came the reply. ‘We think we might have come up with some workable initial design roughs and thought you might like to see them. We’re having a conference meeting in the common room in about twenty minutes.’

  Martin forced a look of enthusiasm on to his face. ‘Good, I’ll be there,’ he said as brightly as he could manage. ‘I’ll be looking forward to seeing what you’ve all come up with.’

  As Mallory was in charge of the first stage of the craft’s functional life, it seemed only appropriate for him to open the discussion.

  ‘Well, the general consensus is that this beast is at least theoretically possible,’ he started, directing himself to Martin although he was addressing them all. ‘I think I can make it fly, and Mike seems to feel he can come up with something which could be handled on the water once we set it down. We can both make design concessions which will allow us to duplicate certain key assembly parts – or at least make them convertible. The main drawback would appear to be how much of the original structure could actually be salvaged and used again. At the moment, it looks to me as though you would probably have to jettison up to seventy per cent of the original design and have to do a fair amount of amateur engineering work on the water before you could progress to stage two. It’s going to be extremely wasteful in terms of materials, and time-consuming in making the adaptations.’

  Martin didn’t seem unduly worried. ‘The amount of stuff we have to dump isn’t really important,’ he assured the meeting. ‘Cost is not a major priority, and this craft is not expected to be reusable. Think of it as a strictly single-trip disposable.’ He turned his attention to Mike Bright. ‘Complicated conversion procedures on the water do bother me, however. How far do you think we might be able to simplify the process?’

  Bright sucked at his teeth. ‘This is really only our first serious look at the concept,’ he conceded. ‘But I’m pretty sure we can find ways to cut a few corners when we study the problems in greater depth.’

  Martin seemed reasonably satisfied for the present. He glanced at Janice. ‘Any real problems in your department, Miss Reece?’

  The girl shook her blonde curls, smiling broadly. ‘None at all. I seem to have the easy part. It’s a fairly simple task to design the microlight wings as a series of interlocking, nylon-zipped panels which can simply be taken apart and put together again in a new configuration in a matter of seconds. It will create several weak stress-points, of course, although an overlapping seam fitted with a series of locking press-studs would help to minimize the risk of separation failure.’

  Mallory took the opportunity to interrupt, voicing the major concern which had been bothering him from the start.

  ‘Which brings us to the real crunch issue of safety,’ he pointed out. ‘The bottom line is that this machine is going to be, by definition, a whole series of compromises. Every single deviation from standard design is going to create a new area for potential failure or performance variation. To put it bluntly, Mr Martin, it’s going to be a very dangerous and unpredictable bitch to fly. I just want you to be fully aware of that.’

  Martin flashed the American an icy, cynical smile. ‘Point taken, Mr Mallory. But let me assure you that we won’t be taking any fare-paying passengers.’

  ‘But someone is going to have to control this craft,’ Bright put in. ‘I think we’ve already established that this whole project is more than a theoretical exercise. Right, Lieutenant-Colonel?’

  ‘Right,’ Martin agreed with a brief nod. He saw no point in denying it any further.

  ‘So this little hybrid is going to get built, and your men are going to be expected to control it?’ Taking full advantage of Martin’s sudden and uncharacteristic openness, Bright was determined to push the man as far as he was prepared to go.

  This time Martin said nothing. Bright took his silence as an admission in itself. ‘Then what Mallory said goes for my side of things as well,’ he pointed out. ‘This design is bound to be inherently faulted, with a performance which could be erratic, to say the least. Your men may have had plenty of experience sailing conventional windsurfers, but they will not be prepared to cope with a craft which will probably handle like this one will. She’ll be sluggish in response, heavy as hell to handle in anything over a ten-knot wind and none too reliable.’

  ‘I get the general picture,’ Martin cut in, a trifle peevishly. ‘But that’s why Mr Havilland is with us. It will be his job to train my men in the handling of the first prototypes.’

  The simple statement was like a bombshell. There followed several moments of stunned silence as the full implications of what Martin had said sank in with everyone present. It was Bright who found his voice first. He whirled on Martin, his tone a mixture of anger and incredulity.

  ‘Are you telling us now that you expect us to actually build you a working prototype?’ he demanded.

  Martin’s face was impassive. ‘That would be the next stage of the operation, yes. But not one prototype. Five, to be exact.’

  It was Mallory’s turn to explode. ‘You’re crazy, man,’ he blurted out. ‘You told us we were only going to be here a couple of days at the most.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘No, Mr Mallory. What I said was that I estimated it would take you only a few days to decide if this idea was technically feasible. You all seem to have agreed on that already. So what I am saying now is that we proceed immediately to phase two. Each of your individual fees will be doubled in return for your continuing cooperation, and I can arrange for your belongings to be brought here from your respective hotels should you agree, as I sincerely hope you will.’

  The first wave of shock had passed. Bright began to laugh. ‘Mallory’s right, Martin. You are crazy. We’d need proper workshops, engineering facilities, materials – a hundred and one specialist pieces of equipment. Just for my side of things alone I’d need a couple of vacuum-moulding tanks, chemical mixing vats, two pressure tanks and a laminating
oven. Janice would need a full-sized sail loft, industrial stitching machines and all her materials.’

  ‘Of course,’ Martin said calmly. ‘Please don’t take me for a complete fool, Mr Bright. We did consider every aspect of the project before approaching you. Everything you need will be provided. As I said before, cost is not one of our prime considerations.’

  ‘And working space?’ Janice queried.

  ‘There is a block of four remaining villas which are not presently in use,’ Martin told her. ‘The interior walls have already been knocked out, which should give you adequate space. Obviously, we will make any minor alterations you specify. We can start bringing materials and equipment in by sea just as soon as I have your approval.’

  A long silence fell, in which Bright, Mallory, Janice and Randy exchanged a series of stunned glances. It was quite obvious that Martin was deadly serious, even though the project seemed totally insane.

  ‘Well?’ Martin asked after a while. ‘Do I have your cooperation?’

  ‘More to the point, do we have a choice?’ Randy put in, expressing the doubt which had occurred to them all. ‘I mean, if we say we’re not interested, are you really going to let us just walk out of here?’

  Martin allowed the ghost of a smile to flit across his face. ‘We’re not terrorists, Mr Havilland. None of you are prisoners of war, or anything like that. The plain answer to your question is, yes, you are free to leave at any time should you wish to do so.’

  ‘And what would happen to the project?’ Bright asked. ‘You’d just drop it, write off all your obvious planning and preparation?’

  Martin’s temporary smile faded. Grim-faced again, he shook his head slowly. ‘No, I’m afraid not, Mr Bright. Without your help, we would be forced to try to formulate some sort of an alternative using our own, rather more limited resources. As I said before, this mission is of vital importance. Lives are at stake.’