by Nigel Seed
Before they left, Jim had reminded his men of the secrecy needed to stop this becoming a major financial disaster for the country and to ensure that there was nothing in writing, or anything that could be picked up by security agencies. He topped up his coffee and settled in behind his computer to research one of the most secretive military units the British Army had ever formed.
Chapter 4
Geordie woke early the next morning in the RAF Waddington Sergeants’ Mess. He dressed in casual clothes for the nine-hour flight to Florida. An RAF Police Land Rover picked him up from the front of the mess building and carried him across to the 8 Squadron flight line where he was given a flight suit and a short briefing. The briefing officer was clearly not happy about having to make the brief so short and so early. He was equally unhappy when Geordie declined to tell him why they were to take him to Eglin.
He walked out to the large grey aircraft that already had its four large engines running and the black and white radar dome on its back rotating. He climbed the mobile steps and the door was swung shut behind him. He was led through the main body of the aircraft past the ten grey mission consoles, with operators sitting at each one. They watched him walk by. At the rear of the banks of consoles were three seats for extra crew or passengers and he strapped himself into one of these as the aircraft started to taxi out to the runway.
The seat next to him held an RAF technician who said, “I hear we are diverting to Eglin in Florida just for you. What’s going on there, then?”
Geordie smiled at him. “I just fancied a bit of Florida sunshine and so I booked with Crab airlines.”
He turned away from the technician and opened his book. The conversation was obviously over.
Two hours into the flight, Geordie was awakened from his doze by a Flight Lieutenant who said, “The skipper wants to see you. Come up to the flight deck.”
Geordie roused himself and followed the officer through the cabin and once again, the operators watched him go by. He moved into the surprisingly cramped cockpit of the aircraft that was based on the old Boeing 707 airframe. He found three officers and a senior NCO already in there and he was directed to a small fifth seat; he supposed this was what is known as the jump seat. The pilot turned round to him and Geordie was surprised to see the rank badges of a Wing Commander on his shoulders. He had not realized he was being flown by the unit commander.
“Well now, Sergeant Peters isn’t it?”
Geordie nodded. “Yes sir, that’s correct.”
“Well now Sergeant, I think it’s about time you told me what this is all about. This aircraft was due in Nevada this evening and my crew was looking forward to an evening in Las Vegas. Instead, because of duty time restrictions, we will be stuck at Eglin overnight. So just what the hell is so important that we are tasked with flying a mere Sergeant so far out of our way?”
Geordie hesitated. The Wing Commander was clearly not a happy man.
“Speak up! I asked you a question.”
Geordie cleared his throat. “Sorry sir, I am unable to tell you. It is a security issue and one not for discussion.”
The officer flushed. “Sergeant, I fly this surveillance aircraft and I command the squadron that operates them. I have the highest security clearance available. Now, why are we flying to Eglin for you?”
Geordie had not expected this level of aggression. He stood up and said, “With the greatest respect, sir, you are not cleared to be told what my task is and I am afraid that this conversation has to end now.”
He turned and left the flight deck to return to his seat. Even over the noise of the engines he could hear the outraged yelling behind him. He reached his seat and was about to sit down when he realized the Wing Commander had followed him. He was red in the face and clearly ready to give Geordie a piece of his mind. Before the shouting started, Geordie unzipped his borrowed flight suit and withdrew the Prime Minister’s letter from his inside jacket pocket.
“Before you start, sir,” he said, “and embarrass yourself in front of your team I suggest you read this.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!”
He read the letter and looked up at Geordie who was standing calmly in front of him. He read the letter again then threw it at Geordie and stormed back to the flight deck.
The technician in the other seat leaned forward and picked up the letter then handed it back to Geordie and said quietly. “I don’t know what you have in that letter, but I would have paid good money to watch RFS put back in his box like that.”
Geordie sat down and reached for his seat belt. “RFS?”
The technician smiled. “It’s the boss’s nickname among the technical staff, ‘Red Faced and Screaming.’ You can see why.”
Geordie smiled and settled back to continue his doze. He woke as the engine note changed and looked around.
The technician next to him looked across and said, “We are on approach to Eglin now. We should be on the ground in about half an hour.”
There were no passenger windows in the Sentry so Geordie tightened his seat belt and picked up his book again to pass the time until the wheels thumped down on the runway. The aircraft taxied to its allocated parking spot and the engines whined down to a stop. Geordie stood up and grabbed his shoulder bag. He walked along the passageway beside the operator’s consoles as they were packing up their last bits and pieces ready to disembark. As he reached the main exit he met the flight deck crew coming the other way. He stood back politely to allow them to exit the aircraft first.
As he walked onto the mobile aircraft steps, he saw two vehicles waiting to transport them away from the flight line. In front of the blue-grey US Air Force bus was a shiny black Chevrolet Suburban. He could see the Wing Commander striding confidently towards the car while the rest of the flight crew headed for the bus. As he reached for the door handle the driver stepped out and shook his head. He pointed to the crew bus waiting behind. Although he could not hear the conversation, Geordie could see that this was not going down well and the Wing Commander was remonstrating with the driver. The driver pointed to the aircraft steps and when the officer realized the Suburban was for Geordie he stomped away in high dudgeon. Geordie watched him go. RFS indeed. He walked over to the black car and gripped the hand of the driver. It was good to see his friend Raoul Martinez again.
The Suburban accelerated away from the flight line and was heading towards the base accommodation area when Raoul said, “If you are staying in Florida you may want to stop at the Base Exchange to buy some lighter clothes. It gets pretty hot down here even at this time of year.”
Geordie said, “I don’t intend to be here long. Just time enough to beg a big favor of you. If there is aircon in the bar we’ll be fine.”
Martinez smiled. “This is Florida, there’s always aircon. Now what is so important that you dragged me out of a training exercise and couldn’t tell me on the phone?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll tell you what I can once we get settled behind a nice cold beer. That aircraft may be high tech, but I have flown more comfortably and right now I’m spitting feathers.”
Chapter 5
Geordie settled into his chair behind a glass of icy cold Sam Adams beer. Martinez waited until they had both worked their way half down their glasses before saying, “OK Geordie, time to ‘fess up.’ Why did you divert a large expensive aircraft here and in the process, really irritate a senior Royal Air Force officer who is complaining long and loud in the Officer’s Mess bar?”
Geordie smiled and looked up at the SEAL officer. “Raoul, I have a problem and I am going to need you to trust me. I can’t tell you why, but I need to get some information from a New York auction house without them knowing who is asking or why. All I can tell you is that it is really important. I am guessing one of your spooky agencies could help.”
Martinez sat back in his chair and stroked his ear lobe. “OK, before we go anywhere with this I need an assurance that, whatever this is, it is not going to h
arm the interests of the United States.”
Geordie thought for a moment. “If we can’t get this information there is a real possibility that at some point in the very near future, the United Kingdom might not be able to fulfil its responsibilities as a reliable ally of the USA.”
Martinez sat up. “That’s melodramatic. Are you sure it’s that important?”
Geordie just nodded, worried that he had gone too far already.
“OK then. You’d better tell me what you need and I will see if I know anyone who can help.”
Geordie pulled the auction brochure from his pocket and passed it across the table. “Page seven. Two pictures of a gold coin. It’s a bit special and we need to know where it came from. We need a name and address for the seller. As you can see the auction house is withholding that information. For reasons that I, again, can’t tell you we can’t do anything as simple as asking a question.”
Martinez said “And you don’t want me to ask out in the open, I guess?”
“Correct.”
“OK then. Let me think about who I could ask. With the business we are in, there are a number of black agencies that we work with.”
“Black agencies? What does that mean?”
Martinez took a quick look over his shoulder before saying, “You know that when we are developing secret equipment like stealth aircraft we run them as ‘Black Projects?’ That means that there is no information about them in the public domain and even the funding is hidden from the oversight committees. Well, there are certain agencies that operate the same way. They have limited oversight and don’t have to answer for the money they spend.”
“And they get away with that? I’m impressed. So who gives them their tasking?”
Martinez smiled. “My turn. That’s heavily classified and you don’t need to know.”
Geordie laughed. “Good one. So can they help us do you think?”
Standing up Martinez said, “I’ll find out. Let me make a call and while I’m away you can order dinner. I’ll take a steak, medium rare. Oh and by the way, you’re paying.”
Before the steaks arrived, Martinez returned and sat down again. “OK, I’ve got somebody who will get you the information. Where should they send it?”
“Nowhere. No emails. No phone calls. They are too easily tracked or intercepted. I need to meet the person doing the job and have him tell me the information.”
Martinez looked thoughtful. “Is it really that serious?”
Geordie nodded. “I wouldn’t be asking this of you if it was not serious. I wish I could tell you just how serious.”
Martinez looked thoughtful. “I think you just did.”
They finished their dinner and went to sit out on the veranda of the bar with another couple of cold beers. The time difference was starting to catch up with Geordie, so he was planning to head for bed shortly. The mobile phone in the pocket of Martinez’ fatigues started to ring and he fished it out.
Pressing the receive button he held the phone to his ear and said, “Yes.” He listened for a moment and then said, “We’ll be there in the early hours of tomorrow. Yes, it is that urgent.” He ended the call and turned to Geordie. “They’ve got it, or at least they will have by the time we get there. Finish your beer; we have a flight to catch.”
Geordie gulped the last of his beer and went back into the bar to pay. Through the window he could see Martinez was back on his cell phone. As he went back outside Martinez said, “Flight leaves in forty minutes. You can sleep as we go.”
“Where are we going? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“Pax River.”
“Where the devil is that?”
“You’ll see.”
A little after midnight, local time, the US Air Force Gulfstream landed at Patuxent River Naval Air Station in Maryland. The black Chevy Suburban with the tinted windows was waiting for them as they disembarked and within minutes they were on their way. Leaving the base they drove along virtually deserted roads and across the bridge into the small town of Solomons. They left the main highway and pulled up outside a nondescript two-story house with a neat garden and a tree with a swing hanging from one of its branches. As they walked up the driveway, the front door swung open and they walked in. The hallway and living room were comfortably furnished and a lady in a dressing gown was sitting by the fireplace reading a book. It was only when she put the book down and stood up that Geordie saw the automatic pistol in her hand.
The man who had opened the door turned to Martinez. “You vouch for this man?”
Martinez said, “I do. He has no need to see any more of the building. He just needs the information you have for him.”
The man at the door pressed a button on a pad on the wall and after a few seconds, a door at the other side of the sitting room swung open to admit a short, bearded man in a checked shirt and jeans. Geordie had just time to see the bank of mainframe computing equipment behind him before the door closed.
The bearded man came over to the group. “You’re the Brit?”
“That’s me,” said Geordie and took the small piece of paper that the newcomer thrust towards him.
Geordie looked at the name and address, and then looked up to thank the man who was now disappearing back through the far door.
Martinez took him by the elbow. “Time to go.” He steered him back out of the front door. “Where to next, Geordie?”
The Englishman tucked the small piece of paper into his wallet. “Now that I have this, I need to be in London with it PDQ. Can you get me to an airport? Washington Dulles would probably be best. I can catch the direct flight from there and get home as soon as possible.”
Chapter 6
Ivan’s flight to Russia with British Airways was much more comfortable than Geordie’s to Florida and the in-flight entertainment was far superior, but he was still tired as he walked out of the arrivals hall in Moscow. Andrei was there to meet him and to speed him through the traffic into the city, in a rather nice Mercedes saloon. They spoke of their adventures during the attack on New York and recalled just how cold they had been when marooned in a rubber dinghy in the Atlantic. They didn’t mention how close to death they had been but the knowledge made a bond between them.
They didn’t speak about why Ivan was there until they were seated comfortably in Andrei’s small apartment close to Red Square. Andrei made them both a cup of his signature strong black coffee and sat opposite Ivan to sip it.
“Well my friend, how can I help you this fine Russian day?”
Ivan put down his coffee cup. “Andrei, what I am about to ask of you may seem strange, but I have to ask you to trust me. I cannot explain why we need to know this but I promise you it is important.”
Andrei smiled. “I did not think you came here just to see me and, of course, I will respect your confidence. Russians are good at keeping secrets; we had a lot of practice during the communist years. Tell me what you need.”
Ivan produced a color photocopy of the page from the auction brochure. “This is a rather special coin that we think was given to the Spanish government in 1934 but it disappeared during their Civil War. We think it might have been brought to Russia with the rest of the Spanish gold to buy arms for the Republicans. Being such a special piece we think it might have ended up in one of your museums, possibly the Hermitage. We need to know if it is still here.”
Andrei stared at the pictures on the sheet in his hand. “This is a small coin,” he said, “and Russia is a big country, but I can try. I will send copies of this to the museum in St Petersburg and they can tell us if they recognize it.”
Ivan leaned forward. “Andrei, please don’t do that. There must be no record that we even asked the question. No phone calls, no emails, in fact, nothing that could be intercepted. We need to ask the right person face to face so there is no trace of us.”
Andrei sat back and contemplated Ivan for a moment “This sounds very important to you.”
“It is or I wouldn’t put you to this muc
h trouble.”
“Very well. I owe you much more than this. We take the train to St Petersburg in the morning and ask your questions. My Police Commander’s badge will get us in to see the people we need to speak to, with little trouble. But now a little vodka and a few reminiscences and then we sleep here. My office will book us onto the new fast train that can have us there in less than four hours. In the old days we would have been sleeping on the train overnight.”
The next morning dawned bright and clear and Ivan was glad of the sunglasses to protect his bloodshot eyes. There had been rather too many vodkas powering the reminiscences and he was not used to the potent Russian brands. Even Andrei was moving a little more slowly than usual.
A police patrol cruiser took them to the station to avoid the risk of leaving the Mercedes in a Moscow parking lot. The tickets had been booked the night before by Andrei’s people and his police rank had acquired them a compartment to themselves. Both of them were glad of the quiet and soon slept to recover from Andrei’s vodka. The journey was uneventful and on arrival in St Petersburg they were met by yet another police cruiser that took them straight to the Hermitage.
Avoiding the crowds of tourists from some of the cruise liners docked in the harbor, they slipped through one of the staff entrances of the museum. When challenged by a security guard a quick flash of Andrei’s identity pass was sufficient to gain them a salute and rapid entrance with directions to the museum director’s office. A further showing of the police pass propelled a secretary through the door of the director’s private office and an equally rapid invitation in to see the great man. Communism may have died in Russia, but old habits die hard and a senior police officer still commands respect and attention.
The two visitors settled into the comfortable chairs in the director’s office and accepted his offer of tea from the antique, silver samovar resting on an ornate sideboard. Once the secretary had delivered the tea, they could move on from general small talk to the business at hand. Ivan deferred to Andrei as his own Russian language skills were rusty despite his time at the Army language school in Beaconsfield. He could follow the conversation, but it would have taken far longer for him to compose sentences and mentally check his grammar. Andrei explained what they were looking for and showed the director the photocopy of the coin. He declined to answer the director’s questions about why they wanted to know. A child of the communist era, the director understood that when officials do not answer questions there is no advantage in pressing the point.