THE CAMBRIDGE ANNEX: THE TRILOGY

by Peter Damon

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  Essen in Germany isn’t a particularly large city, as German cities go. It certainly isn’t the best known, although it does have an internationally renowned conference centre at its heart. But Essen happens to be in the midst of one of the most concentrated areas of motorway in Europe. As a result, Essen is also host to one of the largest lorry parks in all of Germany.

  During the day, 60 acres of flat brown earth is almost deserted, just two or three dozen trucks laid up to allow their drivers to visit any one of the dozen restaurants around the perimeter, some advertising showers and TV rooms, others more discrete provisions and diversions. As night falls however, trucks arrive in a constant stream, each one coming to a stop on some invisibly marked parking bay that allows the land to be filled to its optimum.

  Cheryl drew the boys’ attention to the area where six curtain-lined trailers stood, their heavy duty plastic curtains all displaying a large red square. “Those are the ones we want,” she told them, her excitement making her a little light-headed.

  “Well, let’s get to work!” Jake chuckled, and the boys drove their van up to the first trailer before knocking on the cab to get the driver’s help to open the rear doors and get access to the single large object within.

  The boys worked solidly throughout the evening and late evening, then caught some sleep in the back of the van while Cheryl sat in the front and sent text messages to her clients.

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  The boys were unaware of the hunt that had taken place as the authorities tried to find them. A check on hotels had drawn a blank; the boys slept in the van. A check on credit cards also drew a blank; the boys paid cash on everything.

  The authorities knew that the van had been in the Netherlands; the ANPR (Automatic Number Plate Recognition) system employed in the Netherlands had told them that. Unfortunately, Germany had chosen not to use it.

  So the British authorities sat and waited, knowing that, soon or later, the boys would do something that would signal their whereabouts to the dozen or so European agencies just waiting for them. They didn’t anticipate the degree to which the two could go, just to make sure they were seen.

  June 11th

  It was 9am in Japan.

  As Matt and Jake were working on the satellites in Essen, Germany, and completing the wiring to the lifting pads, office workers in Japan settled into their offices and the early morning traffic calmed to its normal levels of congestion. Taxi drivers used their horns to move the commercial vehicles onward and out of their way while private cars, still permitted outside Tokyo, gestured and shouted, arguing their case and their equal right to use the road.

  The traffic was a little worse that morning in Hakata Bay, Fukuoka, Japan. Six army trucks were making their way towards the docks in two convoys; one from the north-east, the other from the south-east. A block away from Dock #3 the vehicles stopped and disgorged their stock of army personnel, the men immediately forming two ranks to await their orders.

  Armoured vehicles moved forward from hidden locations, their heavy diesel motors drowning the sound of the fish market nearby as they forced their way through the narrow streets to Dock #3 where a large ship was moored. Overhead, at first distant, but becoming louder and louder as they approached, came the sound of helicopters; three attack helicopters that moved in from over the bay to stop the ship from moving away from the dock.

  As seamen within the ship came rushing out in surprise, the army moved forward, 100 armed men taking up strategic positions over the front and rear of the ship and its moorings.

  Almost immediately there was a shrill whistle cry, and a contingent of specially trained, specially equipped personnel stormed forward to run up the gang-plank to take over the ship as quickly as possible.

  As the all-clear was sounded from the ship, the Japanese General smiled towards his aides and nodded. “Didn’t I say it was going to be easy?” he asked. “Come on, let’s go and have a look at our prize!” he said, chuckling.

  A block away, a small convoy of Range Rovers were in the traffic jam that ensued, the driver of the lead vehicle slamming his open palm into the steering wheel as he realised they were too late. In the back, the senior officer used the satellite phone to advise London that their plan had failed; the Japanese had beaten them to the ship.

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  At 3:55am CET in the truck stop in Essen, Germany, unaware of the lightning raid on the ship moored in Hakata Bay, Fukuoka, Japan, Matt and Cheryl did a quick circuit of the six trucks and flashed their lights towards Jake, sitting in the cab of the middle truck.

  Jake pressed the enter key on his tablet and the six satellites lifted just inches off their cradles and moved sedately from under the canopy of their trailers to hover off to one side, clear of the roofs of each of the trailer units.

  Matt watched the strange beauty while, some 100 yards away, a small group of truckers suddenly stopped and stared.

  “Clear!” Cheryl called.

  Matt remembered to add his own voice, and Jake pressed the enter key on his second App.

  With imperial grace, the six shrouded satellites moved upwards, their pace increasing with every passing second so that, in just moments, they were out of sight in the dark and cloudy sky.

  “Come on! We’ve got to go!” Matt cried, already pushing Cheryl into the middle of the van’s front seat.

  Jake jumped down with his tablet and ran across to join them, putting his tablet in a specially made cradle in front of the steering wheel as he brought up the tracking program to watch the six satellites move smoothly into the upper atmosphere, all their readings displayed in green. It was one of Gary’s innovations, using colour to alert the operator to anything amiss.

  “We ready?” Matt asked, the hand control from the latest version of the Playstation already out of the glove compartment and in his hands.

  “Just take it easy, right?” Jake warned.

  “You’ve got to be joking! I’ve been waiting weeks to be able to do this!” he told them, turning the control to have the van stand on its tail-end, as if it were truly a rocket.

  Cheryl squealed, a squeal cut short as she realised that she was still in her seat, her brain telling her they were still level on the ground, even as her eyes were telling her that they weren’t.

  Matt grinned and pressed the forward key.

  With a gravitational field keeping their gravity relative to their vehicle, the three passengers watched the dark clouds shoot towards them, and then part to allow them their first glimpse of the stars.

  “It’s working, it’s working!” Cheryl screamed again.

  “Too fucking right, its working!” Jake cried, his head pressed to the windows as the earth fell away quickly behind them.

  They followed the satellites upward, the last vestiges of their professional detachment lost as the earth took on a gentle curve behind them, the lights from the towns and roads in the break between clouds giving it a beauty that caught and held their attention.

  “I’m here. Pinch me!” Cheryl gasped as she leant over Jake in an effort to see more of the falling earth beneath them.

  “We’re at 150 kilometres,” Matt murmured, stopping their flight to watch the satellites hesitate in their own ascent, long enough to allow their protective shrouds to fall away.

  “The shrouds have been ditched,” he murmured in confirmation, unwilling to break the spell of seeing the dawn move over the far eastern horizon, lighting the clouds, spreading across the ground to highlight its contours, long shadows slowly diminishing.

  The satellites had begun to move again, this time with much greater velocity as they began to move through space towards their assigned Geosynchronous Orbital positions. Matt turned the van slightly away and pressed the Playstation toggle forward to recommence their own climb. Only then did he remember to turn on the heads-up display on the windscreen and nodded to himself as they rose above the 200 kilometre mark. The circular target on the heads-up displ
ay moved downwards, alerting Matt that the spaceship he was due to dock with hadn’t left the earth yet. But then, he hadn’t expected it to. The satellites would need to reach their own orbit and begin transmitting in order to release the funds that would allow the ship to leave dock.

  “Oh God,” Cheryl sighed. “It is so, so beautiful!” she said, beginning to cry.

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  As Matt, Jake and Cheryl began experimenting with the alternative controls of the van, turning it to improve their view of the earth beneath them, Jack Brendan, one of several Cambridge University Wireless Society members, picked up a new signal from his station and grinned.

  Jack Brendan G5XTB was seated in the ‘Shack’; the pet name given to the Wireless Society club building situated on the university farm, just outside Cambridge. Here, in relative seclusion, Jack and his fellow HAMs could connect with others across HF, VHF and UHF frequency bands.

  Putting aside his headphones, Jack picked up his cellular to make a single call. “Sir Richard? Yes, its Jack Brendan here from CUWS. Yes Sir, I’m fine thank you Sir. I just thought you might like to know, they’ve seen them,” he said cryptically.

  They had indeed. Alarm bells were ringing across Russia, USA and Europe as automatic sensors were tripped and appropriate people alerted to the latest detection.

  As European RADAR installations tracked seven vehicles heading into space, reconnaissance satellites were already photographing the ground for their points of origin using optical, thermal and ultra violet imaging. At the same time, optical telescopes were given the objects’ coordinates for as early an identification as possible.

  NATO aircraft were scrambled, even though commanding officers knew the launched vehicles were well beyond their range. The submarines of all the NATO countries went into red alert, dropping under the sea to await instructions from their masters. Authorities around the world were put on red-alert, aware that several objects had just been launched, and unaware of what their purpose was, or where they might be pointed.

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  Sir Arthur Coleman had been woken earlier by his operatives in Japan, so he looked quite calm as the video link to the Situation Room in the White House came alive. He nodded towards the images of General Pat Mears and that of Glen Schroder, the President’s technical Advisor; one in casual dress, the other in a tuxedo.

  “Your timing could have been better,” Glen Schroder told Sir Arthur with a sour look as he opened the starched collar of his formal dress shirt.

  “Not my timing,” Sir Arthur told him with a shake of his head.

  “Do we know if this is the same?” the general asked. “Seven launches, for God’s sake!” he cried.

  “I’m sure the technicians will want to dot the Is and cross the Ts, but the mode of launch and silence are very telling,” Sir Arthur explained.

  “You could tell us right now, couldn’t you, and stop us all shitting our pants wondering if a missile isn’t about to drop on us,” the general suggested.

  “I’m sure your RADAR is keeping you advised,” Sir Arthur told him with suitable sarcasm.

  “Well, we have a location; Essen in Germany,” Glen told the room, consulting one of the sheets of paper in front of him. “We’ve woken the local police to ask them to check out the location, but as you say, the signature is quite telling.”

  “Early reports from our operatives say that none of our suspects has moved. The main suspect is actually in custody, and he certainly hasn’t been involved!” Sir Arthur made a point of saying.

  “If he’s in a position to launch seven satellites all at the same time, then I’d say his presence is unnecessary at this stage of the game,” Glen observed with dry sarcasm.

  “All seven objects are now at 400 kilometres and continuing to move outward, and as their trajectory is not aligned with any terrestrial body, we can make an educated guess at a GEO,” Glen pointed out, throwing the piece of paper he held to one side.

  “Well, we’ll keep monitoring at our end,” Sir Arthur told the two frowning Americans, and turned off the link. With a deep and thoughtful sigh he picked up the phone and dialled the Prime Minister. He needed to know the latest news, in particular about the loss of the ship in Japan.

  The students had put up a good show and had nearly achieved their aims. He felt saddened by the outcome. None the less, there might be something that could be salvaged from the loss. The report from Japan had said the ship had been taken, but not the students. There might still be a chance to recover the technology, if they could just find the students.

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  Michael blinked as the light in his cell came on. Outside, a key was being turned in his iron door before the bolt was loudly drawn back. Heather Wilson stepped in with a mug of tea and a smile.

  She wasn’t exactly how she’d appeared in his dreams. She was dressed, for one thing, and her hair neatly combed back, her expression conveying worry rather than pleasure.

  “Morning Michael,” she told him, passing him the tea while the Duty Sergeant mumbled something under his breath as he moved back to his seat.

  “What time is it?” he asked, shaking away the last of his dreams so he could focus on the day.

  “5am,” she told him, watching him.

  He sipped the tea and screwed his face up in dislike. “I know 5am isn’t the normal time to wake suspects. And I know they don’t normally get woken by a DI, and a cup of tea. It is tea, isn’t it?” he asked, peering down at it in distrust.

  “Something big happened last night,” she told him with a nod. “No one is meant to know anything, and no one is saying anything, but there’s a groundswell of excitement within the university. It’s almost palpable,” she told him. “Half the student body is awake and texting each other like mad.”

  Michael shrugged, even as he sighed. “What has Stan suggested?”

  “He’s not here yet,” she told him, and watched his faecal muscles work. “Do you want to share?” she asked.

  “I can’t Heather. Not yet,” he told her softly.

  She sighed. “This is a shit of a job, Michael,” she told him before she stepped out, slamming the door behind her and making him wince.

  “Heather!” he shouted.

  The viewing panel was slid aside and half her expectant face peered in on him. “Have you interviewed Sir Richard Phillips yet?” he asked. “Take my belongings with you,” he suggested when she had shaken her head.

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  At 7am Central European Time, having achieved their allocated geosynchronous orbits, six satellites began to broadcast their identities, answering and confirming what the various authorities had anticipated and causing a flurry of concerned emails between the various space industry’s corporations and their wayward clients. The clients didn’t care; they had saved themselves over $40 million US Dollars each, achieved a launch months in advance of even the highest quotation, and could anticipate hours of free publicity in the days ahead.

  With that clause of the agreement fulfilled, electronic payments were made into various UK off-shore bank accounts, in most cases accompanied by complimentary emails requesting Cheryl Hall remain in contact for further work. The mathematics of satellite costing had just been revolutionised, and those who got their new satellites into orbit the earliest would gain the most business.

  The received funds, following instructions left weeks before, began to be traded on various commodity markets, payment sometimes taken in Bearer Bonds.

  For 20 minutes a sequence of trades were opened and completed in the Far East markets, by the end of which, funds were no longer in the UK off-shore bank account. Where they had ended would take several days to determine, and by then it would be academic.

  Confirmation of the transaction completion was sent by text to a half dozen mobile phones, and the program deleted from the host computer.

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  Thomas and David looked towards each other as their phones vibrated urgently
in their pockets. Drawing them out, they read the text message and smiled in unison.

  David got to the Tannoy button a moment before Thomas. “Prepare for departure! This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Prepare to depart!” he called excitedly.

  There were goodbyes to be said first; to the twenty students and professors from the Nam-Gu, Busan University of South Korea who had furthered their own studies by helping them, mostly with translations. They bowed and shook hands and promised to keep in touch before making their way from the hatch, down onto the dock. There, they could stare at the mammoth ship and take pride in the changes they had helped make to it.

  Ten other students from the same university beamed happily as they waited inside the ship, for this was now their home for the next few years, or so they hoped. The assistance of the university and South Korea had earned them their places in the very latest Cambridge College. A further twenty Korean men and women waited nervously to beside them, the salary they had been offered overcoming their anxieties. They would help complete the building of the interior of the ship, still a long way from being finished.

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  The ship moored at Busan, South Korea was the second ship that Professor Rolle had acquired. It had once been named Emma Maersk and was one of eight such ships commissioned between 2006 and 2008 to transport container goods from South East Asia to Europe. Nearly 180,000 tonnes in weight, the ship was 397 metres long and 56 metres wide. It could originally hold in excess of 14,000 standard Shipping Containers; that was before the twins and their assistants had begun changing the hull.

  With the launch of the larger and far more cost effective Triple E Class container ship in2012, the Emma Maersk had become redundant and the consortium of companies that Michael and Rolle had set up purchased it. One other ship had been bought, a smaller and older vessel which was docked at the Hakata Bay Port in Fukuoka, Japan, and had already fulfilled the purpose for which it was intended.