Chapter 9

After twenty minutes, Murray finally found what he was looking for in the Archives, deep in the basement. He carried the file over to the desk to check the index entry: 19620521. This told him that the entry was some eight years old, recorded in the early summer.

Pausing only to make a note in the loans book, he carried the file upstairs to the Director's office.

Hargreaves watched as the police motorcyclist gunned his engine and let in the clutch and sped away, the strange weapon safely tucked into one of the motorcycle's panniers. In less than two hours, it would be safely in the hands of the boffins at the secret Government research establishment where the strange weapon would surrender its secrets.

Despite his earlier worries about the state of his digestion, Straker had found that the meal served in the Senior Dining Room, was actually very acceptable. He politely declined the proffered glass of wine, preferring a soft drink.

Straker had been ten when his father, John, a Colonel in the Air Force, went off to Korea. His F-86 had been downed by a lucky burst from an enemy aircraft. Bailing out, he'd soon fallen into the hands of the North Koreans.

Captivity as a Prisoner of War, tortured by a ruthless and relentless enemy took a severe toll.

Eventually repatriated, the once cheerful family man had become withdrawn. Disillusioned and finally disgusted by the way veterans, such as he, had been treated and unable to speak of the harrowing experiences, John Straker had eventually found solace in alcohol.

Young Edward had just graduated from the Air Force Academy when the inevitable came. John's funeral had been a lonely affair; Ed had been the only family member to attend. His mother, long since estranged from her alcoholic husband, had stayed away. A chill wind whistled between the tombstones and drizzle from a lowering sky added to the gloom of the occasion. As the coffin was slowly lowered into the grave, Ed stood rigidly to attention, saluted the dead warrior and vowed that he'd never allow himself to lose control that way.

Mackenzie rubbed his chin, thoughtfully as Murray laid out the seismograph traces side-by-side. There was no doubt about it; the traces were similar.

"As you can see", explained Murray, indicating more recent trace, this is the trace from last night's event which was centred in south-western Turkey. Now this:" indicating the trace he'd retrieved from the archives, "is the trace from an event recorded last year. You can see the similarities."

"Aye," Agreed Mackenzie "But it's not an ordinary quake, that's for sure. Look at the energy dissipation. What could have caused it?"

Murray told him.

Freeman finally arrived just after lunch. It had been a hard drive from London. Although the bacon roll and coffee he'd picked up from a van just outside Oxford had been satisfying enough at the time, that had been nearly three hours before and he was hungry. However his needs would have to wait. He was on a mission.

Finally, he pulled into the car park of another secret Government research establishment, this one the Royal Radar Establishment, situated just outside Malvern on the Welsh Borders.

From the boot of the car, he pulled an attaché case. Like Straker's it had been designed to destroy its contents if tampered with.

He checked his watch: He would just make the appointment with minutes to spare. Quickly, he walked to Reception.

The blue- black aircraft was almost invisible against the sable of the sky.

At nearly eighty five thousand feet, the bulk of the Earth's atmosphere below it, the wings of the SR-71 were barely providing enough lift in the rarefied atmosphere. As with a bullet, raw thrust, from the two massive engines, kept the aircraft airborne. Flying twice as high as commercial airliners, the curvature of the Earth and the weather patterns far below would have been a spectacular sight had the crew not witnessed it so many times before. Even the brilliance of the stars, steady and undimmed by the vestigial atmosphere above, was only of interest to the aircraft's star tracking system.

The reconnaissance mission, along the eastern edge of Soviet Airspace had been routine to the point of boredom.

Despite this, Colonel Tom Noonan, the pilot, concentrated on maintaining the aircraft's course, skirting Soviet airspace. In the seat behind him, Captain Hank Yeardley, the Reconnaissance Systems Officer concentrated on his instruments, alert for any signs of detection by enemy radar and ready to employ a complex suite of electronic warfare systems.

Inside the instrument bay in the belly of the aircraft, complex sensors sniffed the electromagnetic spectrum for electronic emissions. Side-scan radar probed deep into enemy territory, looking for any potential threats to the uneasy peace that had lasted since the 'Iron Curtain' had slammed down at the end of the Second World War. A peace that seemed ever more precarious by the day.

Freeman had signed in and having been checked with his host, issued with a security pass. Owing to the nature of the work that went on here, particularly in light of the raised security status, he would be escorted at all times.
Freeman looked around him. The building was a typical Government structure, the walls painted in the almost ubiquitous green and cream, with red-tiled windowsills beneath metal window frames, the paint discoloured and peeling. He found it difficult to reconcile such a dilapidated workplace with the cutting-edge electronics work he knew went on here.

The furniture too, had seen better days; the vinyl seat cushions of the chairs were cracked, the stuffing showing through. On the small coffee table was a pile of newspapers and magazines. Eschewing the dubious pleasures of Fleet Street, Freeman picked up a copy of Wireless World. A momentary feeling of déja-vu swept over him as he began flick idly through the journal. An article on the letters page caught his eye:

'Some thoughts on Bandwidth Compression and its application to Ultra-High-Frequency Video Transmission'.

Keith Ford BSc Hons. MIEE RSGB

Most of the article was impenetrable to Freeman but he understood enough to realize that this was an important piece of work.

Once more, he returned to the header: Ford? Keith Ford? Freeman rubbed his chin. Could it be the same man? He'd have to check on that.

At that moment, the door opened to admit a tall figure in sports jacket and slacks. Tom Kennedy, Superintendent of the Advanced Communications Division, looked round, then smiled in recognition: "Alec! How are you?"

Freeman stood and shook the proffered hand. "Tom, it's been too long".

Kennedy waved to the Receptionist; "It's OK June, I'll look after him now"

"Yes Sir."
The two men walked through the main gates, each showing his pass to the Duty Guard.

The site was quite a large one and it took nearly ten minutes to reach the building. It was a long, single-storey structure, consisting of a long main corridor, off of which a number of spurs projected out towards the rear, Entrance to the building was by means of a pair of double wood-framed glass doors. On either side of the doorway, large yellow placards were screwed to the wall. Each placard bore the stark black trefoil denoting a Radiation Hazard.

"Don't worry", Kennedy reassured Freeman. "We have a microwave source down in one of the labs. It's well shielded and interlocked but we have to display the signs at each entrance to keep the Safety Officer happy." He held open the door and Freeman entered the building.

The men's footsteps echoed from the polished parquet flooring. Freeman stopped; a ram's head, wearing a motorcycle goggles, was hanging from a nail. Kennedy smiled. "That's one of our physicists' lab. It probably seemed a good idea at the time."

Kennedy's office was at the end of the main corridor. Kennedy pushed open a door, which led into a large spacious office. An archway led into a small kitchenette. To the left of the desk was another door leading into Kennedy's Office. Filing cabinets lined the walls. A middle-aged woman was working at the desk. Sheila Foyle, Kennedy's PA, looked up and smiled as the men entered.
"Coffee?"
"Yes Please, Sheila" Kennedy replied. He opened the door to his office and ushered Freeman in.
Kennedy's office, being at the end of the building, had windows in the two external was light and airy. Bookcases lined the windowless walls.

Kennedy's desk was at one end of the office. A large conference table dominated the rest of the room, butting up to Kennedy's desk and forming a T-Shape. A number of chars had been pushed in under the table.

Kennedy pulled out adjacent chairs for himself and Freeman and both men sat. At that moment, Sheila entered, bearing a tray of coffee mugs, a bowl of sugar and a plate of biscuits.

"Thank you Sheila." Said Kennedy.

Sheila carefully placed the tray on the table, smiled at Kennedy and Freeman. then left, closing the door behind her.
"So," Kennedy said as he sipped at his coffee, "I take it this isn't a social call?"
"No," agreed Freeman, putting down his mug and reaching for his attaché case.
"Still with S6?" Kennedy referred to the Air Secretariat, within the Ministry of Defence, where he had first met Freeman as an Intelligence Officer.
"No, I'm with a different Department now.
"Five?" Kennedy had always thought Freeman would end up as one of the 'spooks' in Military Intelligence.
Freeman said nothing but smiled and tapped the side of his nose.
"Kennedy smiled. "OK, I won't pry."

He noticed the case that Freeman had lifted onto the table. "So, what have you got for me?"

Freeman slid the etched nameplate to one side."
"Destruct Negative?" Kennedy observed. "It must be important."

"Standard Issue."

Kennedy blinked at that. Freeman opened the case and pulled out a large buff envelope. From it, he extracted a sheaf of papers that he laid out on the table. Finally, he laid down the photographs he'd taken.

The papers consisted, mainly, of circuit diagrams. Each was hand drawn and neatly annotated.
The final page was a list of components, each item neatly cross-referenced to the diagrams and checked off

Kennedy examined each diagram carefully.: "Interesting…"
He picked up the photographs and studied each in turn. Occasionally, he would look back through the diagrams. "Hmm…"

Fairfax had been as good as his word; the Station Medical Officer had personally cleaned and re-dressed Ford's hand and despite protestations, administered a tetanus booster. On examination, Ford had also been diagnosed with a sprained wrist. This was now strapped up, his whole arm in a sling.

As his guest re-dressed, Fairfax glanced at his watch.

"I say, do you fancy some lunch? They do an excellent Ploughman's in the Fox and Hounds

Ford realised he was, indeed, hungry. "That's very kind" he smiled.

Fairfax turned to the MO; "Coming Bob?"

"Bit busy at the moment, sir"

"Ok. See you later"

With that, the two men left and headed toward the car park.

Freeman knew not to interrupt. He sat quietly sipping at his coffee and looked around him. Idly, he cast his eye across the bookcases. Amongst the textbooks and reference volumes, a large red volume caught his attention:
'Who's Who'

Kennedy pushed back his char, stood and walked across to the door. Opening it, he stood in the doorway.
Sheila looked up.
"Sheila, can you find young Masters and send him in?"

"Certainly. Would you like some fresh coffee?"
"Please", smiled Kennedy. He re-closed the door.

"I've sent for one of my young Professional Technical Officers He's an expert in Radio Frequency circuitry. There are a few things about these designs that are, shall we say, interesting?"

"Is he good?" Asked Freeman

"The best." Replied Kennedy. "Another couple of years and he could be after my job".

He returned to the table and continued to examine the photographs.
"May I?"
Kennedy looked up. Freeman had interrupted his train of thought
"I'm sorry?"
"Freeman indicated the copy of 'Who's Who': "May I?"
"Oh, yes, yes, of course"

Freeman stood, walked to the bookcase and plucked the volume off the shelf.

"As you can see, the P-Wave is unlike that of a normal seismic event" Mackenzie was now in the Director's office, the morning's seismograph trace laid out on the large mahogany desk that was his pride and joy. The Director, a grizzled man in his late fifties, thoughtfully rubbed his beard as he examined the seismograph trace.

Mackenzie continued; "Now, if you look at this trace from the archive, you see that the overall shape of the event is very similar, A very rapid transient, followed by a very long decay."

"Indeed. Not at all like a normal 'quake"

"Quake?. Who said anything about a 'quake? The archive trace came from a Soviet underground test."

The Director stood up "Mackenzie, do you realise what you're saying?"

"Yes, sir, I do. At 0015 hours this morning, Turkey became a nuclear power"