Chapter 10
A few minutes searching and Freeman knew he had his man:
In addition to details of his current profession as a 'Broadcaster', The entry detailed his Degree in Electronics, gained at Imperial College in London, current home address and his hobbies which were listed as 'Writing, Amateur Radio and Electronics'
Freeman already knew the address; he'd already visited, several nights before. The results of that visit were currently laid out on the table, being scrutinised by his friend.
In obedience to the pilot's touch on the controls, the aircraft banked southeast, turning for home at Kadena AFB, Japan. Noonan concentrated hard. This was quite often the most dangerous part of the mission; although itself nearly invisible to radar, the wake of superheated air it left behind it was all too visible despite the cadmium salts that were injected into the afterburners to mask their infrared signature.
Yeardley blinked; where had that come from?
"Contact, bearing two-two-zero. Range sixty miles. Flight level three-five-zero, speed Mach five, climbing rapidly."
Noonan rammed the throttles through the detent into emergency power. Both men felt themselves pushed deep into their seats as the aircraft leapt forwards. Unarmed, the SR-71 relied on its speed to evade hostile air defences. No SR-71 had yet been brought down by enemy missiles but that was no excuse for complacency.
"Object gaining fast. Deploying countermeasures." Reported Yeardley. Noonan dropped the nose, rolled the aircraft in an evasive manoeuvre and pressed the button to dump more cadmium salts into the exhaust. Hopefully, any heat-seeking missile would fly into the ball of superheated air and detonate.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Kennedy and Freeman looked up. Sheila entered, bearing another tray, followed by a youngish man who Kennedy introduced as John Masters, an Electronics Engineer.
Sheila collected the empty cups and returned to the outer office, closing the door behind her.
Kennedy passed the documents to Masters. "Mr Freeman, here, has asked us to evaluate these designs. I thought he would benefit from your opinion."
Carefully Masters pored over the diagrams. Occasionally, he would compare a small section with one of the photographs
Finally, he sat back in his chair and reached for the, by now cold, coffee.
"This isn't Soviet," He declared. He sipped and grimaced, then continued: "The photographs are a bit too indistinct to recognize specific components but you can tell that there's some finesse in their manufacture. Soviet stuff tends to be workmanlike, rather than elegant. You can drive a tank over their kit and it would still work. This, on the other hand, looks to be more refined than the stuff we build here" This would be broadcast quality, rather than military standard. Whoever drew these is Anglo-Saxon; the numbers are written without the additional strokes that most Europeans use."
"My thoughts, too." Agreed Kennedy.
"So, what else can you tell me about it?" asked Freeman.
On arrival at hospital, Hobbs and the Alien had been declared 'Dead on Arrival' and their bodies sent to the mortuary for a post-mortem examination. The Alien's one-piece suit had been removed and routinely bagged up for collection by any next of kin.
The autopsy on the gamekeeper had been brief; a huge gaping hole in the chest cavity leaves little room for doubt over the cause of death. As was routine, the projectile had been located and removed: to be bagged and later analysed. The results would be passed to the Coroner and, if necessary, the Police.
The light from the afternoon sun streamed through the high-level windows, bathing the alien's features in a pale golden glow. The green tinge, imparted by the fluid in his suit, had faded on contact with atmospheric air until now it was just a pale olive hue.
A small transistor radio, perched on the reception desk near the door, and tuned to the local radio station played quietly to itself. The news bulletin was just starting as the mortuary telephone rang, the jangling of its bell echoing around the room. The pathologist, Dr Meakins picked up the receiver.
An explosion of noise assaulted his ear; 'You may have nothing better to do with your time, Meakins, but I'm far too busy to put up with damn fool practical jokes?' Meakins recognised the voice of Mr Saxby, head of Pathology
"I beg your pardon?" Meakins was confused
"Those samples you sent me"
What about them?
"What abattoir did you get them from?"
"What are you talking about? Meakins was annoyed now. The two men had been rivals since Medical School.
Rivalry that had long-since become enmity
"They're not from a human being as you full well know." Saxby snarled down the telephone
"I removed those samples not twenty minutes ago from a male patient who is lying dead on the slab."
"I don't know what you've got on the slab," Retorted Saxby" but human it ain't. You might think this is funny, Meakins, but I don't!"
"Listen to me," Yelled Meakins. "I personally removed those samples from a body on the slab and sent them to you because I want to know what he died of. You tell me that the samples are non-human. I suggest you come down here and collect your own samples. When you've done so, you can take them away and analyse them. Then you can…"
The phone clicked and the dialling tone purred quietly from the earpiece; Saxby had slammed down the telephone.
Meakins sighed and replaced the receiver on its cradle then returned to the body of Josh Hoskins
There was an edge of panic in Yeardley's voice now: "Countermeasures negative. It's still coming unchecked"
"Where is it?" asked the pilot
"Bearing zero-three-five, flight level, seven five zero. Speed Mach six!"
The pilot craned to look through the small triangular windows. In the distance he could make out the object. It seemed to be flickering. Unable to see through his windows, Yeardley relied on the reconnaissance video camera.
"What the…?"
The image was much clearer; a silvery craft, flickering as the rapidly rotating vanes caught the light.
"Oh my…"
A searing beam of energy ripped into the fuel tanks, vaporising and igniting the fuel. The resulting fireball consumed the aircraft and its crew.
The UFO continued on its way out of the atmosphere.