Chapter 14

Hargreaves straightened his tie, took a deep breath then knocked on the door.

His lunch, already delayed by a less-than-amusing arson in Snettisham had then been interrupted by a call from the Chief Constable's office, summoning Hargreaves to appear in his office, no later than 5pm that afternoon. That sort of order brooked no excuses so, after a hard drive, Hargreaves presented himself at Norfolk Police Headquarters.

"Enter"

Hargreaves found himself in an oak-panelled room. Certificates and diplomas lined the walls. The Chief Constable, Sir Reginald Iveson, was standing at the window, gazing at the City below him. In the distance, Hargreaves could just make out the spire of Norwich Cathedral.

After a moment, Iveson turned to face him.

"Normally," he began I wouldn't summon my junior officers like this, but when there are implications for the security of the Royal family, I take an interest. Would you care to fill me in?"

Hargreaves began his briefing.

The Inter-City express train pulled out of Waverley station just after four.

Ford gazed at the speeding countryside, deep in thought. The interview with the seismologist seemed to raise as many questions as it answered; what on earth could cause the devastation of an earthquake but in the wrong place? A nuclear test? The prime suspects were protesting innocence, although they had past history of secrecy and evasion where nuclear matters were concerned. In any case, why carry out a test in a foreign state when they had a perfectly good test site in Soviet Central Asia?

An invasion? Where were the follow-up forces to consolidate their territorial gains?

An attempt to overthrow the Turkish Government? Although a puppet regime in Ankara would give the Soviet Navy access to the warm-water port they so desperately desired, along with influence in the Eastern Mediterranean, such an overt move just wasn't the Soviet way. They preferred subversion through sympathisers within the country.

Was it a missile test that had gone astray?

If a missile was being tested, why put a live warhead on it?

Whose missile could it be?

Endless questions, but no answers.

Somewhere just outside Berwick-on-Tweed, Ford fell asleep

"So let's see," said Iveson, checking off the points on his fingers. "We have a dead body, with what the pathologists tell me is a blood group apparently unknown to medical science, brandishing a weapon that no-one's ever seen before and more powerful than anything known, a dead gamekeeper, shot by that very same weapon, a dead and mutilated poacher, two traumatised kids and one of my Constables has apparently disappeared off the face of the earth. All this less than a mile from the Queen's residence. Oh, and the possibility that the Russians are going to bomb the county into the middle of next week.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the press are screaming for answers. All in all, Hargreaves, this is not a good day."

Ford gazed down into the valley. He could have been looking at a rustic scene from Ottoman times; the olive groves had been tended by the descendants of the Ottoman Empire for centuries and would probably continue for many more. Shading his eyes against the sun's glare, he could see a village in the distance. Blue smoke from open fires curled lazily into the cloudless sky. A cooling breeze gently stirred the olive trees. He began to walk towards the village. He paused in the shade of an olive tree. The breeze had died away. Strangely, the leaves were still moving. He put out a hand to the tree. It seemed to be vibrating. He became aware of a low rumble. He looked upwards, expecting a military aircraft or perhaps an airliner. The deep azure sky remained empty. Losing his footing, he fell as the ground opened up beneath him. Looking around, he saw a strange, glowing device. It was difficult to make out any detail but it was clearly alien. The rumbling was deafening now. He became aware of another sound, an all-too–familiar whirring sound. Looking up from the pit, he saw it; the UFO that had taken his wife had now returned for him. Descending, it filled the sky above him. A beam of light lanced out and touched the device. There was a flash and darkness engulfed him…

He could hear Mackenzie's voice echoing in the darkness:

'That event was no ordinary quake…'

'No ordinary quake…'

'No ordinary quake…'

Gasping for breath, Ford awoke from the nightmare. Beyond the glass of the window, the world was in darkness. Looking at his watch, he calculated that he was another two hours away from London. He realised he was hungry. Still slightly shaky, he headed towards the restaurant car.

As he ate, he found himself thinking about the fantastic nightmare. Was it really so fantastic? Could it be that the Aliens were stirring up tensions for their own ends? With Mankind taking its first tentative steps into space, did they perceive Mankind as a threat to be neutralised? There was one way to find out; he would have to go to Turkey and investigate.

Turnbull rubbed his eyes and yawned; the few hours' sleep he'd been able to snatch were barely sufficient but would have to do. For the hundredth time that day, his telephone jangled. Cursing Alexander Graham Bell and the Postmaster General in equal measure, he snatched up the receiver.

"Turnbull…WHAT?"

Jamming his finger down on the receiver rest, he dialled an internal number.

"Foreign Desk? What's this about a coup d'état in Turkey…? Do we have anyone out there who can cover it...?"

He sighed. Of all the times for the man on the spot to go down with malaria…

He looked at the duty roster. Virtually everyone was already committed, unsuitable or unavailable. Everyone except…

The meeting in Henderson's Office should have finished several hours before. It had been intended that Straker and Freeman report their progress to Henderson. Jackson had already left for the night.

Freeman finished his report of his visit to Malvern.

Each man had a copy of Masters' report. The device, when assembled turned out to be a compact video processor, significantly more advanced than anything in use by either NATO or Warsaw Pact forces.

So what do we do? Asked Henderson.

Ford has really done his research." Replied Freeman. "Whilst I was at his house, I had a look round. He's also very interested in electronics, particularly Communications. If even half of what I saw is any good, he'd be a real asset"

For a moment, the three men sat in silence, each digesting the information.

Straker was the first to speak: It seems we underestimated Mr Ford. SHADO needs electronics technicians. From what you say, Alec, Ford could be a useful asset. We must concentrate our efforts on recruiting him."
"I agree." Said Henderson without hesitating. I'll tell Jackson that we are no longer just trying to discredit Ford. We are now actively recruiting him.
"Young Masters at Malvern could be an asset too" Freeman pointed out. Straker nodded.
"I'll bear that in mind." Said Henderson

With that, the meeting concluded

As he settled into the airliner's seat and strapped in, Ford reflected on the vagaries of life; he'd arrived at the office, expecting to have to fight Turnbull, to find that Turnbull had not only agreed but had already had tickets booked on the next available flight to Istanbul. There had even been a taxi to take him to the airport.

As the BAC 1-11 rolled out to the end of the north runway, Ford gazed idly through the window. The pre-dawn darkness meant that all he could see was the taxiway lights. After ten minutes or so, the aircraft had reached the end of the runway where it waited for permission to take off. A few moments later, the engines spooled up, the pilot released the brakes and the aircraft accelerated down the runway. The runway lights dropped away as first the nose, then the main gear, left the runway. A dull thump told Ford that the landing gear had retracted into the body of the aircraft. Within minutes, the airliner had turned eastwards. As the aircraft glittered, jewel-like, in the first rays of the rising sun, the Home Counties, still shrouded in the pre-dawn darkness, sped by below.

The girl awoke with a start. Her head buzzed as the last of the drug she'd taken worked its way out of her system. Confused, she looked around her. She seemed to be in a derelict building but how did she get there?

Slowly, the memories trickled back…

…That final argument with her parents…

…Of leaving home…

…Of hitchhiking to London…

…Of wandering aimlessly around the West End,

…Of Tim…

…Tim who had befriended her...

…Of the cruise down the Thames…

…The trip to the zoo…

…Of hitching a lift on a lorry from Covent Garden market…

…Walking for hours….

…To arrive at the derelict farm that Tim had told her about

…Tim who'd given her the pills…

… "It's all right, they're non-addictive" he'd assured her…

…Time seeming to slow down…

…the brightness of the colours

…The flying saucer in the nearby woods…

…Tim, with whom she'd danced and played and with whom she'd discovered the spacemen in the basement…

…Tim who'd taken the cylinder from the spacemen.

…Which he'd thrown to her…

…That she had hidden in the rafters…

…During the game of catch with the spacemen…

…Of climbing out onto the roof

…Of laughing hysterically as Tim had flown from the roof…

…That final blow from the spaceman's hand…

…The flash of light before everything had gone black…

Woozily, she staggered towards the window, through which the light streamed. She climbed out onto the roof to get a better view.

There were no recognisable landmarks. Wherever she was, she was somewhere in the country. Looking down, she saw a huddled shape on the ground. With a start it she realised it was her beloved Tim. Gasping for breath, Catherine Frazer slumped against the window frame.