Amelia saw Fred. He had frozen like a store front manikin. She dived towards the prone figure on the floor, yanked the pistol from his limp fingers and spun round.
The man in the Fedora reacted with stunning speed. He stepped away from Fred, never taking his eyes from Amelia as she pulled herself up, the gun levelled at him. Fred seemed to snap out of his
daze and took a step to his right. The German made a desperate dive towards Amelia’s legs. She hopped back, lowered the gun and fired, missed by several inches and started to stumble
backwards, catching her balance just in time.
The man looked almost comical, two feet short of reaching his target, one knee on the floor, his hat glancing his shoulder before hitting the floor and tumbling away. Fred Noonan charged him,
the German rolled to one side, crushing his own hat. The spanner slammed into the concrete floor, sparks cascading from the point of contact.
Amelia caught sight of the blond man, a spreading pool of crimson around his smashed head, and she stood up straight just in time to see the other German regain his balance and charge her again.
This time, he reached her and grabbed her hand. She yanked back with a surge of strength that startled him, lost her balance and pulled the man down on top of her.
The boom of the Beretta was muffled this time. Fred rushed towards them, dropping to the floor between their tangled legs. He pulled at the German and the man rolled onto his side, a startled
look on his face, arterial blood spurting between the buttons of his jacket.
‘You are calling with good news?’ Secker hissed down the line from London.
‘Depends on your perspective,’ Toit replied. He was calling from a public call box. The view through the broken glass was of a uniform drabness, grey upon grey. ‘The operation
was not a success. The people I hired were less than useless. They did not retrieve the information and got themselves killed in the process.’
‘Well that’s something! I assume you have other fingers in other pies.’
Toit exhaled through his nose. ‘I will get the information to you via the usual route.’
Moscow. Present day.
‘You had no authority to do that.’ Fleming was bearing down on Lou seated in the MI6 agent’s room. Kate was asleep upstairs, an armed plain-clothes officer
from the British embassy guarding the door.
‘So, I should have left Kate with those men, Adam? Is that how you see it?’
‘No, but you should have told me. This is a delicate operation. On the one hand we have to keep the Russian authorities off our backs, and on the other I have to assure my superiors in
London that we are not wasting time and money . . . a lot of money.’
‘Loose change,’ Jerry Derham said from the edge of the bed where he was sitting facing the other two.
‘That’s irrelevant, Captain.’
‘Maybe, but it’s also irrelevant talking about this now, isn’t it?’
Fleming whirled on him. ‘Why exactly are you here?’
‘Because I asked him to be,’ Lou snapped.
‘And, in case you have forgotten, we are on a joint-forces operation,’ Jerry added, matching Fleming’s angry stare. He stood up as the MI6 agent straightened. They were the
same height and about equal build.
Fleming turned away, scowling. ‘Very well. What’s done is done. The only thing that really matters is that Kate is safe and well.’ He pulled up a spare chair. ‘So run
through it all again.’
‘Max took us to an apartment in some rag-tag area.’
‘Kapotnya,’ Jerry said. ‘Three men were holding her. Two were shot. One of Sergei’s men was killed.’
‘And there were no witnesses?’
‘Max assured us Sergei would take care of everything,’ Lou said.
‘And why did he get involved?’
‘According to Max, Sergei likes Kate and me, and he felt responsible.’
‘Responsible?’
Lou shrugged. ‘Does it matter, Adam?’
Fleming said nothing for a moment, just stared at the gleaming leather of his shoes. ‘And, so Sergei has lost one of his best men, simply to save someone he hardly knows?’
‘That’s his problem, isn’t it?’ Jerry said.
‘Maybe. Maybe Sergei will expect favours in return.’
‘Nature of the business.’
Fleming went to reply, but Lou cut over him. ‘So what now? I assume your people are doing their best to pinpoint
Phoenix
? After all, they have spent a
lot
of money on
getting the coordinates.’
Fleming deliberately ignored the sarcasm. ‘I received a message half an hour ago. They’ve located the sub at . . .’ – he checked his iPhone – ‘59° 58'
03"N, 4° 05' 26"W. They expect us in London as soon as Kate is well enough to travel.’
London. Present Day.
The Secret Intelligence Service building, home of MI6, all green glass and cream stone on the south bank of the Thames close to Vauxhall Bridge, glinted in the unseasonable
winter sunshine.
The cab pulled up outside. Lou and Kate looked up at the impressive building, with its huge stacked platforms and a fascia like a medieval castle designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Lou whistled.
‘Impressive.’
‘They call it Legoland around here,’ Kate said.
‘I can see why!’
They were met by a barrage of security, body-scanned, IDs checked, their bags passed through sensors and detectors. Only then were they escorted through to the main atrium, where they were met
by two men in sober grey suits, given ID badges and led through a maze of corridors that resembled a hotel rather than a government building.
Descending in a lift, the two minders said nothing, just gazed into the middle distance. Down a wide, carpeted corridor, Lou and Kate followed the two suits to a pair of heavy oak doors. One of
the men opened the left door and indicated that the two scientists should enter as he and his colleague retreated to the corridor and left without a word.
There were four men and two women in the room. As Kate and Lou entered they all rose from their seats around a smooth maple conference table. They knew Fleming and Jerry would be there and shook
hands with them before being introduced to the others.
At the head of the table chairing the meeting was Sir Donald Ashmore, Deputy Chief of the SIS, a tall, wiry man with swept-back silver hair and dressed in a double-breasted Savile Row suit. Next
to him, a muscular younger man, handsome, with burnt umber eyes: Ashmore’s senior assistant, Seth Wilberforce. The two women were Commander Ester Lamb, the Royal Navy’s most experienced
submariner and pilot of the experimental submarine
Jules Verne 3
and across the table from her Jeanette Schmidt of the CIA.
‘Thank you all for coming today,’ Ashmore began and got up from his chair to stand beside a smart-board. ‘Now, as you all know, satellite images have located the precise
position of the American submarine
Phoenix
, which sank off Norway in February 1954.’
He clicked a remote and an amazingly clear image of the sub appeared on the smart-board. From this distance and perspective the vessel looked to be remarkably well preserved apart from its rear
end, where there was damage.
‘
Phoenix
was a Balao-type submarine commissioned in 1942 and had a crew of seventy-six,’ Ashmore went on. ‘The captain on the ill-fated voyage to rescue assets from
Finland was Captain Vince Jacobs; by all accounts a very capable officer with twelve years’ experience as a commander.’ The screen changed to show a man in his mid-forties in US naval
uniform.
‘USS
Phoenix
was sunk by a British vessel, HMS
Swordfish
, after it was fired upon by the American submarine.
‘As each of you know, we are interested in this vessel because the asset was carried onto the sub by the defector Dimitri Grenyov.’ A photograph of the Russian scientist appeared on
the screen. He was wearing an ill-fitting suit, his thin wisps of grey hair slicked back. He looked unwell, with dark rings under his eyes.
‘The asset is a document which the Russian was trying to get to Einstein in Princeton so that together they could work on producing what has been described as . . .’ he checked his
iPad on the desk in front of him ‘. . . a defence shield created using an obscure aspect of quantum theory.
‘The object of this meeting is to establish the feasibility of a mission to reach
Phoenix
, board her and retrieve the materials Grenyov had with him.’
He clicked the remote again. It showed a schematic of the wreck. ‘This has been constructed from thousands of images taken by satellite and using deep ocean probes along with the original
diagrams of the ship from US Navy archives.
‘As you can see, although the rear is partly destroyed, the main body of the ship remains intact. We are therefore hopeful that the asset will indeed be retrievable. To explain how that
may be facilitated, I’ll hand you over to Commander Lamb.’
Ester Lamb was a compact woman wearing naval uniform. She moved with confidence and immediately held the attention of everyone in the room.
‘Good morning,’ she began and clicked the remote. The image changed to show a more detailed schematic of the interior layout of the submarine. ‘We have no definite idea what we
will find inside
Phoenix
, but what I can describe to you is the method through which we can approach the vessel, board it, and hopefully retrieve the document.’
She clicked the remote again. ‘I know that some of you are familiar with
Jules Verne
submarines.’ She glanced around the table. ‘They were created by DARPA –
that’s the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency – and the US Navy have started to use them. The Royal Navy have four vessels currently on trial. We will be travelling to the site
of the wreck aboard HMS
Gladstone
, a specially adapted vessel that carries two
JVs.
The submarine is capable of descending to fifteen thousand feet, so the maximum operational
depth of approximately two thousand five hundred feet for this mission lies well within its capabilities.
‘Doctors Wetherall and Bates will constitute the scientific team.’ She turned to them and the others swivelled in their seats. ‘You are both of course familiar with the
JV
s,’ Lamb continued. ‘The tricky part of the operation is not descending to the sub, but what we do once we reach it.’
Lou raised a hand. ‘As Sir Donald indicated, the vessel looks well preserved but how stable is the hull? Looks can be deceptive.’
‘Fair point. We have conducted infrared and X-ray scans of the wreck and they look promising.’ She tapped the remote and a multicoloured image of
Phoenix
appeared.
‘The red regions are frail, the green strong, yellow and orange in between those two extremes.’
The black outline of the sub was filled mostly with bands and patches of green and yellow. A few areas of orange lay close to the rear of the vessel. The structures butting up to the engines
glowed red. A second patch near the bow where
Phoenix
had come to rest on the seabed showed up scarlet.
‘As you can see, the green and yellow regions predominate. We have no need to approach the red section as there is a large fuel and supplies storage area, here, between the
living/operational sections and the engines.’ She indicated the region immediately aft of the engines smeared in orange and flecks of red.
‘The sections of most interest are the command centre, here, and the crew quarters, here and here. From archive material we believe the document is held in a steel attaché case
which Grenyov carried aboard
Phoenix
in Finland.’ She clicked the remote and an image appeared of the Russian holding the rectangular metal case shortly before boarding the doomed
sub.
‘Of course, he may have transferred the document and his papers, or had them out of the case when the encounter with
Swordfish
began; but, naturally, we are unable to ascertain
these details without boarding the vessel.’
The image on the smart-board changed to display a schematic of a cylindrical object. ‘This,’ Lamb said, ‘is the means by which we will be able to enter
Phoenix.
The
airlock on the vessel will be corroded beyond use, but this device circumvents any need to take that route.
‘It is a portable access tube or PAT, a nanocarbon tube which connects the lock of the
JV
to any form of submersed structure such as
Phoenix.
’
On the screen the tube rotated and the image opened up. ‘One end of the tube is built up on the hull of
Phoenix.
Nanobots connect it to our
JV
and then an opening can be
cut in the skin of the old submarine. It is then possible for you’ – she turned to Lou and Kate – ‘to crawl through into
Phoenix.
’
‘Wow!’ Kate exclaimed.
‘Wow indeed.’ Commander Lamb smiled. ‘We have DERA, Defence Evaluation and Research Agency, the British equivalent of DARPA, to thank for this. It’s really a development
of 3D-printing technology. We’ve shared with the US Navy, just as they have shared the
JV
s we are trialling.’
‘That is very cool,’ Lou added. ‘How long does it take to do the job?’
‘That depends upon a few factors – the material of the hull, the stability of the vessel, the depth at which we use the tube. But for this mission, we estimate no more than ten
minutes.’
‘To build the tunnel from nanocarbon, cut the portal and seal it?’
‘Yes.’
Lou looked at Kate. They had both experienced deep ocean nanotechnology at work before during the mission to try to retrieve documents from a storage facility that was part of the
Titanic
wreck eighteen months earlier, but this seemed to be in a different league.
‘OK, any questions?’ Lamb asked.
‘Security,’ the CIA officer Jeanette Schmidt stated. ‘I’m assuming HMS
Gladstone
will have a full escort?’
Sir Donald’s senior assistant Seth Wilberforce spoke for the first time. Leaning forward, he gazed around the room. ‘We have liaised with both the Royal Navy and the US military.
Phoenix
is a US Navy asset, but the operation is being led by the Royal Navy and of course Norway is also a member of NATO so there should be no serious conflict of interest. We are all on
the same side, are we not?’ He spread his fingers on the wood of the conference table and held Jeanette Schmidt’s hard face for a moment.