‘I consider myself a humble genius.’
‘Lou Bates!’ Kate exclaimed.
‘I modified the X-ray. Managed to position the cylinder at just the right angle, cut out the internal reflections and . . .’
Kate was shaking her head, eyes like slits. ‘What does it say, Lou?’
‘Just three words: “REMEMBER JOAN’S PLACE?” in capitals.’
‘It’s only Asti Spumante, I’m afraid.’ Gustav held up the bottle as Connor rummaged in a cupboard and came up with four teacups, which he held
aloft.
‘That will do just fine,’ Kate replied. ‘We can celebrate in style when we get home.’
‘To Amelia,’ Lou said and they all clinked cups.
Lou was sitting beside the ship’s radio, punching in a call code. A moment later a crackle came from the speaker and a familiar voice spilled into the bridge of
Inca.
It was
Cherie Elaine, their French lab tech at the institute.
‘Kate, Lou?’
‘It’s us,’ Lou responded. ‘Surprisingly bad network connection out here! Had to use the radio.’
‘What’s up? Is there a problem?’
‘Nope, Cherie,’ Kate replied. ‘In fact, it’s all brilliant. We’ve just made the discovery of the century.’
Cherie was quiet. Lou smiled at Kate. They both knew how reserved their assistant was, how she was not easily excited by big talk.
‘OK.’
‘We’re not certain, but we have strong evidence to suggest we have located Amelia Earhart’s plane.’
Another, longer silence.
‘What evidence?’
‘The right serial number, obviously the right model, a Lockheed Electra 10E.’
‘That is, well . . . surprising.’
Lou laughed. ‘No . . . really?’
‘Where is it? What shape is it in?’
Kate leaned in and explained what had happened. ‘We’re going to head home, we have some materials that need to be studied.’
‘What kind of materials?’
‘Rather not say over the radio, Cherie. We’re catching a seaplane to Tarawa. Gustav and Connor will stay here for a bit, tidy up loose ends. It’ll still take us a couple of
days to get back though.’
They cut the connection.
‘Let’s tell Jerry.’ Lou was buzzing.
‘Why?’
‘He’s our best man, Kate. He knew we were coming out here for our . . . what did he call it? “Scientific honeymoon”! He would be thrilled to know what we’ve
found.’
Kate shrugged and stood up, found the wine and topped up their glasses, draining the bottle. Lou dialled in the number on the ship’s radio-phone. It rang five times and then clicked over
to an answer-machine message: ‘Captain Jerry Derham. Please leave a message.’
Lou checked his watch. It was late in Norfolk. He thought of calling Jerry’s mobile. Instead, he kept on the line and said: ‘Hey, Jerry. Exciting news. Something really cool –
can’t talk now though. Kate and me are heading back. Give us a call tomorrow. By then we should be once more in the bosom of cell-phone technology.’
Princeton. 7 March 1937.
‘Your call is now connected, professor,’ said the operator.
‘Ah, ah, yes, thank—’
‘Albert? Albert, are you there? This is Johannes Kessler.’
‘Johannes,’ Albert Einstein said, clutching the phone close to his ear as though he were afraid his words would not otherwise cross the Atlantic to Germany. He stared at the two men
in uniform sitting the other side of his smoky study. They could hear the conversation through a small speaker the tech guys had set up at the front of Einstein’s desk. The two men looked
anxious.
‘Albert, this is extraordinary.’
‘Indeed it is, Johannes, and it’s a pleasure to speak to you, but we can marvel at this technology another time. I have to be quick.’
‘I understand, Albert.’
One of the men across the room, Major Peter Oakland, head of the intelligence taskforce working with Professor Einstein on Project Cover Up, uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on his elbow,
fingertips to his chin. He and his colleague Hugh Gaynor had set up this secret call, a hi-tech link-up across the Atlantic via radio. They only had a window of three minutes.
‘The first test produced an unexpected result,’ Einstein said cryptically. ‘I cannot emphasize how helpful it would be if you could come for a
visit
.’
The line fell silent.
‘Johannes? Are you . . .?’
‘Yes, Albert. I am here. I’m afraid a visit would be out of the question. Marlene is too ill to travel.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I cannot imagine how such a thing could be arranged. I’m . . . I’m being watched.’
It was Einstein’s turn to fall quiet. The two army officers stared at him unblinking.
‘I see. I imagine you are a very valuable asset to those now in power.’
‘It would appear so, Albert. I cannot leave Germany.’
Einstein sighed. ‘I need you, Johannes.
We . . .
need you.’
There was a sudden crackle down the line. The two army officers looked at each other, but then Kessler’s voice came over the speaker.
‘I’m flattered my old friend, but I cannot come.’
‘What are we to do?’ Einstein looked lost.
‘Can you elaborate, Albert?’
Einstein peered up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. ‘There is something missing in my equations. I wish I knew what it was, but, although on paper the theory seems to be without
fault, it will not translate into practice.’
‘Can you say what happened with the test?’
Einstein looked at the two men. Oakland shook his head.
‘Unfortunately . . .’
‘Very well. You had the juice?’ Kessler asked, using one of the code words they had developed when they were young post-docs working together in Berlin.
‘The juice flowed, reached its destination.’
‘And the green balloon went up?’
‘It did.’
‘My God, Albert!’
‘That is where it deviated from the ideal, let us say.’
‘Look, Albert. I will do all I can to help you. This work is important, not just to you and your friends.’
Einstein gazed at Oakland and Gaynor. They were far from being friends to him and all three men knew it.
‘But how, Johannes?’
‘I’ve not been entirely idle, old friend. I have been giving our old ideas a lot of thought recently. I could send you my work.’
‘Too dangerous, Johannes. It could fall into the wrong hands.’
Kessler fell silent again.
‘Unless,’ Einstein said. ‘This is just an idea. Could you encode the work?’
Kessler cleared his throat. ‘Well, yes, yes, I could.’
‘Then that would be the best option other than you being here in person.’
‘It would have to be as unbreakable a code as possible.’
‘I’m sure you could manage that,’ Einstein answered.
‘What about the cipher? How will you . . .?’
‘We can sort that out.’ Einstein glanced at Major Oakland, who gave his colleague a brief questioning look then nodded to the professor.
‘Very well. What next?’
Oakland caught Einstein’s eye and tapped his watch.
‘Johannes, time is running out. We will get instructions to you.’
‘Very well,’ Kessler said again. ‘I will await—’
‘Johannes? Johannes?’ Einstein pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. The line was dead.
The two army officers, Major Peter Oakland and Captain Hugh Gaynor, walked along the path from the door to Albert Einstein’s home at 112 Mercer Street and opened the gate
onto the pavement, where their car was waiting. A young private was at the wheel. He jumped out and opened the back door for the men to enter, snapping to attention as they shuffled in.
It was a bleak, cold afternoon, rain clouds tumbling in from the east. Oakland offered Gaynor a cigarette and lit one himself, drawing on it hungrily. Keeping it perched between his lips, he
lifted his briefcase from between his feet and pulled a Manila file from inside, snapped the bag closed and returned it to the floor. Flicking his ash into the tray on the back of the
driver’s seat, Oakland passed the file over to Gaynor.
‘You can keep this,’ he said. ‘They’re carbons.’
Gaynor looked at the blue single-spaced type.
‘It’s everything we have on Johannes Kessler.’
Captain Gaynor read through the first couple of pages. Oakland gave him a running commentary.
‘A super brain, apparently. Gives old Albert a run for his money, some say. Kessler and Einstein were close colleagues in Berlin. Einstein was director of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for
Physics. Kessler is ten years younger, but he was one of Einstein’s top people there. They did a lot of work together; nothing published, but fellow scientists have talked about what close
friends they were and that between them they cooked up some amazing ideas.’
‘I see.’ Gaynor looked up from the file. ‘But Kessler has no intention of leaving Germany?’
‘He’s not Jewish, Hugh. And is highly regarded by the Nazis. But he has made it very clear, secretly of course, that he has no allegiance to them. Friends claim he hates the Reich,
but cannot leave. He certainly does not suffer from self-doubt when it comes to his intellect – probably with good reason.’
‘This stinks, sir. I’m sorry, but can we really trust these guys? A couple of Krauts. And one of them is still in Germany!’
Major Oakland couldn’t help laughing. ‘You’re talking about two of the most respected scientists in the world, Captain. And, strictly speaking, Einstein is not German,
he’s a Swiss citizen.’
‘Still Krauts.’
‘All right, you’re entitled to your opinion, but the simple fact is we’ve been told we have to make this work. Our job is to ensure the whole thing runs smoothly, no leaks, no
betrayals. I know a fortune is being pumped into Project Cover Up. I’m not privy to details of course, but it’s clearly pretty hot. We all know war is coming, Hugh. We might not like
it, but that won’t stop it happening.’
‘So what do we do?’ Gaynor asked, grinding his cigarette into the metal grille of the ashtray.
‘We make sure there’s a tight lid on anything Kessler is exposed to. Can’t let him have anything we unearth this end. It’s gotta be a one-way street. Get Kessler to send
Einstein the material, but he must not send anything back. We can’t even let Kessler know if tests start to work or not.’
‘OK, but how do we get anything out of Kessler without the Nazis learning about it?’ asked Oakland.
‘That’s the big question. The two of them were talking about codes. If anyone can create an unbreakable code it would be those two, but how do we get it over here without risking it
falling into German hands?’
Oakland looked out at the flat almost featureless landscape as rain started to hit the glass. ‘Just have to hope one of the high-ups who so desperately want this project to succeed comes
up with a foolproof way to get Kessler’s work here, or else the whole scheme is dead in the water.’
London. Present day.
It was off-peak, a rainy spring Thursday when the three of them stepped into the capsule of the London Eye and ensured no one else would occupy the same space. Two men and a
woman. The woman was Glena Buckingham, the older of the two men was Hans Secker. The younger man, bespectacled and bearded in a rather fusty tweed jacket, was known to the other two under a false
name, Herman Toit. All they knew about him was that he was South African, purportedly thirty-four years old and an ex-mercenary who had worked in Angola and Eritrea. A trained killer, Toit had
secretly served Eurenergy for close to fifteen months and was the replacement for a man called Sterling Van Lee, who had headed up Eurenergy Security before him.
Glena seated herself facing east towards Docklands as the vista of London began to spread out before them. Toit settled into one of the row of seats across the capsule opposite her, though
Secker remained standing.
Buckingham had made an effort to merge into the background by opting for jeans and a plain cotton jacket. Large sunglasses covered about twenty per cent of her face. Secker was dressed in his
usual exquisitely tailored, slightly old-fashioned suit and Windsor-knotted spotted tie. He could have easily passed as a banker or City broker.
‘So what is your news, Herman?’ Buckingham asked.
Toit didn’t look at the woman for a long moment. Instead, he contemplated the clear horizon: Kingston, Richmond, Teddington.
‘It could be very important, or it could be nothing of great value.’ He had retained a faint Afrikaans accent. ‘I have received intel from a reliable source that MI6 has
acquired reports that may shed some light upon a strange experiment conducted during the 1930s.’
‘Sounds like the sort of shit Internet conspiracy theorists get into a foam about,’ Secker replied.
‘What sort of experiment?’ Buckingham cut in.
‘The cranks refer to it incorrectly as the Philadelphia Experiment.’
Secker couldn’t hold back a grin. Buckingham snapped round and gave him a hard look. His expression straightened.
‘And?’
‘It appears some version of the experiment did indeed occur and was run by a very senior and respected scientist. It was not conducted in Philadelphia, but in Norfolk, Virginia and a few
years before the date set by most “experts” on the subject. I’m still trying to establish who the scientist was.’
‘The Philadelphia Experiment is considered to be an urban myth, Herman. Why should we countenance the story?’
‘I know,’ Toit replied and pulled himself up from the seat. He towered over the diminutive Secker. ‘But apparently Six are taking it seriously.’
‘OK,’ Buckingham said. ‘But what relevance does it have to anything?’
‘I only have a brief report to go by, but two things about it jumped out at me. The first is that the experiment was considered at the time to be one of utmost importance to the US
military.’
‘When was this exactly?’
‘1937.’
‘Right.’
‘The events were secured under a Triple A intelligence rating, which meant that no one had access to the facts for a minimum of a hundred years. Even then, it appears MI6 acquired the
information by fluke.’
‘How? What sort of fluke?’ Secker asked.