The last time Zhilev had been in this cache he had spent a week locked beneath the ground, the hatch sealed, with three of his comrades. It was classed as an exercise but deep inside his enemy’s territory. The cache was not a surveillance post and never intended to be one. It was specifically designed as a saboteurs’ hide, to keep four men in the most basic of comforts while they waited for the order to climb out and head for pre-designated targets where they would carry out their directives. That order would come via a one-way communication system, the signal received by pushing up an antenna through the soil using a specially designed telescopic system in the roof. If sensors under the ground around the cache detected movement by anything as large as a human, the antenna would be lowered. Twice a day, for half an hour each time, it was raised and the radio operative listened on three specific frequencies, each for ten minutes duration, for the Morse sequence that would precede the coded message that contained the vital signal to commence operations. It was a passive receiver device since the ever-watchful electronic ears of the British army intelligence corps might pick up a transmission and come sniffing in the woods for the source of the signal, for the British were well aware these caches existed, although as far as Zhilev knew they had only ever found one in England. He thought there were over two dozen in the British Isles, twice that number in Germany and several dozen more throughout the rest of Europe including Scandinavia. America had the largest number, understandably so, with over a hundred between the two coasts.The only other cache Zhilev had been to was in America, situated beneath a small lake in North Carolina a mile from a series of long-range nuclear-missile silos, and accessed by duck-diving down to a sump, like the U-bend in a toilet.
Zhilev turned to the shelving and looked at the numerous and varied cases spread in front of him, deciding where to start. He was looking for something specific, but also for anything that might be useful on his mission and therefore he decided he might as well search all the containers now that he was here. He moved to one end of the shelves and studied the catch on the front of the first container which consisted of a butterfly screw system that pulled the lid closed as it was turned. He unwound the first pair of latches and forced the halves apart. The hermetically sealed container popped as it opened. Zhilev raised the lid to find it filled with a variety of canned foods, powdered soup, tea and coffee, hard tack biscuits, dried milk and sugar, chewing gum, chocolate and boiled sweets. There were six of these containers, enough food to last four men a month if they kept their calorific intake down to two thousand per day.
Zhilev took out one of the tins to read the label: Meat and Cabbage Stew. He smiled to himself as he remembered the jokes that always accompanied this infamous meal and the fear of being in the confined space after it was consumed, especially with such an exposed toilet. In practice there never was an inordinate amount of noxious methane produced and everyone suspected that was the work of the great National Scientific Research Institute of Experimental Medicine of the Defence Ministry who had toiled relentlessly and no doubt spent millions of roubles to find a way to reduce the foul gaseous odour. It was with much comic relief the men whiled away the time adlibbing the likely conversations between the scientists on the subject of fart reduction in the Russian military, on account of its multitude of tactical disadvantages including noise, smell and flammability.
Zhilev replaced the tin and examined the next and largest container which was filled with water. On top, neatly stacked, were boxes of sterilising tablets and filtration tubes. In the event the team was required to stay longer than two weeks, water could be collected, even from dirty puddles and ditches, and made fit for drinking. The instructions assured one that the filtration system would make their own raw sewage drinkable simply by pouring it in one end, and pumping it out the other, but no one was prepared to try it unless absolutely necessary.
The next shelf contained weapons: eight sub-machine guns with attached suppressors, four for the cache team and another four in case a second team joined them directly prior to the operation. There were also eight semi-automatic pistols, also with silencers, and several boxes of ammunition, the same calibre for both weapons, and a box of hand grenades, a selection of fragmentation and white phosphorus, the latter more useful as an instantaneous smoke-creating device than an incendiary. These were intended for use on target but their secondary purpose was as a replacement for cyanide tablets.
The next stack of cases contained plastic explosives with separate boxes of electrical and igniferous detonators. Another container above those held several hundred yards of detonation cord, slow-burning fuses and mechanical timing devices - mechanical because there were defensive systems that could disable electric timers over a wide area.
The next shelf held several ominous boxes with warning labels on them. Zhilev ran his hand along the seam of one with respect. He knew what was inside and had no intention of opening any of them. The lower box contained a dozen VX nerve-gas dispensers, and the one above, also daubed in warning slogans, contained cylinders of botulism, one gram of which could wipe out a million people if distributed correctly. Six thousand litres of the liquid was theoretically capable of wiping out the planet. Zhilev could never understand why they carried as much as a litre in total, enough to wipe out everyone in Europe let alone England. He was aware it had to do with the distribution system, which was not very effective, but still, Zhilev had a psychological problem with chemical and biological weapons. Perhaps it was his personal experiences at the hands of the experimental scientists.The nerve gas and botulism dispensers were attached to timing devices, the idea being to distribute them in inhabited locations, secured in trees, placed on the roofs of buildings, or dropped into storm drains. One sketch in the operator’s handbook even suggested attaching a dispenser to a dog so that, on activation, the devices would discharge a fine mist of the chemical or biological agent as the animal trotted down the street. The weather would dictate the distribution and hence overall effectiveness, a good wind dispersing it over a wide area being the ideal situation.
Zhilev came to the end of the row and stopped in front of three ordinary-looking suitcases. His heart picked up the pace as adrenaline shot into his bloodstream. The silver-grey cases were unfamiliar, but that was only to be expected. There must have been advances and updates in the past fifteen years. For a moment he wondered if they were not what he was expecting to find and that there had been a policy change. But that did not make sense since the chemical and biological weapons were still here. No, he told himself. This is what he had come for.
He took hold of the handle of one of the cases and pulled it towards him. It was heavy, a good sign. He had to take its weight with all his strength as it reached the end of the shelf and tipped forward. He had forgotten how deceivingly heavy the device was for its size as he carried it to the bunk and lowered it on to the mattress. His neck immediately complained after the effort and he took a few seconds to manipulate it.
There were no markings on the case. He inspected the latches: two on either side of the handle with combination locks set to zeros. A gentle push of both lock levers and they sprang open; the combination locks were intended for use outside and anyone qualified to enter the cache was qualified to see the contents of the case. Zhilev took hold of the sides and opened it, his eyes eagerly looking inside. Set into a sponge mould designed to fit it perfectly was a log; a large lump of wood, sawn cleanly on both sides and covered in bark. Zhilev slipped his hands down each side, took a firm hold, lifted it out of its mould and placed it on the mattress beside the case. Inside the mould, beneath where the log had been, was a pamphlet. Zhilev took it and sat on the side of the bed to read it. He glanced over the first page looking for a piece of very important information and sighed with relief as he found it. It was the date. It was recent, which meant the device was ‘fresh’. The feeling of relief was accompanied by a creeping nervousness as the reality and enormity of his find sunk home.
The device, disguised as an ordinary lump of wood, was an RA 115, the latest version of the ZAV or Special Nuclear Charge, better known as a suitcase bomb simply because it could fit into a suitcase. The date showed it had been replaced six months ago, which was the most important factor after actually finding the device. Pu 239, weapons-grade plutonium, and the intricate detonation system had a shelf life, which was partly built into it and not to be confused with its radioactive half life.That meant the cache maintenance programme was still fully operational. Someone regularly came and checked to keep it in working condition.
The log effect meant the weapon could be left in the open immediately prior to use, without drawing undue attention. There were a variety of disguises and their design depended on the country, terrain and meteorological conditions. The log was suitable for the targets for this cache: Mildenhall and Lakenheath air bases.There were three nuclear devices here in the event another target was designated by central command during hostilities.
Zhilev scanned the pages of the instruction booklet to make sure it covered everything he needed to know to detonate the device. When he was satisfied, he put it in his pocket. There would be plenty of time to read it in detail later.
He lifted the log off the bed, placed it back inside the suitcase and carried it to the bottom of the ladder.
He checked the hatch to plan how he was going to get the heavy suitcase out on his own since it was expected there would be more than one operative, and when he was satisfied he went back to the bunk bed, reached underneath and disconnected the cable from the battery.The chamber was plunged into darkness.
Zhilev went to the ladder, climbed it and pushed open the hatch. His night vision having been ruined by the light in the chamber revealed little even by the light of the stars, but his ears told him all was clear. He thought about waiting twenty minutes for his night vision to return, which was standard operational procedure, but chose against it. His confidence was high and he wanted to be out of the area with his atomic bomb as soon as he could.
He slid back down the ladder, grabbed the suitcase, raised it above his head and pushed it up the ladder ahead of him. A couple of steps was high enough to push it out and over the lip of the hatch and on to the forest floor. Within minutes Zhilev had climbed out, shut the hatch and was filling in the hole with the shovel. Once he had finished, he stamped the soil down with his feet, compressing it level, then covered it with the pile of pine needles he had scraped from the surface. As a final touch he replanted a couple of the small firs on top. He could not see his work perfectly well, but he felt he had done a more than adequate job. Within a week or so there would be no sign anyone had been here, and by then it would be too late.
Stratton arrived at a large roundabout. One of the exits led to Mildenhall, another to Lakenheath. He chose the A1065 to Lakenheath as a start. The road would take them in a large circle to Mildenhall and past the forest. His slender hope was that something might fit one of the images Gabriel had recently seen in his head.
Gabriel had remained silent in the back since they left the garage. Stratton kept checking his mirror to see if he had fallen asleep again but he had not and was looking out of the windows. Perhaps he was hoping this mysterious and frightening character might leap out in front of them.
Stratton drummed his fingers on the steering wheel contemplating the immediate future of this assignment. He decided to give it once around the block, so to speak, then head back to London.There was nothing to keep his interest here and he was feeling tired and looking forward to his bed at the Victory Club. The next thing to consider was the structure of his conversation with Sumners. He wanted out of this job as soon as possible, but he wanted another one in its place. The big question was, did Sumners give him this assignment as the bottom of the pile, the only thing they could trust him with, or was the man telling the truth when he said it was considered a most important task? Stratton knew he could never really trust Sumners, and Sumners would not be keen to let him off this case.
The road was quiet. A handful of cars had passed them, mostly from the opposite direction, and a glance in his rear-view mirror now showed no headlights behind.
‘Stop!’ Gabriel shouted suddenly, sitting forward in his seat and gripping the back of Stratton’s.
Stratton slowed the car while scanning around to see what Gabriel had seen. He pulled the car into the side of the road, his nearside wheels mounting the grass verge, and stopped, leaving the engine running.
‘What is it?’ Stratton asked, unable to see anything unusual let alone threatening.
Gabriel opened his door, climbed out and stood on the road looking at the skyline where the trees met the heavens. Stratton climbed out too, more interested in Gabriel than anything else.
Gabriel kept his head craned skyward and turned slowly all the way around until he was back facing the direction he began, and then he started to turn again.
There was a sound in the bushes a few yards away and a fat little muntjak trotted out into the open, studied the strangers for a moment, then decided it wasn’t safe company and bolted away into the wood.
Stratton’s initial fascination with the sudden excitement evaporated and he put his hands into his pockets wondering if this was all one big pantomime.
‘Gabriel?’ Stratton said.
Gabriel raised a hand to silence Stratton who was breaking his concentration.
Stratton played along. A sign on the road indicated a picnic area back the way they had and come and Gabriel was now staring at it.