Launch Code

TWENTY-FOUR

As Toby and Lars got back to Pear Tree Cottage, Maya was just shutting the boot of her small rental car. She was wearing her flight attendant’s uniform.

‘I’m glad I saw you before I left,’ she said, giving Toby a hug. ‘Don’t worry. They’ll let Alice go. Daddy’s got some honcho with him now. Bye, Lars. See you soon.’

And she was gone.

Toby and Lars went into the kitchen where Megan was waiting for them. She pointed to the living room and made a face.

‘The admiral?’ Toby asked.

She nodded. ‘And another one. A Brit. I think he’s a spook.’

They heard footsteps in the hallway, and then Bill appeared followed by two men.

‘You’re back!’ he said. ‘Toby. Let me introduce Admiral Robinson and Dominic Prestwitch, who works for the British government.’

Admiral Robinson extended a hand. Although he must have been a few years older than Bill, he didn’t look it. What remained of his hair was still dark, and there was vigour in his handshake. His dark eyes were quick and intelligent. He looked like a man who got things done, who was used to giving crisp orders which were crisply obeyed. ‘Good to meet you, Toby. And great to see you, Lars. How are you doing?’

‘I’m doing good,’ said Lars, shaking his hand. The admiral clapped him on the shoulder but, despite the admiral’s bonhomie, Lars seemed wary.

Dominic Prestwitch was much younger than his colleague. Early thirties, thick brown hair greased into a fashionable quiff, glasses, a grey suit and a lime green tie. A pair of buck teeth threatened to escape his upper lip, but were successfully contained.

‘Toby. Can we have a word? In the living room?’

Bill led Toby through with the two other men following. They all sat down.

Bill looked to his former shipmate. ‘Glenn?’

The admiral leaned forward, asserting his authority. And he had authority.

‘Bill told me about the death of the poor historian as soon as it happened,’ the admiral started. ‘And I came right away. I’m sorry to hear that your wife has been arrested. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.’

‘So am I,’ Toby said.

‘Bill mentioned that you heard what the historian thought happened on the USS Alexander Hamilton in 1983?’

‘I did, although Bill didn’t confirm it.’ Toby thought there was no harm in letting the admiral know Bill had done what he was supposed to do.

‘I’m sure he didn’t. As he has explained to you, that information is Classified.’

‘He has,’ Toby said. ‘But I know no more than Sam Bowen. Both Bill and Lars da Silva have been discreet.’

‘We’re here to make sure you don’t tell anyone anything you know or find out about the Alexander Hamilton,’ the admiral said.

‘But presumably those are US secrets. I’m a British citizen.’

‘Precisely,’ said the admiral. ‘This is where Dominic comes in.’

Prestwitch reached into his pocket and produced a warrant card. Toby examined it. ‘MI5? Isn’t it supposed to be secret? I mean, are you allowed to admit that you work there?’

‘I can these days,’ Prestwitch said. ‘Things have changed.’ He bent down and reached into his briefcase, pulling out a one-page form.

‘What’s this?’ Toby asked. But one glance told him. ‘The Official Secrets Act?’ His name was printed in a box near the top. The signature space was blank.

‘That’s right,’ said Prestwitch. ‘As you know, both the UK and the US still operate a fleet of ballistic missile submarines to deter foreign aggressors. And we assess that what happened on the USS Alexander Hamilton in 1983 is still a threat to security. So it’s just as important to our government as to the Americans’ that you don’t talk about it.’

‘But I explained, I know nothing.’

‘You know something,’ said the admiral. ‘And Bill says you are a smart guy. You might end up knowing more.’

‘So this silences me?’ Toby said, picking up the sheet of paper.

‘It does,’ said Prestwitch.

‘But why should I sign it? My wife is in a police station suspected of murder. It seems to me likely that the knowledge of whatever happened on the submarine might help set her free.’

‘It won’t,’ said Bill.

‘You say that, but I don’t know it!’ Toby protested.

‘You should sign it because you are a British citizen, and because it is important to your country,’ said Prestwitch.

‘And my wife?’ A thought occurred to Toby. ‘Can you get the police to release my wife?’

Prestwitch replied carefully. ‘If your wife did murder Sam Bowen, and if the police have solid evidence that she did, then we can’t help her.’

‘Of course she didn’t murder him!’ Toby protested.

‘In which case we may be able to help. I will certainly be speaking to the police and, without being specific, I can provide them with guidance.’

‘So, if Alice is innocent, which she is, you can get her off?’

‘I can help,’ said Prestwitch. ‘I can’t guarantee they’ll let her go.’

Toby flung the form on to the coffee table. ‘Then why should I sign?’

‘There is another way of looking at it,’ Prestwitch said. ‘If you don’t sign, we certainly won’t help Alice.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘Damn it, Toby!’ Bill interrupted. ‘Stop playing games. You should sign this because your country asks you to, and because it might help Alice. Aren’t those good enough reasons? And if they are not, sign it because I am asking you.’

Alice’s father had never spoken to Toby like that before. But there had never been so much at stake before.

Toby was reluctant. But then he asked himself would signing the document make it more or less likely that Alice would be released?

Having MI5 on your side must be a good thing. Bill clearly thought so.

Toby picked up the form, took Prestwitch’s pen and signed.