Launch Code

SIXTY-TWO

Wednesday 11 December 2019, London

Toby emerged from Baker Street tube station and made his way north to Regent’s Park. The good thing about Regent’s Park in December was that there were loads of empty benches. The bad thing was they were all very cold.

It was three o’clock, morning in Washington and well after lunch in London. He had had to fib to his co-workers at Beachwallet about where he was, co-workers who now included Megan. She was on her third day at the company as a temporary employee. The firm was desperate for warm bodies to do administrative and data-related crap, and Megan was proving surprisingly effective. She was smart, she was enthusiastic and she could figure out unfamiliar systems almost instantaneously. Piet thought she was great.

And Toby thought it was good to have her around.

Alice had been pleased too. For a moment it had looked as if the Guth family would shatter, but it had held together, thanks in great part to Megan. And Toby.

Also, her client had postponed its stock-exchange announcement, so her deal was still live. There were plenty of legal documents to get stuck into, which meant she was happy.

Toby found a bench opposite the little Japanese garden island near the dormant rose beds, and took out his ancient long-retired Nokia phone and his brand new pay-as-you-go SIM card. The website had suggested it was best to use a payphone, but there were scarcely any of those in London anymore, so his plan was to use an old mobile, and only switch it on when he was well away from where he lived or worked. That way it shouldn’t be possible to trace it to him.

With cold fingers, he slid the card into the phone and turned it on. He had charged it the day before, and it seemed to work.

He pulled out the Washington phone number he had printed off from the website and stared at it.

He gave himself a moment. Was he sure he should do this?

He would probably be charged with breaking the Official Secrets Act if he was caught, although he had no intention of being caught. And the fact he wasn’t a US citizen might help if the worst came to the worst.

He had discussed it with Alice, who had been worried about the risks. But she was also proud that he wanted to do it.

Toby could still pull out. Bill had never put any pressure on him to follow the suggestion he had made on the beach at Barnholt. But Toby felt an obligation to the man who had decided to risk his life by staying with him on the cliffs at Hunstanton.

He also felt a sense of obligation to Lars. Both Lars and Bill were brave men, and their bravery deserved to be remembered.

He took a breath and dialled the number.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi. Is this Charles Laverick at the Investigative Journalists’ Cooperative?’

‘Yes, it is.’ The accent was American. ‘With whom am I speaking?’

‘My name is Ed,’ Toby said. ‘I’m speaking on behalf of a former US Navy Lieutenant named Lars da Silva. I have some information you may find interesting. It’s about what happened on board the nuclear submarine USS Alexander Hamilton in November 1983. About how the world nearly came to an end.’