Part 19 (1/2)

And it's here, it's my guess, that Ritchie's little Beachcraft Duke comes into its own. It's going to be parked down there waiting for us. It'll be a bit of a squeeze, but it's just about big enough to guarantee us all a safe getaway.

And at the same time none of us - not even you - knows the target, until it's. .h.i.t. You like it?'

'Except for one small detail,' said Matt. 'Young Ritchie's up there flying one of the Hercules. So who flies the Beachcraft?'

'That Frenchman who's arrived - Serge. Why not? He seems to know a lot about aircraft. And it doesn't take a genius to learn how to fly a plane.'

'I guess not. You've been pretty smart so far, friend. The way you. say it, it all fits together - except for those d.a.m.ned loudspeakers.' He paused. 'Let me ask you straight, Rawcliff. Why are you telling me all this?'

'Because even the most perfect operation usually has its Achilles' heel.' He gave him a sour grin, 'You're that heel, Matt. You hold the ace, remember.'

The American gave a sad smile. 'Okay, friend, I'll level with you. Jo told you - and she told me that she'd told you. I used to work for the Company - on a kinda freelance basis. Now I'm lapsed, like a bad Catholic. But you know what they say about Intelligence work? It's like the Church, or the CP. Once you've signed on, it's for the duration. Okay, so you expect me to put it all over on the hot-line to Langley? And what would I tell them, for Chrissakes? h.e.l.l, I don't know anything. G.o.d's truth I don't! I don't know, and young Jo doesn't know. None of us knows!

'But one thing I can tell you, friend. Whoever's behind this, is playing it pretty long. And very close to the chest. And my hunch is, it's a mighty big game, and I just hate to think what the stakes are!'

'But you must have some ideas? Another hunch?”

'Yes, I just might. For instance, I just might think like Sammy back there at the cafe when we first met. That maybe this is one of those games with a fixed pack - and that maybe the house knows it's fixed. Or better still, prefers not to know. I mean, why do you think they've gone for a bunch o' amateurs and oddb.a.l.l.s like us in the first place? Because the professionals have all got records - files a mile high. They'd leave a paper-chase all over the Middle East, if they were let loose. But take a cheap killer like Peters - a chancer like Sammy - a psycho like Thurgood. Or just poor saps like you and me. Some of us may be crooks, some not. But n.o.body's interested. We don't fit in, we're not programmed, we don't even begin to rate in the big league. So n.o.body's going to get s.h.i.+t on their fingers when the operation comes off, or doesn't.

Either way, one thing's sure - n.o.body's gonna miss us.'

'Except my poor b.l.o.o.d.y wife and kid.'

There was a long silence between them.

'G.o.d, I could do with that drink,' said Matt. 'Or maybe I'd just better watch you drink? There's still some left.'

Rawcliff ignored the offer. He had drunk too much already, yet he still felt unpleasantly sober. 'Whichever way it falls, I think we're going to be killingpeople, Matt. They may be people we're not supposed to like, or they may be friends. Israelis, Arabs, Cubans. Even Russians -”advisers”, of course.

Somewhere down in the so-called Soviet ”sphere of influence” - like most of Ethiopia, or South Yemen. All just about within the range of a Hercules, on a one-way ticket. Or Iran. n.o.body likes them much - not even the Russkies.'

Nugent-Ross nodded. 'That would be mighty convenient, I guess? Kinda soft on the old conscience. Unless, of course, you're one of those limousine-liberals.'

'It's still killing people, Matt. And killing them in a very nasty way. I'm not going to give you a lot of soft humanistic b.a.l.l.s at this stage. I'm telling you straight out that you're the only one who can stop this operation.

Screw it up at the source.'

The American leaned his head back and ran his fingertips slowly down his neck, then back up again, his mouth pulling a long, clownish face at the ceiling.

'Okay, preacher, let's have it all! You want me to be the real Good Guy - the one who steps in where others fear to tread and saves thousands of human lives? You want me to take a screw-driver and f.u.c.k up those machines just before the final take-off? So you guys jump out and the planes fly on out of control, then crash harmlessly? And who's gonna pick up the price-tag? Because the big boys who are pulling the strings behind this one aren't stupid, for Chrissake! They'll know it's me - or they'll suspect it is. And suspicion's enough for their kind.'

He sat back and lit another cigarette. 'Sorry, friend. You just handed me the wrong script. Heroes are made of sterner stuff. Anyway, what the h.e.l.l does it matter? Do I have to give you Hamburg and Dresden and all that s.h.i.+t? Not to mention the big bang over Hiros.h.i.+ma. The only difference is, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who flew those missions were just picking up their Government pay-cheques - those that ever got back to draw them. You and I and the rest of us - we'll be creaming it off from some nice respectable Swiss bank, with no questions asked.'

Rawcliff just sat and nodded. 'I think I'll have that drink after all, Matt.'

He took a long pull at the flask, then added casually, 'I told you I was married, didn't I?'

'You did mention it.'

'But I didn't tell you what my wife does? She's a clever girl - very much in your line of country.' And he told the American the name of the multinational for which Judith worked.

Now that the moment had come, he felt a kind of frenzied numbness, a resignation to the inevitable. The drink had sapped some of the tension from his body, but the strain was beginning to tell now - the nervous hangover from anxiety and lack of sleep, his muscles already stiffening after the long night's work. Like a good pilot, he must keep his hands firmly on the controls - sit tight, stay calm, wait for the turbulence. Or the crash.

Instead, he found himself again listening to that soothing drawl, as Matt took the bait, 'It's a mighty long shot, friend - with mighty little time to act.

But that's one of the biggest corporations in the business. And if your wife's really on the ball -' He let the words hang. Rawcliff gave him no prompting.

Matt had lit another cigarette, taking his time. 'She's ideally placed, of course - London being the biggest computer centre in Europe. All she has to do is make a few initial inquiries. There'd be nothing lost, and it just mightpay off. I'm a.s.suming here that the systems were programmed in London. I know the equipment's French. In fact, as Sammy thinks, the French may be behind this whole caper. But London's already been used as the main base for recruiting personnel. It's also not only a computer centre - it has the best mapping services in the world, outside Was.h.i.+ngton.

'Now it's my guess that they'll have used the most detailed existing aerial survey maps for the source-data - they wouldn't have wanted to draw unnecessary attention to themselves by making their own maps. So I suggest your wife starts with the big London mapping libraries. It shouldn't be too difficult for her to find out if someone's recently used micro-dotted data on the most up-to-date, large-scale aerial surveys, covering several thousand square miles within range of Cyprus. Probably somewhere in the Middle East - including Israel and the area west of the Red Sea and the Arabian Peninsula.

Most of it's not been extensively mapped, and most of the maps will be specialized stuff, done for geological surveys looking for oil and minerals, or by satellite reconnaissance, for military purposes. Specialized, but not necessarily cla.s.sified.

'Or, if she really struck lucky, she might even get a lead on the actual computer that did the original processing. There can't be many of them around - they're not things you pick up at the local hardware store. But her company will have access to them, or at least be able to identify them. And computer people gossip. Programming one of those guidance-systems would have been a big job, and must have attracted attention.

'Once she finds the processor, it should be relatively simple for her to track down the second computer - the one which would have to have been programmed by the first, to feed the data on to tape. Six tapes on ca.s.sette, no bigger than cigar-boxes, which at some time, some place, are going to be slotted into those six little machines waiting out at the airport.'

Rawcliff licked his lips. His mouth felt dry and sour with the aftertaste of adrenalin. He could have done with a beer, but didn't want to risk going downstairs again unnecessarily, or drawing attention to himself by calling Room Service. If Peters was doing his job, he'd have certainly bought the complicity of the hotel staff. Which reminded Rawcliff of that beaky-faced young man from the third floor.

He stared back at Nugent-Ross. 'You make it sound too easy.'

'Not easy. But maybe not too difficult, either, with a bit of luck.' He gave a loose shrug, 'It's a lot better idea than risk horsing around with those machines and getting the finger put on us. At least this way we might find out where we stand. The final flight-plan - full details of where you jump, plus the destination and objective of the whole operation.'

Rawcliff nodded. 'It's a better idea, Matt, because it lets you off the hook.

Isn't that it?'

The American ignored the taunt. He had lit another cigarette and sat breathing smoke peacefully at the ceiling.

'And what does my wife do when she gets hold of this second computer?'

'If she knows her way around, and has the right contacts, she might get hold of a copy of the print-out. Officially, it would be confidential, but if the job was done under the cover of a commercial firm - as I suspect it would have been - security wouldn't be too rigid. As I said, the computer world's too small - nice and select, like a good club, with a lot of loose talk betweenthe members. If your wife's as good as you think she is, she'll know what to look for, and where to look.'

'And if the new schedule's as tight as Serge suggested it is, she'll have twenty-four hours, from the time I contact her', Rawcliff said. 'Only her company doesn't work a twenty-four-hour day. Or if the weather doesn't clear soon, forty-eight hours, at the most.' He realized he was already trying to stall, find excuses, kill off the whole idea before it got out of hand.

'You can give her at least one hard lead,' said Matt. 'The fact that they're not using the ordinary auto-pilot, but instead, this very latest guidance-system, can only mean one thing. A belly-hugging flight, over difficult and well-defended terrain. Which rules out the sea and empty desert.' He paused. 'Do you know anything about air-defences of the Middle East?'

'Not a lot. Flying BEA, we weren't exactly expecting to be shot at.'

Nugent-Ross nodded without humour, 'Egypt's got the biggest variety of hardware - mostly the old Russian stuff she collected between the '67 and '73 wars. SAM-3's and the later SAM-7, the ”Grail”. And recently, the US has been equipping her with the ”Chaparral”. Egypt's worth checking first - an outward flight following the established pattern of the mercy-mission down the Red Sea - to the Ogaden maybe, or to the Horn of Africa - then taking the belly-hugging computerized return flight over the desert. Target - the crowded centre of Cairo. Since the Camp David Agreement, there are plenty of Arab organizations crazy enough to try it. All they need is someone to write out the cheque - someone equally crazy, like Gadaffi.'

'What? Wipe out Cairo? And what good's that going to do anyone?'

Nugent-Ross smiled. 'Good doesn't come into it, friend. You might ask what good did the Olympic Ma.s.sacre do anyone? Or hijacking aircraft, or shooting up international airports?'

'Okay, Matt. How about Tel Aviv for the target? Or Jerusalem - preferably when the Knesset's sitting? Only Jo would have warned them first, of course.'

Again the American let the jibe pa.s.s. 'Possible. But over their western approaches the Israelis have got the best early-Darning system outside the US and the Soviet Union. If these people of ours were trying to hit a target in Israel, they'd more likely send in the flights from the south, over Saudi Arabia. The Saudis have got a pretty good defence-system too, using British ”Bloodhounds” and the more recent French ”Crotale” missile - only they've got one h.e.l.luva lot o' ground to cover, so their air-defences are mostly in the north and east, against attacks from Israel and Iraq - and more recently, against Iran. Not forgetting the Russkies, of course.

'Yeah, we'd do well to consider Saudi Arabia.' Matt spoke as though he were thinking aloud now. 'She may be the traditional seat of Islam, and is also fully committed to the cause against Israel. But she still doesn't have many friends in the Islamic world, outside little Jordan and the Emirates. Camp David has ruled out Egypt, and -she's far too reactionary for the leftist Arab states, like Syria, Iraq and Algeria, or a quasi-Marxist religious fanatic, like Gadaffi.