James Barrington - Pandemic

‘OK, that should work,’ Fitzpatrick said after a moment. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘I don’t really know. I’ve collected what evidence there is to be found, and all the opposition players have been eliminated as far as I know, so I suppose I’ll just head back to London and let my section or Six sort it all out.’

‘Good luck. Right, I’ll get over to Zounáki and fix things out there. Maybe I’ll see you again some time.’

‘You never know.’ Richter disconnected.

HMS Invincible , Sea of Crete

The young communications rating was concerned. The procedures were quite specific, but as far as he could see there was no way he could follow them. So he called the Chief over and explained his problem.

‘Leave it to me,’ the CPO said, and walked across to the Communications Officer.

‘Yes, Chief?’

‘Slight problem, sir,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a Flash signal classified Secret for Lieutenant Commander Richter, but as far as I know he’s ashore somewhere so we can’t deliver it within the specified time.’

‘Sounds like it’s Commander Richter’s problem rather than ours, Chief. Give it to me and I’ll see if the Ops Department has any kind of contact with him.’

As he left the Communications Centre the officer reflected that he’d never known a junior officer – and in his book a lieutenant commander was still a junior officer – to receive so many personal classified signals or, frankly, cause so much trouble to other departments on board any ship. He wished the bloody man would get off the Invincible and bugger off back to London or wherever he’d come from.

‘Richter?’ he said without preamble as he stepped into the Ops Office and saw Ops Three sitting at his desk working out the following day’s flying programme. ‘Have you got a contact number for him?’

‘I have,’ Ops Three replied, ‘but he’s either had his mobile switched off for the last few hours or he’s been out of a cell. Why?’

‘I’ve got a signal for him,’ the Communications Officer said, thrusting a clipboard at him. ‘It’s Secret and Flash, and I reckon you’ve got a much better chance of contacting him about it than I have, so you may as well take it. Sign here.’

‘Thanks a bunch,’ Ops Three muttered under his breath.

Western Crete

Richter had ended his call to Fitzpatrick only four minutes earlier, and had just started the engine of the Renault and slipped it into first gear when his other mobile phone – the Enigma issued on the Invincible – started to ring.

‘Commander Richter? It’s Ops Three, sir, on Mother. We’ve been trying to reach you for some time.’

‘Sorry, the phone’s been switched off. What did you want?’

‘I was instructed to pass some landfall information on to you, sir. An American frigate approached Crete from the west and launched a chopper this afternoon at just after three local time. It flew to somewhere near Plátanos where we think it landed. It got airborne again a few minutes later and flew back to the frigate. Then the frigate itself left the area, and we presume that the helicopter picked someone up.’

Richter smiled slightly before he replied. ‘I don’t think the man they were expecting actually turned up, because I met him first. Is that it, then?’

‘No, sir. I’ve just been handed a Secret signal for you, precedence Flash. It’s in a sealed envelope so that’s all I can tell you about it. What do you want me to do with it?’

Richter thought for a moment before replying. ‘Open it, please,’ he said, ‘on my authority.’

‘I won’t be able to read it to you, sir,’ Ops Three said. ‘Not even over a secure telephone.’

‘I know,’ Richter said, ‘but you will be able to tell me if I need to get back to the ship in a hurry or do something else.’

‘Right, sir.’ Richter heard a faint tearing sound and then silence for a few moments as Ops Three scanned the signal.

‘Yes?’ Richter said encouragingly.

‘I don’t understand the third sentence here, sir, but the first two are quite clear. You’re to report by the fastest possible means to the American naval air station at Soúda Bay.’

That wasn’t at all what Richter had been expecting. Having just killed in cold blood someone who was almost certainly a CIA agent or asset, he had rather hoped to be keeping his distance from America and the Americans for some time.

‘Who’s it from?’ Richter asked.

‘The originator is listed as “FOE” – that’s Foxtrot Oscar Echo,’ Ops Three reported, ‘and the signal is signed “Simpson”.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell me without compromising the text?’

‘Really there’s only one thing, sir. It’s the proper name “Westwood”. Does that help?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Richter replied, wondering what the hell John Westwood’s name was doing in a signal sent to him from Richard Simpson. At least he could trust Westwood, counted him as a friend. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll get myself to Soúda Bay. Can you get that signal to Soúda Bay Ops or wherever by helicopter so I can pick it up?’

‘Yes, sir. That shouldn’t be a problem. We’ve got a Merlin leaving the ship in fifteen minutes to join the ASW screen. I’ll re-task it on telebrief to call at Soúda Bay first.’

‘Thanks.’ A thought suddenly struck Richter. ‘Are you still running surveillance out to the west of Crete?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir. How did you know about that?’

‘Actually, I requested it. You might need a higher authority to confirm it, but there’s now no reason for it to continue. I suggest you check with Wings and tell him what I’ve just said.’

‘Right, sir.’ Ops Three’s voice sounded uncertain. The instructions for the surveillance operation had come straight from Flag Officer Third Flotilla, Invincible ’s operating authority. How the hell could a request from a lieutenant commander in the Royal Naval Reserve turn into an order from an Admiral?

‘Thanks, Ops Three,’ Richter said. ‘My guess is I won’t get back on board this deployment, but maybe I’ll get the chance to fly with the squadron again some other time.’

Central Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Like Henry Rawlins, Nicholson wasn’t normally to be found at Langley over the weekend, but he’d been expecting a signal from the US Navy frigate that had been tasked with collecting Richard Stein or, more likely, Mike Murphy, from the western end of Crete.

Conscious of the time difference between the Mediterranean area and the American eastern seaboard, he’d appeared in his office early, but it wasn’t until after ten local time that the signal finally arrived, having been routed through various satellites, the frigate’s operating authority and Langley’s own communications section. And when he read it, Nicholson knew that his problems were far from over. The signal, shorn of its routing indicators and other dross, was for Nicholson a two-word nightmare. It said simply: ‘NO SHOW’.

For two or three minutes he just stared at the words, wondering what the hell could have gone wrong. He knew Krywald and Stein had recovered the case and file because he’d received Krywald’s email confirmation of that. He knew Elias was dead because Stein had told him, and he knew Krywald had been eliminated because Murphy had confirmed his death. The only thing Murphy had needed to do after that was locate and eliminate Stein himself, recover the two items, and climb onto a chopper for the ten-minute flight to the waiting frigate.

That wasn’t rocket science, for Christ’s sake, and it was the kind of thing Murphy did all the time. For a few moments Nicholson wondered if the timescale had been just too tight, but he’d discussed it all with Murphy before he’d even left for the airport, and his operative had seemed quite satisfied with the proposal. Something, Nicholson knew, must have gone tits up.