First and Only (18 page)

Both Chatham and the Chancellor
refused the offer of tea or coffee, and neither felt inclined to take a seat
when it was offered.

‘Forgive me Chancellor,’ the
Chief Constable began. ‘But what exactly are we looking at here? My briefing
was somewhat lacking in detail. Just what is it this guy is supposed to have
done?’

The Chancellor seemed momentarily
at a loss.

‘Mr Chatham,’ he said.

Chatham was put on the spot. He
felt himself flush with indignation.

‘Well,’ he began. ‘He breached
MI5 security and compromised a diplomatic clean line... He is in possession of
passwords to highly sensitive information,’ he added, struggling to think of anything
specific that Psimon had done wrong. Breaching security and obtaining passwords
were not crimes in themselves. True, a crime might have been committed in
achieving these things but as yet they had no evidence of such.

The Chancellor seemed unsatisfied
with Chatham’s summary of Psimon’s misdemeanours.  

‘With the help of his accomplice,
Mr Brennus,’ he cut in, ‘he evaded federal authorities in America, who wanted
to detain him for questioning. ‘And,’ the Chancellor added with a stern glance
in Mr Chatham’s direction. ‘He is suspected of manipulating stock market
figures, which could have unimaginable consequences for the international
trading community.’

‘So what is he?’ asked the Chief
Constable. ‘A hacker… some kind of computer whiz kid.’

‘We don’t know,’ said Chatham.

‘It’s not computers,’ said the
Chancellor reflectively. ‘No system for predicting figures could be that
accurate. It’s impossible.’

The Chancellor sounded like a man
whose faith; whose entire worldview had been undermined. Chatham knew exactly
how he felt.

There was a sudden knock on the
door.

‘Yes,’ shouted the Chief
Constable.

A young officer poked his head
round the door.

‘Excuse me sir,’ he said. ‘There
are some men in navy uniform to see you.’

‘Well don’t just stand there,’
snapped the Chief Constable. ‘Show them in.’

The secure interview room was
grey and windowless. One of the Special Branch henchmen stood near the door,
unmoving, unsmiling. The plastic cup of coffee on the table in front of Steve
was cold and untouched. He watched the greyish brown surface ripple with minute
concentric rings as heavy traffic rumbled past the building; the only evidence
that the world outside existed.

Steve tried to marshal his
thoughts. He had no idea what Psimon had done, no idea why Special Branch would
be interested in him at all. But whatever it was, Steve was now caught up in
it. He had trusted Psimon from the beginning, even when he had no reason to do
so. It was a gut feeling and Steve trusted his instincts but now, after what
must be an hour of sitting in this room, he was beginning to have his doubts.
Psimon had not told him everything; that was clear. And now Steve was paying
the price for his trust.

He was not worried about the
questioning. His SAS training had prepared him for far worse than this.
Besides, he had done nothing wrong. Okay, he had beaten up a couple of American
lowlifes and failed to return a rental car to the depot. But one was
self-defence and the other was hardly the crime of the century.

No, the thoughts that bedevilled
his mind were closer to home.

All Steve could think about was
his wife and his little girl. Being apart from them, even for a few short days,
had been a torment in itself, not to mention the guilt and regret he felt over
what had happened. The practical, financial problems that had befallen them
were of nothing compared to that. All right, so they were bankrupt and
homeless. But they would get through this, rebuild their lives.

‘
Two more days,
’ thought
Steve bitterly.

Two more days and this job was over.
Steve could forget about Psimon and all this psychic nonsense. Two more days
and he could go back to his family; phone call from Christine or not. A few
days in the sin bin was the least that he deserved but what he had done had not
been deliberate. It was a foolish outburst, understandable in the heat of the
moment. Surely Christine would be able to see that. And surely Sally would be
able to forgive him… to trust him again… in time, surely…

Steve’s eyes pricked with tears.
He raised a hand to brush them away. He wished they would come for him and get
this started. He wished the questions would begin. He wished he had never met
Psimon.

*

Chatham felt strangely nervous.
Not about being in the company of such powerful men. He dealt with people of
power on a daily basis. No, Chatham felt nervous for an altogether different
reason.

He was about to meet Psimon.

A wave of furtive looks followed
the procession of dour-looking men as they made their way through the police
station. First came the Chief Constable of Greater Manchester Police, followed
by the Chancellor of the Exchequer, two admirals in full navy uniform, each
with a uniformed aid in tow, and finally Mr Richard Chatham of MI5,
International Liaison for National Security. In their wake they left a murmur
of excited whispers as people speculated on who the mysterious detainees might
be. The group descended the steps to the secure interview rooms. They passed
one door with an officer standing outside and moved on to the door at the far
end of the corridor.

At a nod from the Chief Constable
the officer standing guard produced a key and unlocked the door. The procession
moved inside. The door was closed and locked from the outside.

Psimon looked up as they entered
the room.

In the centre of the room was a
large table. Psimon was seated on the far side, while on the near side there
were chairs for the five prominent men. The two naval aids went to stand
discreetly against the wall behind their respective admirals. Four of the men
moved to take their seats but Chatham remained standing as Psimon rose suddenly
from his chair and walked round the table to meet him.

The Special Branch henchman moved
to intercept Psimon but he was too far away and had not been expecting the
suspect to move.

‘Mr Chatham,’ said Psimon,
smiling warmly. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘And you, Psimon,’ said Chatham,
smiling in turn despite the disapproving glares from the other men at the
table.

The two men shook hands until the
henchman directed Psimon back to his chair.

Psimon returned to his seat and
Chatham too sat down. He could not take his eyes off Psimon. He was younger
than he had been expecting but apart from that he looked just as he sounded on
the phone; a pleasant young man, with a knowing smile in his eyes. Considering the
predicament he was in he did not seem particularly concerned, although Chatham
could see signs of tension and nervousness in his body.

Strangely, Chatham found that he
was not disappointed.

‘Yes,’ said the Chief Constable
in an attempt to take control of the situation. ‘I believe you are acquainted
with Mr Chatham.’

‘We have spoken on the phone,’
said Psimon, giving Chatham a nod of acknowledgement.

‘Quite,’ said the Chief Constable
who seemed to think, that for someone in his position, Psimon was altogether
too relaxed. Maybe some introductions would instil a more fitting sense of
propriety.

‘My name…’ he began but, to
everybody’s astonishment, Psimon cut him off.

‘I think introductions should
wait until Mr Brennus can join us,’ said Psimon.

Chatham almost choked at Psimon’s
front. Did he have no idea of how serious his situation was?

The Chief Constable reddened and
the Chancellor muttered something under his breath, while Admiral Grant’s eyes
fixed on Psimon like two unforgiving stones. As far as first impressions go,
Psimon was not doing very well at all. But he did not appear to be intimidated.
He faced them all down.

‘I will answer none of your
questions,’ he said looking at each of them in turn. ‘Not a single one, until
Mr Brennus is sitting here beside me.’

The Chief Constable practically
steamed in his chair but he seemed to realise that this intransigent young man
was telling the truth. Drawing his fingers firmly across his broad brow he
nodded to the Special Branch henchman in the corner of the room. The man left
the room and what descended was about as awkward a silence as it was possible
to get.

A minute or so passed and Psimon
turned to Vice Admiral Fallon as the door opened and Steve was escorted into
the room. Another chair was found and Steve was invited to take a seat next to
Psimon.

‘Vice Admiral,’ said Psimon
suddenly, as Steve sat down beside him. ‘I wonder if I might ask you a
question?’

The Vice Admiral glanced at the
men sitting beside him before giving Psimon a curt nod.

‘Imagine if you will,’ said
Psimon, ‘that someone was going to kidnap you and hold you against your will.’

The Vice Admiral’s eyes focussed
sharply on Psimon as he spoke.

‘They will hold you captive and
never let you go. To your friends and family, to everything you hold dear in
life, you will be as good as dead.’

The Vice Admiral’s eyes narrowed
threateningly.

‘Tell me,’ said Psimon. ‘What
would you do to prevent this from happening?’

‘Anything,’ said the Vice
Admiral.

‘Anything?’ asked Psimon.

‘Whatever it took… I would not
let it happen.’

Psimon slid a sideways glance in
Steve’s direction. ‘Thank you,’ he said

‘All right,’ said the Chief
Constable in an angry, sarcastic tone. ‘Now that we’re
all
together.’

Psimon gave an acquiescent nod.

‘My name is Chief Constable David
McCormack. The Chancellor of the Exchequer I’m sure you recognise. And this is
Richard Chatham from MI5.’

He turned to the two naval
officers.

‘This is Admiral Grant of Her
Majesty’s Royal Navy, and Vice Admiral Fallon, Commander of U.S. Fleet Forces
Command, and former Chief of U.S. Naval Intelligence. He speaks on behalf of
the American Government.’

Steve looked at Vice Admiral
Fallon. Fleet Forces Command was the name given to that part of the US Navy
responsible for operations in and around the Atlantic Ocean. It was one of the
most powerful military bodies in the world.

‘And now, if you please,
we
will be asking the questions.’

Psimon met the Chief Constable’s
hard, unpleasant gaze but in his mind he heard his mother’s voice…

‘They will fear you,’ she had
said.

‘I will help them understand.’

‘They will try to control you.’

‘Yes... They will try.’

‘Do what you have to do,’ she had
told him.

And he would.

Chapter 22

HMS Vigilant
(S30)

North Atlantic
Ocean

Commander Douglas Scott was embarrassed, angry and deeply
concerned. It was over an hour now since the monitors had shown an
unprecedented spike in the reactor’s primary cooling system and the chief of
the watch had been forced to activate the emergency blow, bringing the
submarine to the surface with explosive force. Over an hour and the engineers
still had no idea as to what had caused the problem. And now it appeared that
there was also a problem with the submarine’s ballast system. The inlet valves
were letting in water and the compressed air cylinders, used to purge the
tanks, appeared to have seized.

The sub was slowly sinking.

‘Was it the emergency blow?’
asked Commander Scott, clearly exasperated by the lack of progress.

‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’
replied the chief engineer. ‘But surfacing like that puts a good deal of strain
on the systems.’

Commander Scott rolled his eyes
and put a hand to his forehead.

‘And the reactor?’

‘Seems okay now. But that heat
spike was like nothing I’ve ever seen.’

The chief engineer sounded
distinctly defensive.

‘There’s no way we could ignore
it, Captain,’ he said.

‘No, Jeff. Of course not.’ The
captain’s tone was mollifying. ‘Everyone has acted just as they should. It’s
just so damned embarrassing. We’re barely a day into this exercise… The Yanks
will think we’re a bunch of incompetents.’

Commander Scott straightened up
and cast his eye over the attack centre. The anxiety in the air was palpable
and everyone looked to the captain to see what they should do next.

‘Suggestions!’ he said, turning
back to the senior members of his engineering crew.

‘We can replace the valves on the
air cylinders. Put divers in the water to examine the inlet valves.’

‘And the cooling problem?’

‘We’ve run the diagnostics,’ said
the chief engineer.

‘And?’

‘Inconclusive. We’d need to wait
for it to happen again… see if we can lock it down then.’

‘Great,’ said Commander Scott
sarcastically. ‘Wait for the reactor to hit meltdown and we can identify the
problem.’

The sense of failure in his
crewmen’s eyes was not an easy thing to behold, and the thought of losing the
sub to a mere technical problem was almost impossible to comprehend.

‘Can we make port?’

‘Not if we keep taking on water
at this rate.’

‘How long do we have?’

‘An hour… maybe two.’

Commander Scott pushed his hands
through his hair.

‘Send out a team,’ he said. ‘Tell
them to weld the inlet valves shut. Seal them up with anything they can get
their hands on.’

He felt like he was taking part
in some ‘scrap yard challenge’ for a low budget television channel, not
commanding one of the most sophisticated ocean going vessels in the world.

‘And comms,’ he said turning to
the communications officer. ‘Contact Force Command. Tell them we have a DISSUB
emergency and request contingency plans for evacuation of the entire crew.’