
A Spectrum Story for Christmas
by Marion Woods
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Chapter One
They say hard work never hurt
anybody, but I figure why take the chance.
Ronald Reagan
Des Moines, Iowa, USA – a few days before Christmas
Eve
Sergeant John Jacobs, second-in-command of
Spectrum’s terrestrial base in Des Moines, Iowa, checked his uniform once more
and took the opportunity to glance at his watch again. The weather had been bad and that had
delayed all the flights, incoming and outgoing; but he’d been waiting for over
an hour already and he was getting hungry.
The fast-food outlet across the concourse was beginning to look like a
good idea.
After another twenty minutes, he
surrendered to the lure of the aroma wafting from the burger joint and bought
himself the biggest burger they had on their predictable, standardised
menu. He was standing, leaning against
a wall eating it, when an authoritative voice said:
“Sergeant?
My apologies for keeping you waiting.”
Desperately swallowing his mouthful, Jacobs
gasped, “Doctor Giardello, sir – I was just…”
Giardello’s dark eyebrow rose in an atypically
tolerant amusement. “It’s all right,
sergeant, I know I’m very late.
However, if you would take me to the SSC, I’d be grateful.”
“Sir.” Jacobs pitched his burger into a
nearby waste bin and wiped his fingers and mouth on the paper napkin, before
tossing that away too. He had studied
the ID picture of the Doctor before he’d come to meet the man, but he
remembered to take a look at the proffered ID card even so.
Doctor Giardello was smaller than he’d
expected. His lugubrious face was etched with worry lines and his blue eyes
were cold behind his steel-rimmed glasses.
His abundant black hair was liberally scattered with grey and he was
wearing a sober charcoal-grey overcoat over a neat business suit. Not for the R&D staff the conspicuous
uniform of the Spectrum personnel; Spectrum Intelligence kept its existence
low-key.
Despite his unprepossessing appearance, the
Head of Spectrum Intelligence’s Research and Development Section – known by the
acronym SIRAD – had a formidable reputation and was renowned throughout the
organisation as the developer of the invaluable Mysteron detector and the
electron gun, both , however cumbersome, essential weapons in Spectrum’s
arsenal against the Mysterons. He was
certainly the most important person in Spectrum that Jacobs had ever met; apart
from Colonel White, of course, on the day he’d come to inaugurate the recently
established terrestrial base, here in Des Moines. That the colonel had come in person had been something of a turn
up for the books too and akin to a State visit, as far as Jacobs was
concerned.
He led the Doctor through to the car park,
where the impressive, red Spectrum Saloon Car stood in a reserved spot,
attracting plenty of attention from the curious public.
Jacobs opened the door for his charge and
ushered Giardello inside, before clambering into the driving seat.
“Where to, sir?” he asked as he buckled up.
“Air Electronics Systems Corporation,” Giardello
replied, continuing, “it’s just outside of Cedar Rapids.”
“Yes, sir, I know it well. My brother works there,” Jacobs volunteered
as he steered the SSC out into the snow-bound streets and joined the
slow-moving traffic. “What do you want
to go there for, sir?” he asked without thinking.
“That,” said Giardello sharply, “is none of
your business, Sergeant.” He saw a
blush suffuse the young man’s face and added, less waspishly, “Spectrum has
some business to transact with them, but you need not concern yourself with
it.”
“S.I.G., sir,” Jacobs responded crisply,
cursing his absent-minded curiosity. He
was ambitious enough to know that he’d never get anywhere if he couldn’t keep
his mind open and his mouth shut in the presence of the high command.
Giardello gave a wry smile and turned to
watch the light show of the highway as they made what speed they could through
the traffic. He was not used to having
to deal with enthusiastic inquisitiveness from the terrestrial support
staff. The R&D section’s staff were
all used to keeping quiet about their work and habitually suppressed whatever
curiosity they might have about their superior’s activities as well.
He settled back in the comfortable seat. It
was snowing again he noticed, as he allowed his mind to drift.
He hadn’t expected to get the summons to
AESC so quickly and he’d have preferred to have stayed at home this close to
Christmas – but there were important issues at stake. If the new system was as good as they expected, it would be an
invaluable tool for Spectrum to use against their implacable foes - the
Mysterons.
Robert Giardello was absolutely dedicated
to his work, so much so that he rarely got enthusiastic about mundane
things. His private life was run on
well-designed and predictable lines.
His wife, Teresa, ran an orderly and efficient home, keeping precise and
accurate financial records which they checked over together, once a quarter,
deciding where to invest the surplus money; Teresa prided herself on always
coming in ‘under budget’. Their three
children – the youngest a rare example of failure to adhere to their agreed life-plan
– were performing well at school, and he looked forward to seeing them all in
useful and lucrative careers, before they settled down to just such orderly lives
as their parents enjoyed.
What did excite him was innovation at the
cutting edge of applied science and technology. He had almost declined the invitation to attend last year’s World
Science summit, but Colonel White had urged him to be there. Wisely, as it had happened, for at the
conference in Bonn, he had met and conversed with Dr Vernon Catesby – a
well-respected physicist working in the field of advanced aviation electronics.
What had resulted from that discussion –
and had absorbed a fraction under 28% of his department’s annual budget – was
what was bringing him to AESC this close to Christmas; and causing him such
unusual excitement.
“It
is, “Giardello thought with uncharacteristic whimsy, “as if Christmas has come early…”
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Vernon Catesby was waiting for his guest in
the lobby of the AESC offices. He swept Dr Giardello through the administration
block without a moment’s delay and into the inner sanctum of his
workroom-cum-office, in the separate building that housed the high security
research block.
“I’m so pleased you were able to come at
such short notice, Doctor,” Catesby said with barely suppressed
excitement. He was younger than
Giardello, taller and rapier-thin, with an untidy head of brown hair and intelligent
brown eyes, framed by his wire-rimmed glasses, which, Giardello noted, were
held together by a small roll of sticking plaster in the best ‘mad scientist’
tradition. Catesby was still young
enough to ignore the fact that a sober outward appearance could lend gravitas
and authority to a scientist’s theories.
“You sounded very positive about your
latest work, Doctor,” Giardello replied, placing his briefcase on the
workbench. “I am naturally eager to see
what progress has been made and to evaluate its applications for Spectrum.”
Catesby almost bounced with excitement.
“I’m sure I can make your day, Doctor… we’re making great strides and are
within a hair’s breadth of success. I was
sure you’d want to know and with your help - and the assistance of your team –
we can nail this thing!”
Giardello smiled broadly, infected by
Catesby’s enthusiasm. “Well, let’s get started, Doctor. I’m all yours…”
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Cloudbase
Colonel
White put his toothbrush into his sponge bag, slid it into the suitcase on the
bed and snapped the locks closed. A quick
glance around his room reassured him that he hadn’t forgotten anything
important. He put on his tweed jacket,
draped his winter overcoat over his arm, picked up his trilby in one hand and
his suitcase in the other.
Outside
of his quarters he found Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue lounging with
apparent casualness against the wall, some way down the corridor. They gave a credible appearance of surprise
to see him emerge and fell in, one on either side and one pace behind him, as
he walked to the escalators.
“I am capable of finding the hangar deck,
Captains,” White said with dry humour.
“Well, of course you are, sir…” Scarlet
began.
“We just thought we’d be around just in
case you…errmm…”
“Needed anything – yes, in case we could be
of any assistance…” Scarlet rescued his partner from his dilemma.
“That is uncommonly helpful of you,
gentlemen. For a brief moment I thought
it might have to do with your wanting to make sure I was actually leaving the
base…”
Scarlet’s laugh didn’t sound even remotely
genuine. “Why would we do that?”
“That’s what’s worrying me, Captain.”
The two officers exchanged wary grimaces. “We’re merely concerned that you have a wonderful vacation, sir,” Blue ventured to say. “Things have been pretty hectic lately and you’re due for some ground time...”
“Did Doctor Fawn send you?” White asked
abruptly.
“No.”
“Of course not.”
The answers were just a little too
quick. White’s eyebrows rose and he
said, “Well, you can assure him that I am
going on leave, and put your own minds at rest that I intend to have a
wonderful time.”
“Have you decided where you’re going to go,
sir?” Scarlet asked with a grin. There
wasn’t much escaped ‘the old man’.
“Oh, I thought I’d go to a favourite place
of mine, Captain. It’s called
‘none-of-your-business’, and it’s about as restful as it gets.”
“You did log it with Lieutenant Green’s
location database, didn’t you, sir?” Blue asked. “We need to know where you are
– just in case…”
White stopped suddenly and the two younger
men cannoned into each other whilst attempting to avoid barging into their
commanding officer.
“That’s rich, that is, coming from one of
you two! Yes, I have logged it, Captain
Blue, so you don’t have to worry that protocol has been breached. And if I find out that Lieutenant Green has
let either of you – or anyone else on the base – go nosing through my records
in my absence, I’ll bust everyone concerned down to ensign and send one of you
to Archives and the other to a training base as a junior instructor. Do I
make myself clear?”
“As crystal…” Scarlet confirmed with a
warning frown at his companion.
The Colonel walked on, smiling at the
frantic whispers coming from his ‘escort’.
Scarlet was obviously not amused by Blue’s heavy-handed comments. He was rather surprised himself – Blue was
usually the more diplomatic of the two – but maybe it was a hangover from the
fact that the last couple of holidays his officers had taken had been
interrupted by Mysteron activity which had placed them in some danger.
He reached the hangar bay and looked across
at the two SPJs being prepared for the morning shuttle runs down to the main
terrestrial bases. The far one was for
London and the closer one for New York.
He turned to his companions.
“Well, thank you for your company,
Captains. I’m sure you have plenty to
do, so don’t let me detain you further.”
“Oh, it’s all right, sir, we’re not that
busy,” Scarlet replied. As Blue looked
daggers at him, he hastened to cover his gaffe. “That is, we’re ahead of schedule on what we have to do…”
Colonel
White’s expression showed that he was not fooled for one minute.
A technician came towards them. “May I stow your luggage, Colonel?” he
asked. White handed the suitcase over. “Where to, sir?”
“New York.” White noticed Scarlet’s dark
eyebrows shoot upwards.
“I hope you have a good time, sir.”
“Thank you, Captain Blue. I intend to.”
They watched him walk towards the shuttle
and climb aboard.
“New York?” Scarlet commented dryly as the plane’s
doors were closed and the Klaxon sounded to warn people to leave the hangar
before depressurisation. “I never thought he’d go there.”
“Why not?
New York’s all right…” the Boston-born American conceded with a distinct
lack of enthusiasm.
Scarlet grinned at him and then said more
soberly, “Well, I thought he’d spend Christmas in England, with family or
something… “
“Maybe he doesn’t have anybody in England anymore?” Blue
suggested, his tone openly compassionate,
Scarlet
sniffed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Could be, I guess. Strange we
don’t even know that much about him, even after all this time. I’d hate to think we’ve talked him into
going and he’s got nowhere to go… if you follow me?”
“Not
even Fawn could have talked him into leaving Cloudbase if he didn’t want to
go,” Blue reasoned.
“That’s
true… but New York? Ah well, I bet you
he won’t stay there for long…”
“Hmmm,” Blue agreed. “I wouldn’t…”
Scarlet sniggered and punched his friend’s
arm as he turned to lead the way off the deck.
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” he asked rhetorically. “Come on; let’s go tell Doc Fawn that we’ve
waved him off, as instructed.” From then safety of the entry lock, he watched
the plane as it rose on the hydraulic platform to the launch pad. “Anyway, I
hope he has a good time. Mind you, this
place never seems the same when he’s away…”
“Yeah, people get nervous,” Blue
agreed. “Can’t imagine why…”
Scarlet grinned. “Did you notice the
collective sigh of relief that wafted over Cloudbase when the colonel named
Grey as his deputy?” he teased.
“Everyone was dreading it might’ve been you.”
Blue gave a look of outraged innocence. “I
don’t know where this reputation I have for being a terrible commander has come
from,” he protested.
“Yes you do! Talks about monkeys, indeed…you’ll never live that down,
Adam.” He laughed at his friend’s
embarrassed scowl. “Come on; let’s see Fawn and then we can wander down to the
Amber Room… I happen to know that Rhapsody and Symphony are on standby together
this morning, and they’ve invited us to help with putting up some of the
Christmas decorations.” He paused and
gave a rueful grimace before admitting, “Well, what Dianne actually said was:
‘you can both put your long, lazy carcases to some good use, for once’ – but I prefer to think it was meant as an
invitation… ”
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It was less than an hour after Colonel
White had left when the familiar opening burst of static, over the
communication tannoy, warned every Spectrum Cloudbase operative of an incoming
message from the Mysterons. In the
Amber Room, Scarlet and Blue, occupied with stringing brightly-coloured
garlands across the central space, glanced across the room at each other.
Symphony and Rhapsody stopped giving their peremptory – and often contradictory
– orders to their willing assistants and unconsciously moved closer together in
solidarity. Scarlet clambered down from
the step-ladder and Blue slid off the table-top he’d been standing on.
The voice of the Mysterons, unemotional,
harsh and threatening, issued over the speakers, reverberating along the stark
metallic corridors of the base.
THIS
IS THE VOICE OF THE MYSTERONS. WE KNOW
YOU CAN HEAR US, EARTHMEN.
YOU
WILL NEVER DISCOVER THE SECRETS OF THE MYSTERONS. WE WILL DESTROY YOUR HORIZION TECHNOLOGY AND ENSURE YOUR
PRIMITIVE EYES REMAIN BLIND. OUR
RETALIATION WILL CONTINUE…
Scarlet dropped the end of the garland he
was holding and wordlessly collected his radio cap from Rhapsody’s outstretched
hand as he crossed to join his partner at the door; just as Lieutenant Green’s
voice ordered all senior captains to the control room.
The Angels watched the door slide close
behind the officers.
“Here we go again,” Rhapsody said her words
less concerned than her tone. Symphony nodded and her friend mused, “I wonder
what it’ll be this time.” She started to roll up the garland, finding comfort
in the mundane task.
“I don’t know,” the American replied
anxiously, “but I’d lay odds those two will be up to their necks in it…
whatever it is.”
“No takers,” Rhapsody said. She looked at her friend with a wry smile.
“We couldn’t stop them if we tried, and… would they really be the men we know
and love if they let us stop them?”
Symphony shook her head and pulled herself
together. “No, but they’d be safe… and…
alive.”
Rhapsody fumbled the garland which dropped
to the floor and rolled away across the open space, leaving a ribbon of colour
on the plain carpet. Mechanically she
bent and started the task again.
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It
never gets any easier, watching them start another mission, she
thought, and I doubt it ever will…
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“That doesn’t make any sense; it can’t be
what they’re on about,” Captain Scarlet said and sighed; they’d already spent
some considerable time without being able to solve the puzzle of the threat.
“Okay, genius, do you have any better
ideas?” Captain Ochre asked rather belligerently.
Captain Grey gave him a sharp, warning
glance; he couldn’t afford to allow bickering to break out amongst the officers
and Ochre was rapidly losing his patience.
Captain Magenta’s suggestion had more chance of being right than Scarlet
seemed prepared to admit; but, all the same, it was a rather forced explanation
of the threat.
Scarlet threw his radio cap onto the edge
of the circular command desk and scratched his head. “They don’t make idle threats; it has to mean something.” He
glanced at his partner. “Come on, Adam,
you’re the king of the cryptic clues, what do you think it means?”
Blue looked up from the notepad he was
doodling on and shrugged. “Well, it
seems to me that they’re worried about something. They’ve used that taunt of our never being able to gain any
insight or understanding of them several times before. The best example is when
we went to the moon to investigate the complex they were constructing in the
Humboldt Sea, but they used similar words when we launched the spy satellite to
Phobos, and when we created the Mysteron
Detector and the Electron gun. They
seem to think we’re about to make another discovery with similar potential.”
“Hmm,” Grey gave the idea some thought and
then said, “that could be the case; but we’ve heard nothing about anything that
suggests we might be on to something significant. I think it is more prosaic than that, Blue. What I’m thinking is – this reference to
‘primitive eyes’ and to ‘horizon technology’ – could it be radar?”
Blue gave a sceptical tilt of his head.
“Yes, it could be. If something disabled our radar systems, that’d
ground every plane - even ours - and certainly affect our ability to stop their
future threats succeeding. But, Grey,
that’s a helluva big target. Every plane and ship has radar installed. Mind you,” he said thoughtfully as an idea
struck him, “it might be a threat to the air traffic control towers. That’s what we can’t know: how and where
they’ll strike.”
“Satellite navigation,” Ochre chipped
in. “Just about every car on the road
has that. Take it away and half the
population would be lost in minutes – no one seems to look where they’re going
these days -”
Blue nodded. “Yes… the possibilities for
disruption are endless. But, you know,
I can’t help feeling that this might be a decoy for some other target they have
in mind. I can’t help coming back to
this jibe about our never understanding them - something has them worried – as
much as they ever get worried by what we do, I mean.”
Lieutenant Green had heard the way the conversation was developing and
he’d already started a search for any likely targets. He called across from his
research console. “I have an all
airlines press release here, from the World Aeronautical Society, dated
yesterday. They’re announcing a new
generation of radar tracking technology for air-traffic control systems; it’s
about to go into parallel testing - at Atlantic Airport.”
“Hmm, that’s a distinct possibility then. We should get someone down to check that out,” Scarlet suggested;
he’d had enough of sitting still and he was itching to get into action. “It’s
the only lead we have at the moment, anyway.”
“What I want to know is why they chose to
run trials on this thing at one of the world’s busiest airports – at its
busiest time of year! I mean, doesn’t the
WAS realise that if it goes ‘kaboom’ at Atlantic, the repercussions will be
felt internationally? Why not start with a little place
somewhere?” Ochre asked, shaking his
head.
Blue looked up again from his complex
artwork. “They’ll have done that already. If it’s going into trial at Atlantic it’s
because it’s proved itself at some provincial airfields.”
Ochre nodded in understanding. “Ah, I guess it also spreads the misery if
it fails…?”
Blue grimaced. “Oh no, someone will be in for a whole truckload of misery if Atlantic goes down. That sort of thing means you end up in some God-forsaken, two-bit airfield, in the middle of nowhere, shortly after your next annual performance review. I’ve seen it happen…”
“Well, that gives us all the confirmation we need that you can’t go and check out Atlantic,
Blue, you’ve got too many contacts in the organisation for it to be safe,”
Captain Grey said. As acting commander of Cloudbase he had the task of
assigning the duties. “I think you’d better go to Atlantic, Magenta… and Ochre
can go with you – as the security expert.
Check out the installation, the system, and their security procedures
and report back.”
“S.I.G, Captain.” Magenta smiled. The job sounded right up his street; he
liked tinkering with computers.
“What about the rest of us?” Scarlet said
sharply. It hadn’t occurred to him
before that with Blue sidelined, he might not get to participate in the
mission.
Grey sucked his teeth. “I think you and Lieutenant Green had better
go and check out London. The
transatlantic routes are the busiest and – as I understand it – transatlantic
traffic that isn’t covered by Atlantic itself is covered by London -”
“Swanwick,” Blue corrected absently
“Huh?”
Grey was baffled.
“UK Air Traffic Control HQ is in Swanwick,”
their WAS expert said, as he contemplated his completed design.
“I beg your pardon,” Grey said with a wry
grin. “Scarlet, you had better take Green to…Swanwick and check that everything is okay there.”
“S.I.G.” Scarlet laughed. “Looks like you’re confined to base,
Blue-boy.”
“Seems so,” Blue said with a shrug. He pushed the pad away from him and replaced
the cap on his pen.
“Should we tell the colonel?” Ochre asked
as he started to pack up his folder.
“No, he’s only just gone on furlough, for
Pete’s sake!” Grey snapped. “We can
manage this by ourselves. We’re big
boys now…” He resented the implied suggestion that he might not be up to the
task of organising the response to a Mysteron threat.
“Just a thought,” Ochre replied
apologetically, realising how his innocent, yet thoughtless, question must have
sounded to his friend. “Don’t jump down
my throat.”
Magenta picked up the discarded notepad
and tore Blue’s artwork from the top.
“Nice picture,” he said, surveying the detailed image of a Christmas angel
with more than a passing resemblance to Symphony. “It’d be a real treat to find
that on your Christmas tree…”
“You
get your own decorations…” Blue said, reaching for the paper and colouring
slightly as he slipped it into his pocket.
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Military Airfield, north-eastern USA
Charles Gray collected his luggage and walked briskly across to the
civilian part of the airfield. He
queued patiently and bought his ticket on the next flight to the East Iowa
Airport, Cedar Rapids. Then he found a
public call box and rang the number he’d long ago committed to memory.
A woman’s voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Amanda? It’s Charles. I’m at New York
and the first flight I could get arrives at East Iowa in about four hours.”
He could hear her smile in her voice as she
said, “Charles! How wonderful. I’ll be there to meet you. Sure you can remember what I look like, or
shall I carry one of those notices with your name written on?” she teased him.
“No need, Amanda. I have your image imprinted on my mind…”
Amanda laughed. “Charles Gray, you old flatterer! I’ll see you soon, then. Have a pleasant flight.”
He hung up and went towards the garishly
decorated shops in search of some small gifts, and something to read, whilst he
waited. He sincerely hoped the arrival
at East Iowa would be much better than the flight there could possibly be. He
knew full well the butterflies in his stomach had nothing to do with any fear
of flying, but they were the promise of an uncomfortable journey.
He was conscious that this was a big step
forward in his relationship with Amanda Wainwright. It had all started a couple of years ago, after she’d sent him a
Christmas card with a personal message inside, to thank him for his kindness to
her and her daughter – the Angel pilot codenamed Symphony – since the recent
death of her husband. He’d been
surprised and pleased to receive it.
He had retained a clear recollection of the charming Mrs Wainwright from
the one occasion he’d met her, and he’d drawn the encouragement to think she
might like to get to know him.
A
few months later – whilst he was spending a few days conducting promotion
interviews and performing commissioning ceremonies for the mid-western division,
at the Spectrum base in Des Moines – he had contacted her with a tentative
invitation to dine with him, on a thin pretext of speaking to her about her
daughter. Amanda had accepted with
every show of pleasure and by the end of the evening they had both known that
they’d be seeing more of each other.
Since then, they’d met up several times for
weekend visits to various cities; doing tours of tourist venues and museums
during the day, followed by a show and a meal out somewhere glamorous in the
evening. He was acutely conscious that
it was still only a few years since she’d been widowed by her husband’s tragic
death in a road accident – something they had in common, as his own wife and
baby son had been killed that way, many years ago – and he’d been careful not
to press her into getting more involved than she was happy to do.
They’d enjoyed the time they spent in each other’s company; found that
they had a liking for a great many things in common and, in his case, that he
could relax with her in a way he found it difficult to do with anyone
else.
He’d
been delighted, yet a little apprehensive, when Amanda sent him an invitation
to spend Christmas at her home in Iowa, at the ranch her family had owned for
well over a century, it seemed. This
was, he knew, the possible start of a much closer relationship between them,
because they’d always met on ‘neutral ground’ before. He’d thought long and hard about the consequences of accepting
her invitation before he’d done so. He
knew that he couldn’t be content with the platonic nature of their relationship
for ever. Sometime he would have to
test the water and see if Amanda felt the same – and this seemed as good a time
as any.
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Iowa, USA
Amanda Wainwright was also trying to ignore
the nervous fluttering of the butterflies in her stomach, as she turned her car
out of the ranch gate, the tyres scrunching on the icy, snow-crusted surface,
and headed towards Cedar Rapids.
As she drove she considered her guest and
the strange way their lives had become inter-twined.
She’d first met Charles Grey in London when
she and Sam had flown over, at Spectrum’s invitation, to attend their
daughter’s commissioning ceremony. They
had both been slightly over-awed; partly by the grandeur of the venue, partly
by the pomp of the ceremony, but mostly by the unexpected emotion of the
occasion.
During the course of the reception that
followed the official oath-taking, Colonel White had made it his business to
meet and greet the family members of every Spectrum officer. Every guest had already received a detailed
dossier, explaining why it was imperative that the true identity of the elite
officers of Spectrum be kept confidential, and this had also been the tenor of
his conversation with them both.
She could tell from Sam’s body language
that he was as excited as she about Karen’s new career, and as ready to agree
to keeping it a secret as anyone there. The colonel had made a great impression
on them both, with his upright military bearing and authoritative voice, and,
although she doubted if Sam had noticed either his good-looking face, or the
twinkle in his china-blue eyes, or the more than adequate way he filled his
pristine, white dress uniform, the combination had created a very favourable
impression on her and -she’d noted with some pleasure – the Englishman’d
enjoyed looking at her too.
Not that she’d ever thought any more of it.
Sam Wainwright might not have been
about to set the Great Lakes on fire, but he was the man she loved.
She sighed, and as she changed lanes to take the exit to the airport,
she allowed her thoughts to drift back over the familiar memories of her
relationship with her much-loved and greatly-missed husband.
Eighteen
year old Amanda Hoffman was studying business management at college, with a
view to helping her parents run their ranch, when she met Sam Wainwright. Working in a summer job as an office
administrator at the AESC plant, just outside Cedar Rapids, Amanda had quickly
settled in and made several new friends. She knew she was a pretty young woman
– and as such she was used to the attentions of the young – and the not so
young – men around her; some of these ‘attentions’ she welcomed, and some she
rejected. There was no false modesty
about her, but thankfully there was no vanity either, and a suitor soon learned
where he stood with the feisty Miss Hoffman.
Sam Wainwright was a recent MIT graduate, who had been taken on as a
researcher for the new programs development department. They’d hit it off straight away.
Wainwright
was tall and rather slender in build, with reddish-brown hair and mossy-green
eyes, flecked with brown. He was rather
diffident, and spoke with the pinched nasal tones of a New England accent that
made him stand out a mile amongst the mid-western voices of his co-workers. He’d been born and raised in Massachusetts,
where his father was an engineer and his mother a Math teacher. The youngest of three sons, Sam was none-too
confident around young women – especially pretty ones.
Amanda,
who had no shortage of potential suitors from amongst the local population of
eligible young men, thought he was cute and Sam Wainwright had been smitten
from the moment she’d smiled at him, and willingly became her devoted
acolyte. As far as both of them were
concerned it was a perfect match.
When
Sam asked Amanda to marry him, she’d been happy to say ‘yes’; despite the
reservations expressed by her parents about their youth, the comparative speed
of their commitment to each other and the fact that Amanda had not yet
completed her college course. They advised the couple to have a long
engagement, but Amanda had other ideas and the wedding was held one pleasant
autumnal day, little more than a year after they’d met.
Sam’s
family had travelled over from Massachusetts and they’d been won over by the
beautiful young bride and welcomed her into their family. There was, however, no likelihood that the
newly-weds would accept the invitation to return to the East Coast, despite
Sam’s recent offer of a job at his old college. The Hoffman family had been farming in the area for almost two
hundred years and it was unthinkable that their only daughter might leave the
neighbourhood. So, as Sam had an
apartment in Cedar Rapids, it made sense for the newly-married couple to live
there. They planned for Amanda to
complete her studies, and then find a decent house before starting a
family.
Things
had not gone exactly according to plan, however, but when Amanda gave birth to
a healthy baby girl – christened Karen Amanda – the child had been adored by
the entire family and the beautiful baby grew into a bright, vivacious child
with red-gold hair and hazel-green eyes.
As
she’d grown, Karen had spent most of her time at the ranch – her parents, both
still working in Cedar Rapids, lived in their small apartment, and rushed home
at weekends to be with their daughter.
It was a happy childhood, and as the centre of a loving family, Karen
blossomed into a popular and fairly happy-go-lucky personality.
But it was becoming obvious that the ranch no
longer provided the secure livelihood it had once done. Both Amanda’s grandfather
and great-grandfather had sold land and, in so doing, had compromised the
economic viability of the farm. To combat this decline, Willis Hoffman was
investigating alternative ways of producing income and had even seriously
considered becoming a component of the ever-growing leisure industry by turning
part of his property into a holiday venue – a kind of ‘Dude Ranch’.
Once
Karen started school, it quickly became apparent that she was an extremely
intelligent child and her parents and grandparents had scrimped and saved to
provide her with the best education they could. For a time she’d been sent to stay with her Wainwright
relatives, and study at a school in Boston, with a view to entering Harvard. But, with Karen’s usual perversity, she had,
at sixteen, won a scholarship to Yale University, which Sam had accepted with a
sigh of resignation that only a Massachusetts-born scholar could have
produced.
Amanda
had gone to Connecticut with her daughter, working in the administration
department of one of the colleges to be close at hand and keep an eye on her,
until Karen felt confident to cope alone.
The relationship between mother and daughter had always been affable,
but they were rather too alike to get on well for long. In addition, Karen was the apple of her
father’s eye and her grandparents’ pride and joy, which favoured status Amanda
rather resented; whilst, in her turn, Karen was competitive enough to dislike
having a mother young and attractive enough to pass for her older sister. When Karen turned eighteen she insisted her
mother return home.
It
had taken some time for that breach to heal, but as usual, Sam Wainwright had
kept the peace between the women in his family. He told Amanda that they should
be pleased their daughter had grown into an attractive, self-assured and
intelligent young woman, who did not need their help to make a success of her
life. It was true that there remained a
touch of the country-bred tomboy about her, but she could, when she wanted to,
act like a ‘real lady’. She was
forthright and could be wilful, but she was also passionate, enthusiastic,
honest and devoted to her family and friends. Amanda had agreed with everything
he said – only adding ‘spoiled’ to the list, even in the face of Sam’s
exasperation.
Karen
had done extremely well at college – graduating near the top of her class with
excellent grades and a handful of awards.
Then she’d taken a government job – about which she said very little to
her parents, except that it involved a great deal of travelling – and they had
not seen much of her for the next few years.
Sam missed her desperately, and spoiled her all the more as a
consequence when he saw her.
They
knew that Karen was ambitious to do well, and so it came as a surprise when she
quit the government job and started working as a pilot for a company of air
taxis. Her mother had argued against
it, as had her grandparents, even though they knew there was no real point;
Karen had her father’s stubbornness and she wasn’t used to opposition from her
family, so it was far too late to start trying to talk her out of anything now…
and, of course, her father stood by her – as always.
Yet
that humble pilot’s job had been her introduction to Spectrum, and the
astonishment amongst her family had been spectacular when Karen had confessed
that that the ‘government job’ she’d been doing was with a security agency and
that she had – in fact – been a secret agent.
It amazed her mother that her garrulous daughter had managed to keep
anything a secret, but her father had been fit to burst with pride when Karen
told him why she had been accepted into the world’s newest and best-equipped
security force. These revelations came
as less of a welcome surprise to the rest of the family, and the worry of it
had probably contributed towards the death of her grandfather, in the months
after Karen received her commission as Symphony Angel. Devastated, she’d come home and clung to her
parents – as if everything in Iowa was suddenly infinitely more precious.
When
Karen returned to Cloudbase her family had resorted to watching the TV rolling
news channels for any information they could glean. They had learnt from the newscasts that Spectrum was actively
waging a campaign against the terrorist forces known as ‘the Mysterons’ and
watched in apprehension whenever footage of Spectrum’s Angel Interceptors was
shown – wondering if their daughter was flying one of them.
Very
occasionally Karen came home for short visits and, on one such occasion, the
blue-clad officer who arrived to escort her back to Cloudbase was a tall,
blond-haired man, with an accent that – to Sam’s expert ear – declared him to
be a native of Boston. He shook their
visitor’s hand warmly, challenging him to deny his origins. The young man acknowledged his birthplace
with a broad grin, and slid easily into a far broader drawl – much to Sam’s
delight – as he introduced himself as Captain Blue.
Amanda,
chuckling at her husband’s innocent pleasure, smiled into the young man’s
vaguely familiar, handsome face, with its pale-blue, ‘bedroom-eyes’ and
wondered where she’d seen him before. From the corners of her memory came the
realisation that it had been at the same commissioning ceremony where she’d
first seen Colonel White – only there, her daughter had been avoiding the
captain with an off-hand casualness that was, in retrospect, very
revealing. Obviously, Karen’s apparent
indifference had not lasted.
Watching the couple together, Amanda told
Sam that he’d just met his future son-in-law and Sam laughed; but Amanda was
convinced Karen was very much in love, as, she suspected, was Captain Blue –
only she wasn’t sure the young man was aware of the fact yet.
Amanda navigated the last junction and
mused to herself, ‘That was our last
happy time together. A few months
later, Sam was dead. At least he got to
know that Karen was enjoying her new job and looked set to make a success of
it. How he loved to talk to me about
‘our daughter – Symphony Angel’…’
Indeed, Karen’s happiness and success had
been just about the only bright spot on the family’s horizon; the ranch was not
doing well, and despite his finest endeavours, Sam Wainwright was not the best
man to run the place. He’d revived his
father-in-law’s idea of creating a Dude Ranch and had enthusiastically entered
into business deals and financial commitments that – if successful – would have
solved their financial problems, but Amanda had quickly discovered it was a big
IF.
Sam’s death in a highway pile-up, during
terrible weather in the spring of 2069, had come as a great shock to everyone,
and for the first time since her marriage, Amanda had felt vulnerable. Her mother, who was no longer in the best
of health, had on the death of her husband retired to live with her sister in
the milder climate of Florida, Karen was on Cloudbase, and consequently Amanda
had never felt so alone. It had been a
great relief to her when Colonel White had allowed Karen special leave to come
home again. She’d been brought back to
the ranch by a solicitous Captain Blue and had reached for her mother from the
comfort of his supportive arm. Even
from the depths of her misery Amanda could see the bond between him and her
daughter had grown and she’d drawn comfort from knowing that Karen was not
facing this second blow alone.
Captain Blue had seen to it that everything
was unloaded from the car and very thoughtfully made some coffee for them as
they sat consoling each other, before he took his leave. Karen had walked with him to the car, and
from the kitchen sink window – where she was disposing of the truly abysmal
beverage – Amanda had seen him kiss her daughter with such tenderness it had
brought a lump to her throat. It
confirmed what she’s suspected; Karen was clearly head-over-heels in love with
this man, and – unless she was losing her insight into the male psyche – he was
very much in love with her.
Amanda changed down a gear and turned onto
the airport approach road. Even this car was a present two Christmases
ago to Karen- and me- from the man I now know is Adam Svenson. She smiled.
I wish Sam had lived long enough to get to know him. He’s a
fine young man, and they’d have got
on like a house on fire; typical native-born New Englanders to their
fingertips, both of them, she mused.
It had been a stroke of good fortune too,
Amanda conceded, that Adam turned out to be from a family of successful bankers
and financiers. He’d grown up in a
culture where business deals and money-management were considered everyday
topics of conversation and had breathed in financial acumen whilst still in
diapers. During a visit home with
Karen, he’d tried to persuade her mother to allow him to take a look at the
ranch’s account books. At first, Amanda
had been unwilling, partly from pride and partly through a sense of not wanting
him to know just how much of a muddle they were in; she didn’t want him to
think poorly of Sam.
But Adam wasn’t the kind of man whose
courteously expressed requests you could deny, and, once she’d handed over the
relevant documents, he had retired to his bedroom early one evening and had –
she thought – stayed there, for once.
By the morning he had dark rings beneath his pale-blue eyes, and a whole
series of proposals drawn up, with a list of names for her to contact for
further advice.
Once the young couple had left, Amanda had
done as Adam suggested and found, to her delight, that she was likely to be
entitled to considerable compensation for the ineptitude of Sam’s financial
adviser. She’d taken the liberty of contacting Adam personally by phone, in
order to thank him; she was well aware that he didn’t want Karen to know of his
familiarity with their financial situation and she respected him for it.
He’d been delighted to hear her news and then – much to her
surprise – he’d proceeded to try to sweet-talk her into the idea of accepting a
car from him: as a gift for them both, he’d cleverly insisted. She’d been genuinely reluctant to become
even more beholden to this young man, but her arguments had failed to change
his mind; not surprisingly, for she knew now that it would take a virtual act
of God to make Adam shift from his considered decisions. It was not that she thought he might ever
use his generosity towards them as leverage, to pressure them into doing something
they didn’t want to do, that would have breached the distinctive code of good
manners Adam lived by. She’d recognised that in him almost straight away, as
Sam had been of much the same turn of mind.
However, the young man had persisted in his persuasive reasoning until
she’d run out of objections and had agreed to his proposal – with certain
strict provisos.
Several months later when the car had arrived - with a long letter from Adam, explaining that he liked both of them too much to suffer the torments of knowing they were driving around in the worn-out wrecks the Ranch possessed – she’d taken the impulsive step of contacting him by video-link to remonstrate with him over the extravagant nature of the gift. She’d agreed to a good quality, second-hand car, at best, and what had turned up was a brand-new, top-of-the-range model. But even as she attempted to reprimand him, she knew from the expression on his face – as much as from his unpretentious admission that he didn’t ‘do’ second-hand - that she wasn’t going to get anywhere. Karen was not the only one used to getting her own way, it seemed, and she’d wondered how the pair of them dealt with their equal propensity to be stubborn at times.
Now, of course, she knew: Adam gave in, more often than not, and far
too often for it to be good for Karen.
Still, she concluded as she drove into the
multi-storey car park, it’s always easier
to judge other people’s relationships from the outside; the chances are it
doesn’t seem like that to either of them.
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Cloudbase
Captain Grey listened to his communication
officer’s latest report with an ashen face.
“Are they sure, Lieutenant?” he asked.
“Doctor Giardello might’ve just forgotten to let anyone know where he was going
to be.”
Lieutenant Claret nodded his dark head and
gave a rueful grimace. “The Assistant Director at SIRAD is not aware of where
Doctor Giardello has gone. The Doctor’s
wife is most anxious that we trace her husband; apparently Doctor Giardello
follows a rigid pattern of behaviour and he was supposed to be on leave from
now until after Christmas. Mrs
Giardello is very anxious, sir.”
Grey sighed. “Put me through to Doctor Kelly, Claret.”
The Assistant Director of SIRAD looked
rather younger than Grey expected. She
was a serene looking woman, with close-cropped brown hair and a round face with
a fresh complexion. She gave Captain
Grey a calm smile.
“Good
of you to speak to me, Acting Commander,” she said.
“How may we be of help, Doctor Kelly?”
“I’ve
had a call from Mrs Giardello; asking where her husband is. The fact is, Acting Commander, that
according to our records, Doctor Giardello is at home - I’m concerned,
naturally.”
“When was he last seen?”
“Yesterday
lunchtime… he took a phone call and then told his assistant that he was leaving
early. Mrs Giardello says he rang to
say something urgent had come up and he would be late home – so not to wait
dinner. She didn’t worry until this
morning when he didn’t call and so she rang here… we, of course, haven’t seen
him.”
“Don’t the members of SIRAD log their
whereabouts into a register?”
Doctor Kelly nodded. “Of
course, it is standard practise.”
She frowned slightly adding, “Doctor
Giardello merely wrote – Christmas has come early – have a nice break…” Her glance at Grey was apologetic. “He
will have his little joke from time to time.”
“Hilarious,” Grey muttered. “We’ll start a
search from here, Doctor Kelly; please advise us if you have any contact with
Doctor Giardello in the meantime.”
“Of
course, Acting Commander; but I ought to warn you, the labs close tonight –
apart from an emergency skeleton crew – we’re all off over Christmas.”
“Well, make sure they know to contact us,”
Grey advised patiently.
“Of
course,” Doctor Kelly suddenly gave a bright smile that animated her face
and gave her an impish look. “And a very merry Christmas to all our
colleagues on Cloudbase,” she concluded as she terminated the call.
“Fat chance,” Grey muttered.
There had hardly been time for Gray to give
the orders for the standard search procedures to get underway for Doctor
Giardello, when Captain Magenta called through to give his initial analysis of
the situation regarding the new air traffic control system at Atlantic
Airport. What he told Grey confirmed
that things were far more complicated than they’d hoped.
“The
new system is controlling the traffic,” Magenta explained. “But, at the moment, the
system isn’t fully installed and the main system over-ride controls are still
at the Air Electronics Systems Corporation headquarters. We could manage to
block an attempted take-over of the computers that was launched from Atlantic;
but the system is vulnerable to an attack through the HQ. In my opinion, you need to get the security
checked out there, Captain Grey.
Someone needs to ensure the automatic and manual over-rides are
encrypted, for example. It has to be done with care; if it’s bungled, it would
close the system down here, which would cause chaos and the result of that
would be to cause chaos everywhere in the commercial airlines system. Air Electronics Systems have a good
reputation for tight security, but that won’t save them from becoming the
target of a Mysteron attack, of course.”
“So, where’s their HQ exactly?” Grey asked,
rubbing his chin with his hand.
“Cedar
Rapids, Iowa,” said Captain Magenta’s voice in concert with the voice of
Captain Blue, who, having been summoned immediately after Doctor Kelly’s call
ended, had arrived soon after Magenta’s report started and was perched on a
stool across the central control room desk from Grey, listening intently.
“That rings a bell,” Grey said with a
raised eyebrow at his colleague.
“It’s where Symphony Angel lives,” Blue
admitted with a dismissive shrug. He focused on what relevant facts he knew.
“AESC is one of the most significant companies in this field; they’d be a
potential Mysteron target for attack even without the new computer system.”
“Does Spectrum keep any security staff on
the site?” Grey asked Claret who scanned the database and shook his head.
“There is no record of any, sir. Of course, it may be administered on an
informal basis from the local Spectrum Agency in Des Moines. We would not necessarily have a record here,
unless we’d asked for it.”
“Right, well, there’s no option then. Someone better check it out,” Grey declared.
He glanced at Captain Blue. “Someone
who knows about air-traffic control systems and computers would be the best
person to send. You don’t know everyone there too, do you?” he asked warily.
Blue shook his head with a slight
smile. “I’ve only been there a couple
of times – once as a very unimportant WAS cadet - they won’t remember me.”
Grey nodded thankfully. “Okay, Captain Magenta, I’ll send Captain
Blue down to Cedar Rapids to check them out.”
“S.I.G.,
Captain Grey. In the meantime, I’ll
keep track of events here, and Captain Ochre’s gonna put their security team
through hell in an effort to wake them up to potential threats.”
“Carry on, Captains, and keep me
informed.” Grey cut the link and
glanced at Blue, who was scratching his head with the air of someone wondering
if he dare push his luck. “How soon can
you be ready to leave?”
“Twenty minutes?”
“Good, as soon as possible then.” Grey waited, but Blue said nothing and made
no effort to leave. “Is there something
else, Captain?”
“I could do with some help,” Blue
said. “It’ll be a tricky job for one
man to do alone.” He glanced at Grey with a thoughtful expression.
Grey nodded and quickly thought through his
available officers. “Why don’t you take
Lieutenant Cerulean,” he said in a tone that was part suggestion, part
order. “He’s a computer-type and supposedly
a good man, but inexperienced in field work.
He’ll benefit from the experience of working with you and I’m sure he’ll
be able to do some of the technical stuff as well…”
Blue gave a short nod of agreement. “Good idea.
Get him to meet me in hangar two; I’ll update him on the way.” He stood, making ready to leave. “I hope we can nail this one quickly. I have to admit, I’m worried about what
might happen if Atlantic goes down, Brad.”
Grey
sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “So am
I,” he confessed, his dark eyes rising to meet Blue’s pale ones. With the merest brooding tone of uncertainty
he added, “Maybe I should alert the colonel?”
Sensing
his colleague’s uncertainty, Blue’s response was reassuring, “What could he
have done that we haven’t? We’re
capable men and he trusts us to manage without him. Let him have his vacation in peace.” He turned and then added, “Wherever he is, I just hope he isn’t
planning to do any flying…”
It was only after Blue’d left that Grey
realised he hadn’t told him that Doctor Giardello was missing… still, Blue’d
have enough to keep him occupied without worrying about the errant scientist….
Grey turned back to his console and
continued with his mountain of paperwork.
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Captain Blue was already in the cockpit
going through the pre-flight checks when Lieutenant Cerulean clambered aboard
the SPJ, stowed his bag in the lockers provided and slipped into the co-pilot’s
seat with a salute at his superior officer.
Blue, preoccupied with what he was doing,
barely acknowledged his arrival, but Cerulean knew better than to feel
aggrieved. It was well known that
attempts to divert Captain Blue from doing something he considered important
never got you anywhere.
The control panel speaker announced they
were clear to go and the klaxon sounded as the hangar decompressed and the
plane was elevated to the runways that formed the bulk of the vast floating
base.
Blue waited for permission to take off and
the silver and blue jet slid forward and out into the empty sky with barely a
lurch. Lieutenant Claret gave them
their coordinates and radio frequency, followed by the mission codeword. Blue acknowledged the information, set the
coordinates, engaged the auto-pilot and turned to the silent lieutenant at his
side.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. In that folder you’ll find the background to
the mission. Once you’ve familiarised
yourself with it, I’ll endeavour to answer any questions you might have,” Blue
said with a genial smile.
“S.I.G, Captain,” Cerulean gave a bright smile in response and reached for the dossier. He fully intended to make a glorious success of this mission.
Chapter Two
Love is like the measles –
all the worse when it comes late in life.
Douglas William Jerrold
Iowa, USA
Amanda Wainwright had arrived at the
airport before the plane was due and spent five minutes or so in the ladies’
room, checking her make-up and carefully arranging her clothes to obtain the
optimum look of casual chic. She
glanced at herself in the mirror with a wry smile; her golden-blonde hair was
expertly designed to frame her oval face, her tawny-brown eyes were subtly
highlighted by the expert application of make-up, her lips defined by a warm
pink lip-gloss. She knew she looked
good – younger than she was – and she was used to turning men’s heads as they
walked by… Sam had always been proud of her looks and encouraged her to look
her best at all times.
Right now, she felt as nervous as a schoolgirl
on her first date; she’d never expected to be going through the roller-coaster
ride of a new love affair again – especially at her age.
She wondered what Charles Gray really
thought of her; a middle-aged widow, ripe for a little romancing? Please
heaven, he doesn’t think I’m desperate… Amanda sniffed. Actually,
there are two or three local men who’d gladly lay all they possess at my
elegantly shod feet, if I so much as asked…. Poor Greg Schwartz for one… he’s
had the hots for me since high school and he’s never married either. Well, looks like Greg’s going to be unlucky
again…
She gave her reflection an excited little
wink and marched out towards the arrivals gate.
Charles Gray pocketed his ID papers and
collected his luggage from the carousel.
He looked around the airport and saw the arrow pointing the way to the
arrivals lounge. Before he went across
the hallway, he stepped into the gents’ and combed his hair, brushed the
creases from his trousers and straightened his tie.
He wiped his hands on a paper towel and
hoped they wouldn’t get sweaty again. I’m nervous. Yes, that’s what it is… if I was given even half a chance I’d get
on the next plane out of here and sit on it until it was time to go back to
Cloudbase. I hope Amanda won’t think
I’m just a middle-aged widower, desperate for a little feminine company.
He opened his hand-luggage for the
umpteenth time and checked that he still had the expensive box of hand-made
chocolates he’d got Spectrum: Brussels to send him, and the flamboyantly
wrapped perfume he’d bought in New York, as a Christmas gift for his
hostess. He hoped it was the right kind
– the kind she liked. The shop assistant at the airport shop had been helpful
enough to let him sniff at a sampler, so that he could see if it matched the
memory he had of the fragrance she’d worn on their last meeting, and had then
wrapped the small – and incredibly expensive – box in this confection of ribbon
and tinsel.
He marched out onto