A Spectrum Story for Christmas

by Marion Woods

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…”

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…”

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… ”

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.

It never gets any easier, watching them start another mission, she thought, and I doubt it ever will…

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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