As we taxied along the runway I had the odd thought that maybe I had been dreaming. Perhaps I had snoozed away the whole of a perfectly normal flight. It was hard to believe otherwise as the pilot manœuvred the plane into its final resting spot.
There was an unconscionably long delay before steps appeared and the rear door was opened. We stood up, collected our belongings, and waited in the aisle in precisely the usual fashion. The people ahead began to move slowly. A minute later I was in the open air. We were shepherded by a girl into a waiting bus. There was another delay and then the crew joined us.
I expected to be taken to the usual assembly hall, or waiting hall, or whatever they called it, prior to immigration and customs. But the bus came to a gate that led off the airfield. The gate was opened. While we were halted two policemen got in. Away over on my right, in the distance, I had the impression of an airport crowded with thousands on thousands of people. It was as if they were waiting there, in the hope of seeing planes coming in to land. Soon we were at a traffic light that led out on to the highway. Then we were speeding into London. Here too, as in Honolulu, there was very little traffic. It was a fair guess that we had been brought this way to avoid the crowds, perhaps to avoid reporters and television cameras. Quite evidently, I had not been dreaming.
Chapter Seven: Adagio
We were taken to what was obviously the headquarters of some intelligence unit. Men in uniform, men in civilian clothes, were walking around in a strained, taut way. The American officers were quickly separated from the rest of us. In fact only John and myself and the Australian crew were in civvies. We were shown into rough sleeping quarters. John took this without comment. With a grin he said to me, ‘They’ll soon change their tune.’
The following morning, after an unappetizing breakfast, two officers came looking for John. They asked him to follow them, or more politely to go with them. John insisted I should go along too. They were doubtful, but once he had told them I knew as much about the business as he did—a gross exaggeration—they made no further objections. We were taken to a waiting car. In the front, beside the chauffeur, was a fellow whom I took to be a plain-clothes officer of some species or other.
The car headed out into west London. It kept on into the country for an hour or thereabouts. At last we turned in at the gates of a pretty flossy place. The house was vaguely familiar.
‘Chequers,’ grinned John. ‘I told you they’d change their tune.’
We were received courteously by the Prime Minister himself. There were a number of other guests, quite a mob of them. The Prime Minister introduced us round. There was the Foreign Secretary, the Chancellor, the Minister of Defence, the Chief of Staff, and about half a dozen other high-ranking service officers. They were drinking sherry. A glass of the stuff was pressed into our hands.
John explained my presence by saying I had been making a complete record of everything that had happened. This seemed to please everybody, as if a record is equivalent to an explanation. I also noticed how easy it is for a scribe to get himself into even the most intimate conference. It comes I supposed from the laziness to which all flesh is prey. I also noticed the heavy preponderance of the military. It struck me wryly that whenever the unusual happens the stock of the military always seems to rise.
Before lunch John gave an excellent and precise account of what had happened in California, in Hawaii, and on the flight back across America. His narrative was put together so concisely and with such logical consistency that his audience listened without comment or question until it was finished. Then everybody waited for the Prime Minister to comment:
‘Obviously you’ve been thinking of explanations for all this. You’ve given us the facts. But what do they mean?’
‘It’s too early to say, sir. It’s common dictum I believe among lawyers that one must wait for all the evidence to be in before forming an opinion. I’ve been waiting for all the facts. You must have an awful lot of things we don’t know anything about.’
‘We’ve got plenty of facts, but I don’t mind telling you we haven’t the slightest idea what they mean. You’ve given us a pretty succinct account of the American situation. Here’s what’s happened to us. As far as we can make out everything is quite normal in Britain. From the American mainland we’ve had absolutely nothing, which doesn’t surprise me in view of what you’ve just said. From Europe too there’s been a blackout except in the last few hours.’
‘When did the blackout start?’
‘Oh, nearly two days ago.’
‘At 10.37 p.m.’
One of the officers had consulted a notebook. I felt there must be something wrong here. John was looking puzzled:
‘That’s only about thirty-six hours. It happened four days ago with us.’
It was their turn to look surprised.
‘You mean you lost contact with the American mainland four days ago?’ asked the Chancellor.
We both affirmed that this was so.
‘Very strange, very strange.’
The Prime Minister was drumming his fingertips on the table.
John went on, ‘That’s another interesting fact. You were talking about Europe, what’s going on there?’
‘We don’t know.’ This from the Minister of Defence.
‘You mean it’s just as blank as the American mainland?’
‘No, it isn’t. We’ve been getting wireless messages but they’re strange in every conceivable respect.’
‘Why haven’t you sent planes over?’ I broke in.
The Prime Minister looked at me for a few seconds. I saw his eyes were dark and troubled. ‘Of course we sent planes over. They never returned.’
On this new and sombre note we sat down to lunch. A short menu had been typed. I was engrossed in my own thoughts, hardly listening to the discussion, significant as it might be. Idly I looked at the menu. It was dated September the 19th. Of course it must be a mistake. I waited until there was a lull in the talk and then asked, feeling very foolish, whether the date on the menu was right. The triviality of the question riveted everybody’s attention. A few seconds went by in which I had the impression they were all ticking off the days in their minds. Then someone said, ‘I think it’s right.’ Another added, ‘Of course it’s right.’ The Prime Minister looked at me and asked, simply, ‘Why?’
‘Because according to my reckoning it should be somewhere in the middle of August. I think the 13th, certainly within a day or two of that. What’s your reckoning, John?’
‘Somewhere about that, within a day or two. I’ve been so heavily occupied that I’ve really lost precise contact. Yet there isn’t the slightest doubt we’re still in August. At least Dick and I are in August.’
At this very dramatic point the girl serving the food whispered something to the Prime Minister. He nodded and she went away. A moment later a young lieutenant in uniform appeared. He went to the Chief of Staff, stood behind his chair as if to serve some dish, saluted and handed him an envelope. The Chief of Staff turned and said, ‘Thank you. You can wait outside.’
Everybody watched the envelope being slit open very precisely with a knife. I would have ripped it open with thumb and finger myself. We watched the Chief of Staff reading with growing astonishment. Then he got up and took the papers to the Prime Minister. He stood behind the Prime Minister’s chair, waiting for them to be read through. Then the Prime Minister said: