He strode up to Annie, removed her blindfold, and then did the same to Joseph. It was to his brother that he spoke next. 'History will not remember the name of the person who bestowed this gift upon it,' he said, 'but that does not matter. I am willing to sacrifice my own fame for the greater good.'
Joseph looked flatly at him. 'For the greater good, Lucian? It strikes me that I've heard you say that once before, a long time ago.'
Lucian's lip curled. 'You never did understand, Joseph.' He turned to the flight lieutenant. 'We need to keep them out of the way until tomorrow and make sure that none of our colleagues' — he spoke the word with a certain amount of distaste — 'above ground start asking questions about them. You're sure we picked them up before their presence was noticed? And no one saw you move them in or out of the truck earlier?'
'We're sure,' Johnson replied.
'Good,' Lucian replied. He turned to look back at the trio. 'Flight Lieutenant Johnson will accompany you to a secure unit while I decide exactly what to do with you.' He stared directly at Joseph. 'Take a good look at my face, brother,' he said quietly. 'It's the last time you'll ever see it.'
Joseph stared back at him, gazing into his brother's eyes, his own face unreadable. 'Shall we go, Flight Lieutenant?' he asked gently. He did not see Lucian nod his approval, because he was resolutely looking the other way.
Lieutenant Colonel Oleg Kasparov of the Russian army watched the sun setting over the Spadeadam marshland. The insects had descended in force as dusk arrived, and a bite on his left hand irritated him, but he neither scratched it nor complained. Beside him in the back of the car was his host for the duration of his visit, a pleasant and enthusiastic wing commander by the name of Stevens who had no idea that Kasparov's official visit to Spadeadam was nothing more than a front for some very un official business. And now that his two aides had been dismissed, he could get on with that business.
'It's great to have you here, Lieutenant Colonel,' he was saying politely. 'Good to be able to show you guys round what we do here after so many years of cold war.'
Kasparov nodded abruptly. 'The Russian army is grateful to you for your hospitality.' He did his best to hide a rare smile. This enthusiastic British officer could never guess that the gratitude of the Russian military was the furthest thing from his mind. He had a new paymaster now, and an ulterior motive for being at the RAF base at that time. If he made sure everything ran smoothly, the Russian oligarch from whom he now took his orders would make him rich — rich enough to leave the army and never work again.
The car pulled to a halt outside a row of modern brick buildings. 'These will be your lodgings,' Stevens said as the driver walked round and opened the door for Kasparov. 'I trust you'll find them comfortable.'
'I'm sure I will,' Kasparov replied, shaking Stevens's outstretched hand, then hauling his large-framed body out of the car and picking up the bag that the driver had fetched from the boot. 'Until tomorrow morning, Wing Commander.'
'Tomorrow morning,' Stevens replied, and the car drove off.
Kasparov walked up to the door of his lodgings and stepped inside. He barely noticed the clean, comfortable surroundings; he simply dropped the bag in the hallway and pulled his mobile phone from the pocket of his military jacket, then dialled the number he had been given.
'It is Kasparov,' he said curtly when his call was answered. 'I am ready to be collected.' He flicked the phone shut and walked into the front room.
It was dark in there, but he didn't bother to switch the light on. Instead he stood at the window and looked out over the wide expanse of countryside ahead of him, silently contemplating what he had to do. A group of renegade North Korean politicians were furious that their leader appeared to be losing his ambition for military supremacy. They had won his boss's little auction for the weapon this scientist had been developing without the knowledge of his RAF employers. It was Kasparov's job to check that everything was as it should be before the Vortex device was finally delivered. Once that happened, he could return to Russia, resign his commission and head straight to the little dacha in the countryside where he could allow himself time to decide how to spend his life and his money.
Gradually he became aware of headlamps in the distance. They grew hypnotically closer as Kasparov watched them impassively. Only when they were really quite near did he move. He walked out of the front door and waited for the car to stop.
When it did, another RAF soldier stepped out of it.
'Lieutenant Colonel Kasparov?'
'Flight Lieutenant Johnson?'
Johnson nodded. 'You have a coat?'
Kasparov shook his head. 'I am used to the Russian winter,' he said scornfully. 'I will not need a coat.'
Johnson shrugged. 'Whatever,' he said. 'Shall we go?'
'Yes,' Kasparov replied. 'We shall. I wish to see the Vortex device as soon as possible. Take me there now.'
And without a further word, he stepped into the back of the car, waiting impatiently for Flight Lieutenant Johnson to do as he had instructed.
Chapter Twelve
Chin-Hwa slept. As he slept, he dreamed. And as he dreamed, he saw terrible things.
He saw the cities of the world, their streets full of panicked people. He saw the fear in their faces, and the chaos all around them. He saw lines of hospital beds, their occupants thin and gaunt — the unmistakable look of the dying. He saw burning fireballs in the air, and heard the screams of the aeroplane passengers as they fell to earth, and to their death. He saw nuclear missiles flying undetected towards the West, and he wondered whether their arrival might not be a blessed release to the people they were sent to destroy.
And he saw Vortex. Small. Silent. Lethal. It did not care whom it affected: men or women, adults or children — everyone's life would be destroyed.
He shouted out in his sleep and awoke sweating. It took him a moment to realize that his dream had not been real, but in a way that was small comfort. It could be only too real, and very soon. And Chin-Hwa would have to take his share of the blame.
The meeting he'd had with the government men kept playing around in his head. London, New York, Los Angeles, Madrid. He never expected things to get this far. Vortex was just a deterrent. It was meant to keep the peace and stop the West from invading his country. No one ever intended to actually use it — at least that was what he'd been told. He was just being ordered to copy it. If he didn't do it, someone else would.
But as he dressed and stomped around his sparse apartment, he imagined more of the devastation the weapon could inflict on those major cities. He imagined the chaos. He imagined the death, the destruction. He told himself that it was not his fault. This would have gone ahead without him. And if he hadn't complied — his eyes flicked over to the door of the bedroom in which his mother now slept, even though it was the middle of the day. She spent more and more time in bed now; but he knew the fact that she was frail would not stop the government stooges from carrying out their threat. He was doing the right thing, he told himself, in keeping his knowledge to himself.
But what would she say? What would she say if he told her about Vortex and the terrible things it could do? And that thought led his eyes to fall upon a picture of his father. Ki-Woon had been a good man. Honest. Principled. Willing to die for what he believed in. He had told Chin-Hwa to look after his mother, but hadn't he himself followed his conscience all those years ago?
As he sat there, Chin-Hwa felt the absence of his father more bitterly than he ever had before. He would have known what to do. And Ki-Woon seemed to stare out of the picture at his son. 'Look into your heart, Chin-Hwa,' he seemed to say. 'Do what you think is right.'