Overkill (58 page)

One of the radio operators walked over to Lacomte and passed him a message. ‘Things are moving,’ Lacomte said. ‘The Hercules left Northolt a few minutes ago, and its estimate
for Reims is eight fifteen. Your helicopter is on its way from the
Gigènes
’ base at Maisons-Alfort, and should land here in about twenty minutes. Finally, your Tornado is
flight-planned out of RAF Honington and that will reach Reims no later than eight thirty our time.’

‘Good, and thank you,’ Richter said.

‘I’m out of here, Paul,’ John Westwood said, walking over to Richter. ‘I’m going back to Paris now, then on to London. From there, I don’t know. It all
depends on what happens down in Gibraltar, I guess, so good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ Richter said, shaking his hand. ‘I think I’m going to need it.’

10 Downing Street, London

‘The London weapon has been stopped in France, Prime Minister,’ Sir Michael Geraghty began, as he walked into the private office at number 10 Downing Street.
‘There were no casualties on our side, and the operation was entirely successful.’

‘Excellent news,’ the Prime Minister said, rubbing his hands and looking cheerful.

‘It isn’t all good news, unfortunately,’ Geraghty went on. He had been briefed by Simpson about Gibraltar only minutes earlier. ‘The architects of this scheme have
arranged a demonstration of the weapon’s power in Gibraltar, and we are racing to disarm the device before it can be detonated.’

The Prime Minister sat down, and motioned Geraghty to a chair. ‘Explain, please.’

‘There is a Russian ship there, Prime Minister, called the
Anton Kirov
,’ Geraghty began, and reached into his briefcase for his notebook.

Autoroute A26, vicinity of Couvron-et-Aumencourt, France

It was nearly nine thirty before the Aldermaston team finally completed the disarming of the weapon, and Dewar beckoned Richter over. ‘All done,’ he said.
‘Sorry it took so long, but we obviously didn’t want any accidents.’

‘Quite,’ Richter replied. ‘Will it take me as long with the Gibraltar weapon?’

Dewar shook his head firmly. ‘It shouldn’t do. Our main problem was not knowing how all the anti-tamper devices were rigged. You should be able to disable the other weapon in about
ten minutes. Now, come with me and I’ll show you.’

They climbed into the back of the lorry and looked at the Russian bomb. It was much smaller than Richter had expected, and didn’t look like a bomb at all. The outer steel box was about ten
feet long, four feet high and five wide. At one end of it were three large lead-acid batteries, wired in parallel, while the weapon itself was a virtually invisible three-foot-diameter cylinder
underneath a tangle of wires and cables in the centre of the box.

‘Right,’ said Dewar. ‘The first thing is the bank of batteries. Do not under any circumstances disconnect those, as they power the anti-tamper devices. If you interrupt the
power supply, all four circuits are made simultaneously, and the explosive charge will detonate. It won’t,’ he added, ‘trigger the bomb, but you won’t be around to
appreciate it.’

He pointed at the mass of cables. ‘You have to cut the following seven wires, in this sequence,’ he said, and gave Richter a sheet of paper on which he had written the colour coding
of the wires, and the order in which they were to be severed.

‘And that disarms the bomb?’ Richter asked.

‘Of course not,’ Dewar said, shaking his head. ‘That just means you can shift all this crap –’ he gestured at the wires ‘– and see the weapon. Now
watch.’ He bent down and undid four butterfly nuts, then lifted out a large aluminium plate in the centre of which was a sealed box and around the box most of the wiring. ‘The
box,’ he said, ‘contains about four kilos of plastic explosive, but once the wires are cut there’s no further danger from it.’ He put the plate down carefully on the floor
beside the box, and they both looked inside again.

‘This weapon,’ he began, ‘wasn’t armed. That is to say, the firing circuits and all the other components are present, but the connections hadn’t been made. I
presume that this would have been done once the weapon had been finally positioned.’ He pointed at a black plastic box with eight cables emerging from it. ‘This box is the link to the
power supply. The weapon can be powered either by a mains supply – one hundred and ten or two hundred and forty volts alternating current, or by a twelve-volt direct current from a battery
pack like the one in this container. In fact,’ he continued, ‘we believe it would normally be powered by the mains with the battery pack as a standby, as the circuitry incorporates a
battery charger.

‘Now listen carefully. When you look at the weapon in Gibraltar, you will probably see a cable entering the box, just here.’ He pointed. ‘That will be the power supply. Again,
as with the anti-handling devices, don’t interfere with it. This weapon doesn’t incorporate any kind of timing device, so we assume that it can only be detonated by an external signal
of some sort.’

‘That is what we have been told,’ Richter assured him.

‘The trigger,’ Dewar said, ‘is here – this black cylinder with the four leads attached to it. On the Gibraltar weapon, there will also be one or more other wires which
will be attached to whatever radio or communications device they are using to actuate it.’

Richter looked where he was pointing. The cylinder was about six inches in diameter and a foot long, and stuck at right angles out of the centre of the cylindrical bomb casing. ‘Do not
attempt to disconnect or interfere with any of these leads. The only safe way to disarm the weapon is to physically remove the trigger.’

He looked at Richter. ‘Are you good with your hands?’

‘I hope so,’ Richter said.

‘So do I, because if you cock this bit up there’ll be a sodding great bang and most of Gibraltar will disappear. You,’ he added, ‘will be the first to know about
it.’ Dewar wasn’t smiling. ‘The trigger is held in place by six Allen bolts – or rather Russian variants of them. These look like normal Allen bolts, with recessed hexagonal
sockets in the heads, but differ in one important way. They have a left-hand thread, instead of the usual right-hand. That means that to undo the bolts you turn them clockwise.’

‘Why have they done that?’ Richter asked. ‘Just to be bloody awkward?’

Dewar glanced briefly towards the rear of the trailer. ‘If this was a French device, I’d agree with you,’ he said. ‘French engineering makes a point of complicating
everything for no readily apparent reason. In this case, though, I think it’s just to ensure that the correct bolts are used. The pressures generated within a nuclear weapon at the moment of
detonation boggle the mind, and it is essential that the trigger assembly remains in place for the period intended by the designer. These bolts have been specially made and have enormous tensile
strength.’

He selected a ratchet handle from a socket set and attached a six-inch extension to it. Then he fitted an Allen bolt key to the end and snapped it into the head of one of the bolts.
‘You’ll find that they’ll take some shifting,’ he said. ‘We calculated the torque setting used at about three hundred foot-pounds. We removed all these earlier, so
there’s no problem.’ Working quickly, he undid and removed five of the six bolts, then steadied the cylinder with one hand while he removed the last one. Then he put both hands around
the cylinder and eased it slowly out of the bomb casing.

‘It’s quite heavy,’ he said, ‘but the important thing is to avoid it touching the sides of the casing as you remove it. If you do that, you could earth the cylinder and
that might activate the trigger. I’m not saying it would, but it could, and I wouldn’t want to try it.’

‘Nor would I, thanks. And then?’

‘You’re almost there. With the trigger out of the sphere, put it on the floor and cut the four leads attached to it.’

Richter was puzzled. ‘Won’t that fire the trigger?’

‘Yes, of course. Oh – I see what you mean. This isn’t an explosive trigger; it’s mechanical.’ He held it up so that Richter could see it, and pointed at the sides.
‘These four bolts are recessed at present,’ he said. ‘When the trigger fires they will extend simultaneously and make contact with four electrically active panels on the inside of
the hole in the bomb casing. That will complete the electrical circuit which triggers the explosive charge that actually fires the weapon. It’s an unusual system,’ he mused, ‘and
there are some odd features in the design of the weapon itself.’

‘You might,’ Richter said, ‘get a chance to look at it more closely later on. Anything else I should know?’

‘Only to keep your fingers out of the way of the four bolts when you cut the wires attached to the trigger,’ he said, ‘but otherwise, that’s it.’

‘What about radiation from the weapon?’ Richter asked. ‘Once the trigger’s been removed, I mean.’

‘We’ve measured it, and it’s not significant,’ Dewar replied. ‘The fissionable material is obviously shielded within the bomb casing itself.’

‘OK, I’m happy with the disarming instructions, but please give me your mobile phone number now, and leave the mobile switched on for the next twenty-four hours. That’s just in
case I meet any other problems down in Gibraltar.’

‘Of course,’ Dewar said. He wrote a number on a slip of paper and gave it to Richter.

‘Oh, one last thing,’ Richter said, ‘can I borrow the socket set and your pliers?’

Reims airport, France

The Alouette dropped out of the darkening sky and settled on to a concrete hardstanding to the north of the main runway at Reims airport. The ground marshaller dropped his
light wands into the ‘park’ position – in a cross below his waist – and the pilot commenced the shutdown sequence. As the clattering of the rotors died away, Richter
unstrapped and climbed out. A figure standing beside the marshaller walked over to him. ‘Mr Beatty?’

‘Yes.’

‘Squadron Leader Reilly, 9 Squadron. I believe I’m your driver.’ They walked over to a small building adjacent to a hangar and entered. Inside, another RAF officer was waiting.
‘Flight Lieutenant Peter Marnane, my navigator.’

‘Beatty,’ Richter said.

Reilly pointed to a set of flying clothing draped over a chair. ‘We were given your measurements, so hopefully that lot should fit,’ he said. ‘While you’re dressing, a
few questions.’

Richter took off his jacket, and there was a noticeable pause as the RAF officers saw the Smith and Wesson in the shoulder rig. Richter took it off and undid his tie. ‘Fire
away.’

‘Have you flown in a fast jet before?’ Reilly asked.

‘Yes,’ Richter said. ‘I’m ex-Navy and a qualified Sea Harrier pilot, and I’ve also flown Jet Provosts, Hawks, Jaguars and a MiG–29 Fulcrum.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Marnane.

Richter grinned at him. ‘I was joking about the Fulcrum,’ he said. Richter pulled on the long underwear and long-sleeve pullover, then climbed into the g-suit, designed to keep the
supply of blood to the brain as constant as possible during high-energy manoeuvres, while Reilly went through a pre-flight safety briefing. The life-saving jacket was an unusual design with sleeves
to accommodate the arm restraints Tornado crews wear to protect them if they have to eject at high speeds. Finally he put on the helmet and gloves.

‘Before we go out to the Tornado,’ Reilly said, ‘I have to remind you that it is a two-crewman aircraft, and isn’t designed to accommodate a pilot plus a passenger. I
know you’re a qualified pilot, but not on the Tornado, and there will be some operations that you will have to carry out for me. Obviously I will talk you through them, but Peter has prepared
a kind of idiot’s guide to the switches and controls for you.’

‘OK.’

‘Finally, I am aware that you carry substantial authority, otherwise I’d be tucked up cosily at home in Lincolnshire instead of standing in an unventilated hut in the middle of
France. But I must emphasize that I am the aircraft captain, and all decisions relating to the safety of the aircraft are mine. You must obey any and all orders I give without question, unless of
course you don’t understand them.’

‘Agreed,’ Richter said.

Reilly smiled. ‘And if I say “eject”, and you say “pardon”—’

‘I know,’ Richter finished it for him, ‘I’ll be talking to myself.’

The Panavia Tornado GR–1 was parked on the adjacent hardstanding. Marnane clambered up the steps positioned against the port side of the aircraft and leant into the rear cockpit.
‘He’s switching on the Inertial Navigation System and warming up the radar,’ Reilly said, then walked round the aircraft carrying out external pre-flight checks.

Marnane helped Richter get into the rear seat, which was easier than he had expected. Strapping into the Martin-Baker Mark 10 ejection seat was slightly non-standard. First, the personal
survival pack, which actually forms the seat cushion, was attached to a lanyard on the life-saving jacket, and then Marnane fastened the negative-g, lap and shoulder straps. Then he attached the
leg restraints which hold the legs firmly against the seat in the event of an ejection and fastened the arm restraints to the life-saving jacket. Finally, Richter put on the helmet, plugged the
communications lead into the intercom system and attached the oxygen mask.

Reilly was already sitting in the front cockpit, and as soon as Marnane tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a thumbs-up sign, he called on the intercom. ‘Ready, Mr Beatty?’

‘Ready,’ Richter said.

‘Your mobile is switched off and your weapon and other equipment are stowed?’

‘Yes,’ Richter replied. ‘They’re in the storage compartment.’

‘OK. Closing the canopy.’ Richter heard the whine as the electric motor drove the canopy down into the closed position, and Reilly talked briefly – and in French, Richter noted
– to the ground crew, who were linked to the aircraft’s intercom, and started the starboard engine, then the port. ‘You’ll feel some bumps and shudders now,’ Reilly
said on the intercom. ‘I’m running the BITE program.’

‘What’s that?’ Richter asked.

‘It’s a computer-driven pre-flight check which exercises all the flight control surfaces in sequence, plus the intake control system,’ he replied. ‘Once it’s
finished, the aircraft lets us know if it wants to fly or not.’