Maralinga (9 page)

‘Yes, he telephoned this morning, while you were in London.'

‘Good heavens above, why didn't you tell me?'

‘There seemed so many other things to talk about, didn't there?' Lavinia's attention remained focused upon the maid as Bessie carefully placed the tray on the coffee table between them. ‘He's very much looking forward to being home.'

‘Well, I shall certainly tell the department that I'm unavailable until after the festive season,' Harold said, rubbing his hands together in pleasurable anticipation, perhaps of his son's arrival or perhaps of his afternoon tea – it was difficult to tell which as he eyed the dish of scones. ‘I very much look forward to his being home too. They are
warmed
, aren't they?' he asked.

‘Yes, m'lord.' Bessie nodded as she set out the Spode fine bone china side plates, together with the linen napkins and silver cake knives. ‘Freda's had them in a hot oven for a good five –'

‘Excellent, excellent. So when does he get here?'

‘In a fortnight – just three days before Christmas.'

‘What fun. How jolly.'

Harold enjoyed his son's company; they had a great deal in common. Twenty-four-year-old Nigel, having emulated his father, had joined the diplomatic corps and was currently an attaché at the British embassy in Rome.

‘And I told you, didn't I,' Lavinia continued, ‘that Catherine will be arriving Saturday week?'

‘Yes, you did mention it, I recall.'

The news wasn't of equal interest. Harold didn't really understand his daughter, and wasn't sure if he cared to. Catherine was nineteen, studying art in Paris and had turned into quite the bohemian. He'd threatened to cut off her allowance the previous year if she didn't enrol in university, or at least attend the Swiss finishing school he'd offered, but her mother had taken the girl's side in the argument. ‘She's very headstrong, my dear, and she'll go to Paris in any event, so it might as well be with our support – God knows what she'll get up to otherwise. Just for the two years of her art course, Harold. And she
is
very talented, you must admit.' Harold had reluctantly acquiesced, but he'd been annoyed that Catherine had not followed her brother's example and conformed to the image expected of one of her station in life. Her behaviour did not at all befit the daughter of a man in his position.

‘I'll pour, thank you, Bessie,' Lavinia said.

‘Very good, m'lady.' Bessie bobbed and left, closing the doors behind her.

Silence reigned briefly while Lavina poured the tea and Harold attacked the scones. After slicing one down the middle, he smothered both halves with jam and then piled on the clotted cream.

‘My God, that woman's worth her weight in gold,' he said as he devoured the first half. Freda was undoubtedly the best cook they'd ever had.

‘You said Maralinga is to be a
permanent
testing ground,' Lavinia remarked, passing him his tea. ‘How long do you anticipate being there yourself?'

‘Oh, I'll come and go somewhat, I would think.' Harold put down the cup and saucer, tea untouched, his scone taking priority as he embarked on the second half. ‘I plan to have an office permanently based there and a cipher clerk on site to send me regular reports, but I'll front up for the detonations. The first series of tests won't take place until around September next year; they have to finish building the place first.' He shovelled the remains of the scone into his mouth and reached for another. ‘Aren't you having any of these?'

‘I ate a late lunch.'

‘Ah, right.' He piled more jam onto his side plate. ‘I'll be off on a recce trip shortly, of course – have a look at the site and check out the Australian scientific representatives. Although I have dossiers on all three and they're not only harmless, they're ideal.' He gave a snort of laughter as he scooped up a spoonful of cream. ‘Two of them are actually
British
– accepted positions in Australia after the war – perfect choices to liaise with the Australian government. Penney's done a damn good job there, have to give him that much.'

Harold paused long enough to demolish another half a scone, then, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, continued. ‘I'll be gone a good several weeks, I'd think, given the travel there and back, and I need to get the full layout of the place. I must say, the
prospect intrigues me. Do you know they're building a ruddy great township in the middle of the desert? It's quite extraordinary. The airstrip's a mile and a half long! Imagine that. Right out there in the middle of nowhere. Quite, quite extraordinary.'

He contemplated the remaining half-scone that sat on his plate and decided against it, picking up his cup and saucer instead. ‘They'll want me to leave pretty soon, I should imagine, but I'll stave off any plans until the new year so I can catch up with Nigel.' Then he hastily added, ‘Catherine too, of course – don't want to miss out on the family Christmas, what?'

He could tell from the look in his wife's eyes that she was on the verge of beseeching him, yet again, to disguise his blatant favouritism in the presence of the children, but Harold couldn't be bothered talking about Catherine. He had far more important and exciting things on his mind.

‘I have a plan up my sleeve which I don't intend to share with the boffins,' he said, ‘nor with the armed forces. In fact, just to be on the safe side, I shan't even inform my own officer who's to be stationed there.' He leaned back in his armchair, cup and saucer cradled against his chest. ‘There will be a covert MI6 operative salted amongst them,' he announced with a smug smile. Then, little finger delicately extended, he lifted the cup to his lips and sipped. Harold always drank tea in the daintiest manner.

‘I'm having one of my top undercover men seconded to Maralinga,' he said, and toyed briefly with the notion of telling her who – she knew Gideon Melbray from their embassy days in Washington. But he decided against it.
No names, no pack drill
must remain the
order of the day. Pity, he thought, he'd have enjoyed her reaction. Lavinia had liked Gideon a great deal, he remembered, she'd found him a most attractive fellow. But then, everyone did. People were drawn to Gideon's beauty and tended to trust him – which, of course, made him such a valuable covert operative.

‘By jove,' he said with a gleeful grin, ‘wouldn't old Penney be just livid if he knew he had an MI6 spy in his midst.'

 

‘I have to say I'm not happy about this, Harold. I'm not happy about this at all.'

Three days later, having been informed by the Prime Minister's Office of MI6's involvement, Sir William Penney appeared bordering on livid, which was unusual for a man of his normally affable disposition.

‘Just a precautionary measure, old chap. You mustn't take it personally.'

Aware of the perverse pleasure Harold Dartleigh was finding in his one-upmanship, Penney wondered exactly how else he was supposed to take it. ‘I have headed Britain's nuclear weapons program since 1947,' he began testily. ‘My leadership skills have never been questioned –'

‘And they're not being questioned now.' Harold was quick to appease, although he felt superior – Penney was such a typical boffin in his opinion. Good God, even the look of the man – small in stature, lanky straight hair, horn-rimmed glasses … It was a source of wonder how he'd ever achieved leadership in the first place, Harold thought. ‘No-one's undermining your authority, William. We're just keeping an overall
eye on things for security purposes. Can't be too careful after the Fuchs affair, can we?'

The comment only added insult to injury as far as Penney was concerned. ‘There's been not the slightest hint of any breach of security throughout the tests I've conducted.'

‘Well …' Harold looked just a little dubious. ‘A whisper did reach our ears that Operation Hurricane came close to being compromised.'

‘How?' William Penney was understandably appalled. Having received a knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II for heading the successful detonation of Britain's first nuclear device in the Monte Bello Islands, he was outraged that Dartleigh should cast a shadow over the momentous event. ‘How and by whom, exactly, was Operation Hurricane
compromised
?'

‘Oh, come, come, William,
you
of
all
people can't expect me to answer such a question.' Harold managed to flatter and patronise at the same time, a skill he'd perfected over the years. ‘
Need to know,
old man.' He smiled and tapped his nose with his forefinger in true conspiratorial fashion. ‘
Need to know.
'

The adage was one Sir William Penney himself regularly used, and the practice was one he intended to adopt at Maralinga, where everyone, scientists and armed forces alike, would work strictly on a need-to-know-only basis. It was clear that Harold Dartleigh intended to annoy him, Penney thought. He maintained a dignified silence.

Harold decided it was time to back off. ‘Nothing to worry about, William, I can assure you. A minor leak – safely discovered and contained.' There had been
no breach of security at all at Monte Bello, but Harold had felt the need to establish himself in the pecking order. ‘Just as I can assure you,' he continued, ‘that MI6 will in no way influence the chain of command at Maralinga.' He smiled jovially. ‘Good heavens above, I won't even be there half the time.'

‘I trust you will communicate that in the briefing,' Penney said stiffly. ‘Shall we go in? I believe they're ready for us.'

William Penney had reluctantly invited Harold Dartleigh to a heads of departments meeting at Aldermaston in Berkshire. Roughly twenty miles northwest of Aldershot, RAF Aldermaston, an abandoned World War II airfield, had for several years been the selected home for Britain's nuclear weapons program.

‘After you, William.' Harold stepped courteously aside, giving a quick nod as he did so to Ned Hanson, his assisting officer, who had been waiting by the main doors discreetly out of earshot. ‘After you.'

Ned joined them, and the three entered the briefing room, where around twenty men were seated waiting. Scientists and engineers from every area of expertise, they headed the various departments of Sir William Penney's research team.

Harold and Ned Hanson sat in the vacant chairs that had been reserved for them down the front, while William Penney marched directly to the table facing the assembly, behind which, on the wall, was a projection screen. He did not introduce Harold Dartleigh, nor did he make any formal address to the gathering, having greeted his team earlier and chatted with each man personally, well before the arrival of the MI6 representatives.

‘Let's get straight down to business, shall we,' he said, signalling to his young assistant who was standing by the slide projector at the rear of the room.

Shades were drawn over the windows, the room dimmed, and a large map of Australia appeared on the screen. Picking up the slender wooden baton that served as an indicator, William Penney proceeded to give an account of the testing ground, its location and the reasons for its choice.

The Maralinga site, he explained, was approximately 250 miles north-west of the coastal township of Ceduna, and roughly 600 miles from Adelaide, the capital city of South Australia. A remote region where the Great Victoria Desert met the Nullarbor Plain, it was barren, uninhabited and the perfect choice for nuclear weapon testing. The desert terrain was flat with little scrub cover, but sandhills to the south formed a natural barrier, which was ideal for security purposes. His glance at Harold Dartleigh was a reminder that security was always uppermost in his mind.

Harold read the meaning in the glance and smiled pleasantly.

Penney called for the next slide, and a plan of the site appeared on the screen. He talked his team through its layout: the landing strip and airport, the experimental areas and laboratories, and the village designed to accommodate, during peak requirements, up to 3000 men.

Contrary to Harold's scathing opinion, William Penney excelled in command, and the team members present, most of whom had worked with him on previous projects and held him in high regard, listened respectfully as he continued.

Further slides were projected and, over images depicting a vast and desolate landscape, Penney explained the harsh conditions under which they would all live – the searing heat of the days and the unexpected chill of the desert nights. He summed up with good humour, however. ‘Most of the time it'll be as hot as Hades,' he said, ‘but the army is building a swimming pool, so all is not lost.'

There were chuckles amongst the men, and, as Penney placed the baton on the table signalling the end of his talk, there was a smattering of applause, which he acknowledged but quickly stemmed, holding up his hands for silence.

‘I have received notification from the Prime Minister's Office that MI6 is taking a particularly strong interest in the Maralinga project. As everyone here is aware, security has been a foremost issue in all our past work, and will continue to be so at Maralinga. I am sure, therefore, that you will all join me in welcoming aboard Harold Lord Dartleigh, who, as most of you will know, is the deputy director of MI6.'

The abrupt, and very pointed, introduction did not in the least bother Harold who rose from his chair offering his hand.

‘Thank you, Sir William,' he said.

As they shook, Harold gained a smug satisfaction from the image they presented. No-one could fail to notice that the peer of the realm stood a good half a head taller than the bespectacled little scientist.

Gesturing that the floor was now Harold's, William Penney retired to a nearby chair, and Harold initiated a token round of applause, which to some might have seemed just a fraction patronising.