The Titanic Enigma (12 page)

‘My dear girl,’ Campion said and held her tight. ‘What on earth brings you here? It’s not my birthday, is it, Joan?’ he added, turning to his wife.

She rolled her eyes and was starting to usher in her guest when Kate said, ‘I have a colleague with me, in the car. I wanted to check you were home first.’

‘Oh, we’re always home,’ Joan Campion remarked, leaning out and seeing Lou in the car. He gave her a brief wave, opened the driver’s door and approached along the
path.

The Campions’ house was a modest but cozy home that suited them perfectly. Their two sons, Nick and Simon, had left some twenty years ago, but their presence remained in plentiful
photographs on the living-room wall and atop a grand piano that took pride of place in a small conservatory looking out onto a lush rear garden.

Joan fussed over the young pair, fetching tea and freshly baked cake as the professor led them to his study. This was a room perfectly appropriate for a world-famous academic. There was an
intense odour of tobacco in the study, ancient and ripe, a smell that came from smoke ingrained in the fibre of the place, and the room itself seemed anchored by the sheer weight of books filling
floor-to-ceiling shelves. A cluttered desk stood in the bay of a large window offering a view onto trees and a grey cloudy sky. Books had spilled over into precarious piles close to the shelves. A
Brahms piano sonata played softly.

Campion found two battered chairs, offered them to Kate and Lou and paced around his desk. Moving some papers, he tugged out an ancient-looking cassette player, switched off the Brahms and
pulled up his chair.

‘So, my dear, although it is always a delight to see you, to what do we owe the pleasure?’

‘Lou and I have been commissioned to work on a project for the navy at Norfolk Base,’ Kate began.

‘The last I heard you were off to some exotic place. Where was it . . . Fiji?’

‘Bermuda.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Campion was suddenly distracted, moving books and papers in search of something. He had his pipe clenched between his teeth. A moment later he extricated a box of matches,
struck one and brought it to the bowl of his pipe.‘So, young man,’ he said, turning to Lou. ‘You are a marine archaeologist too?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied.‘Kate and I were working together on the wreck of a pilgrim ship.’

‘Fascinating, fascinating. But how on earth did that lead you into the clutches of the US Navy?’ Campion sucked on his pipe.

‘It was Marine Phenomenon REZ375. The
Titanic
site.’

‘The what?’

‘You may not have heard,’ Kate said, ‘there’s a serious radiation leak from the wreck of the
Titanic
.’

‘Radiation leak?’

At that moment, Joan Campion appeared in the doorway with a tray. She came in and searched for a place to put it. ‘George, you really must try to sort this room out,’ she declared.
Lou got up to help clear a space and found a small table, carefully transferring a pile of papers to the floor. He took the tray.

‘Thank you, young man.’

‘Shall I pour?’ Lou asked.

‘No, no, thank you . . . you sit down.’ Joan served the tea and cake, taking a slice and a cup round the desk to her husband before leaving them to it.

Kate and Lou took turns to explain what had happened and went on to describe the descent to the
Titanic.
Campion grew animated at this, interrupting them to ask how the suits worked,
how Derham’s sonar device functioned. They did their best to explain. When Kate started to describe the mathematical text and the initials EF, Campion looked startled. Lou finished by
detailing what little they had learned from the box of papers.

For several moments Campion said nothing. Getting up from his chair, he puffed on his pipe and turned to look out at the wet trees and the grass. Kate studied the man’s profile, his strong
nose and high forehead wreathed with bluish pipe smoke.

‘So, you have copies of the papers?’ the professor said suddenly, turning back to face his guests.

Kate leaned down to a small attaché case she had brought. Unzipping it, she handed a sheaf of papers to the old man.

‘These are photocopies, of course,’ Lou said. ‘They are taken from the original twenty-two pages of notes and mathematical formulae we found.’

‘And the navy people haven’t studied them?’

‘We showed them to a guy at Norfolk – Professor Max Newman.’

‘Ah, yes, I know Max well. A fine scientist.’

‘I have no doubt,’ Kate replied. ‘But he wasn’t very helpful.’

‘I see. Let’s go through to the dining room,’ Campion said. ‘Less clutter there. We can have a proper look at these.’

They could hear Joan in the kitchen as George Campion spread out the sheets on the dining table. He fell silent as he studied the lines of equations.

‘Ah, yes, now this is interesting,’ the scientist said half to himself while running a finger across the second page of symbols. ‘Clearly a very sophisticated line of research.
Yes,’ he added and peered down at the pages. ‘Remarkable, quite remarkable.’

Lou wanted to ask what was so remarkable but a look from Kate warned him to hold back. After some time concentrating on the papers, Campion looked up, removed his spectacles and stared at his
young guests.

‘You say these came from the
Titanic?’

‘Yes. From the same cabin where the radiation source was found.’

The old man shook his head slowly. ‘And you said the box these came in was marked with the initials “EF”?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Campion put his glasses back on and gave the equations another look. ‘If I had been given these by anyone else,’ he said and looked up again, ‘I would not have believed it.
Even so, I find it hard to conceive.’

‘Why?’

‘Because these equations describe a way of harnessing the power of the atom – a theory describing how to make an atomic bomb.’

Kate felt a tingle pass down her spine. ‘How? The
Titanic
sank decades before scientists developed the theories that led to Los Alamos and the bombs used in 1945.’

‘Yes.’

‘So you’re saying that this EF went down on the
Titanic
and he had the secret of how to build an atomic weapon before the First World War!’ Lou leaned back in his
chair, arms folded across his chest. ‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘Well, I would have said exactly the same thing five minutes ago.’

‘But how?’ Lou went on, staring at Campion then at Kate.

‘Well, EF was a remarkable man.’

‘Who was—?’

‘Who was EF?’ Campion said, a faint smile playing across his lips. ‘Egbert Fortescue.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘That’s because he died before he could really make his mark on the world. He was Ernest Rutherford’s assistant at Manchester University. According to the history books, he was
the victim of a drowning accident in Manchester in 1912. His body was never found. Some have speculated that he was the real genius behind some of his boss’s discoveries.’

‘So you’re saying,’ Lou replied, ‘that Rutherford and this Fortescue guy discovered a way to harness atomic power a generation before the accepted version of history? And
that Fortescue then died on the
Titanic,
taking his secrets with him?’

‘It seems to be the only explanation.’

‘He was probably being secretive on the ship, travelling under the pseudonym John Wickins,’ Kate added. ‘But how could he and Rutherford have done it? The process to harness
the power of the atom, I mean.’

‘Both men were profoundly brilliant. It’s clear from this –’ the professor tapped the nearest page ‘– they were decades ahead of their time. But it’s
also startling that Rutherford and Fortescue’s method was entirely different from the process Lise Meitner and Otto Hahn developed in the 1930s which led to the Allies building the first
atomic weapon at Los Alamos.’

‘Different?’ Lou said.

‘Rutherford and Fortescue have come at it from left of field, but it looks very effective.’

‘But,’ Kate said, ‘what was Fortescue doing on the
Titanic?’

Professor Campion seemed to have lost interest and was looking down at the pages again, running a finger across the equations, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose. ‘Good
Lord!’ he exclaimed suddenly and straightened.

‘What?’ Kate and Lou said in unison.

Campion ignored them, plucking up the last page he had been reading.

‘Uncle George?’

He turned to Kate, a lost look on his face. ‘It’s hard to believe! I don’t know if this is work that Rutherford was doing with Fortescue or if it was something the young man
was developing on board the
Titanic
, but it’s truly remarkable.’

‘Uncle, you’re talking in riddles!’

The old man ignored Kate and focused on the pages. Then he put them back down carefully on the table. ‘Astonishing!’ he said and looked at his young guests. ‘These later
equations describe a means to develop cold fusion.’

‘But I thought—’

‘That we can’t do that today?’ the professor interrupted.

‘Well, yes,’ Lou said.

‘We can’t,’ Campion said. ‘You probably know there have been many attempts, but Rutherford and Fortescue were almost . . .’

They all fell silent for a few moments, taking in the enormity of what the professor had just said. Kate and Lou each knew enough physics to realize this work had the potential to solve all the
world’s power demands with clean, almost limitless resources.

‘It must have been Fortescue doing this work on his own, when he was on the ship during the first days of the voyage leading up to the night the
Titanic
hit the iceberg,’
said Campion.

‘How can you possibly know that?’ Kate asked.

‘There’s a faint imprint at the top of the paper . . . see?’

Kate and Lou leaned over and saw the words: ‘White Star’.

‘The company insignia,’ Kate said. ‘How did we miss that?’

‘Fortescue’s reasoning, though . . . it seems to jump,’ the professor went on. ‘Hang on . . .’

The room fell silent except for sounds from the kitchen.

‘There’s a dramatic leap in the math . . . but Fortescue must have reasoned through the missing section. He couldn’t have gone straight from here to here.’ Campion tapped
at the paper.

‘What do you mean, sir?’ Lou asked.

‘This isn’t all of it,’ the elderly man said. ‘It’s clear Fortescue was working away on this stuff solo, developing these ideas about cold fusion while he was
crossing the Atlantic. Problem is . . . there’s a chunk missing. There must be another set of documents somewhere that fills in the gaps. And I guess they can only be in one place,
can’t they?’

It had grown dark and storm clouds had brought with them a fretful, squally evening.

Lou and Kate had agreed to stay for dinner and George Campion built a fire from logs that had been stacked in an old brass bucket beside the grate. He had just managed to get a roaring blaze
going as Joan Campion came through from the kitchen pushing a trolley carrying a huge casserole dish. Lou lifted it into place on the table and Joan started serving the piping-hot food into heavily
patterned bowls.

The guests made appropriately appreciative noises as they sampled the casserole.

‘Joan is an exceptional cook,’ George commented. ‘You can see it wasn’t just her looks that attracted me to her.’

Kate and Lou laughed.

‘And it wasn’t his sense of humour that hooked me!’ Joan retorted with a grin.

‘So, professor, you believe Fortescue’s notes are just chunks of the last work he did?’ Lou asked. ‘You’re sure it’s not all there in the
documents?’

‘Sadly, it’s not. There are gaps. In the papers are a few conclusions, but they could not have been reached just from the equations in the rest of the material.’

‘But there are some important results on the way to realizing cold fusion?’

‘I didn’t say that. There are no final solutions in the papers you’ve recovered, just partial solutions. If you can get the missing sections, then I think . . . we might just
be able to piece together what the man was thinking and see if it was indeed a practical solution.’

‘So, who’s for coffee?’ Joan asked.

Kate and Lou helped clear the plates, but Joan insisted only Kate and she should take them to the kitchen while Lou and George refuelled the fire.

Joan put the kettle on and ensured the door was closed. ‘So, Kate, is Lou your young man?’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘We work together.’

‘Come on,’ the older woman coaxed. ‘He is a sweetheart and very handsome; those blue eyes!’

‘Joan!’ Kate exclaimed and set some cups and saucers on a tray. ‘Look, we were romantically involved a while back, but . . .’

‘But?’

‘It got too complicated. We agreed to just stay friends.’

Joan gave Kate a sceptical look.

‘That’s how it is, Joan.’

‘I can sense a lot more going on between you.’

‘Can you now!’ Kate placed the milk jug on the tray and her godmother made the coffees. ‘You’re an incorrigible romantic, aunt.’

Joan led the way back into the dining room and Kate helped her distribute the cups.

‘So what happens next?’ George asked.

Lou shrugged. ‘To be honest, professor, we’re playing it by ear.’

‘I don’t really know that we can be much help to the military,’ Kate said. ‘It’ll be up to their science guys to make anything of what we brought up. I imagine
studying the isotope will be their first priority.’

‘They’ll try to reverse engineer,’ George offered. ‘But, really, the important thing is not so much the ibnium isotope, it’s Fortescue’s documents.’

‘But as you said, uncle, if he had the rest of the work with him on the ship, it has almost certainly been destroyed.’

Lou glanced at his watch and turned to Kate. ‘I think maybe we ought to head back.’

‘You’re most welcome to stay the night,’ Joan offered. ‘It’s pretty foul out there.’

‘That’s very kind of you, aunt,’ Kate replied. ‘But we’ve got an awful lot of work to catch up on.’

‘That was absolutely delicious, Mrs Campion,’ Lou said. ‘I wish we could stay longer. ‘He turned to George. ‘And thank you, sir, for sparing the time . .
.’