The Titanic Enigma (7 page)

They made a good partnership. Rutherford was the senior one of the pair, acclaimed both within the scientific community and beyond; Fortescue, twelve years younger than the
professor, but still not quite thirty, had already published three important papers and was widely regarded as one of the brightest of his generation, a man set for greatness.

The idea behind the experiment was for a stream of particles called neutrons to be fired at the box at the far end of the bench. The box contained an incredibly small quantity of a
substance Rutherford had christened ibnium. It was what scientists called an unstable heavy element. The objective was to smash the neutrons into this minute fragment of ibnium, causing a tiny
controlled explosion inside the mahogany box. Attached to the box were wires connected to a collection of special measuring instruments, each of which had been handmade at the university workshops
in the basement of this building. These instruments could measure the size of the tiny explosion, and from this data the scientists hoped to calculate the power of the process occurring when the
neutrons hit the sample of ibnium.

‘I think we’re ready, sir,’ Fortescue said after triple-checking a set of wires connected to one of the generators close to the neutron emitter.

‘Well, we could go on checking until the cows come home, old chap,’ Rutherford replied. ‘But at some point we have to let this beauty do its stuff.’ And he
patted the top of the emitter – a curved sheet of steel stretching over a large cylinder half-buried beneath a tangle of wires and metal cables.

Fortescue walked over to the windows running along one side of the room and drew closed two pairs of heavy black curtains. Rutherford switched on a low-wattage lamp close to the
control box. A rectangular glass screen stood in front of the control panel. It reached seven feet into the air and was five feet wide. The two men took up position behind it and Rutherford went
through the complicated process of getting the generator to maximum power and achieving the correct voltage, which he measured on a rather temperamental voltmeter to one side of the main control
box. The coils inside the neutron emitter started to hum as they warmed up. Vacuum tubes in the main unit under the curved steel panel glowed an intense white, creating a ghostly halo at one end of
the twilit room.

‘So, Egbert. Are you ready?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Fortescue replied.

‘Righty-ho. On three. One . . . two . . . three.’ And Rutherford pulled on a lever in the centre of the control panel.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, barely audible at first, the humming of the vacuum tubes increased in pitch and a buzzing sound started up within the emitter. Rutherford and
Fortescue stared through the glass, rapt, each lost in their own world of hope and anxiety. Rutherford’s right hand moved to a second lever and he pulled it back slowly. The humming and the
buzzing grew suddenly louder.

‘So far, so good,’ Fortescue said and was just turning back to the experiment when an incredibly loud squeal burst from within the neutron emitter. A bright-orange beam
of light shot across the room, making the air sizzle as it went. The intense stink of ozone reached their noses and stung their eyes. The beam hit the metal dish on the front of the receptor. There
was a bright flash and the two men saw a fireball expand from the heart of the device then rapidly dissolve. The mahogany box exploded with a low-pitched thudding sound, sending shards of wood and
metal around the room. A section of the receptor dish slammed into the screen protecting the physicists. It cracked the glass with a piercing snap of noise. Both men ducked
involuntarily.

As the boom of the explosion died away, the emitter let out a squalling sound; the noise from the vacuum tubes ebbed to nothing and their white glow faded. Rutherford and Fortescue
rose from where they had crouched under the control panel, each looking a little sheepish. The younger man ran a hand through his slick black hair and a smile broke across his
face.

‘Well, I say, sir,’ he commented quietly. ‘That was . . . well . . . really quite astonishing.’

London. 16 February 1912.

During the weekend, the mercury had risen. In London, it was not so bitterly cold as it had been in the Manchester lab where Fortescue and Rutherford had
conducted their experiments. Indeed, as the hansom cab turned into Whitehall, the sun was high in a blue unclouded sky and the trees lining the street were free of frost for the first time in two
months.

Rutherford was nervous. ‘You have everything straight in your mind, Egbert?’ he asked, turning in the seat to face his assistant.

‘I hope so,’ Fortescue responded with a grin. ‘Bit late now if I haven’t, sir.’

‘I’m being serious, man!’

Fortescue nodded, his face straight. ‘I could not be better prepared, professor.’

Rutherford turned at a noise from outside and peered through the glass. The grey stone buildings and black railings were sliding past, but then out of the corner of his eye he caught
something quite extraordinary. Two women had handcuffed themselves to a line of railings close to the entrance to Downing Street. In their free hands they held placards. One declared: VOTES FOR
WOMEN; the other proclaimed: WOMEN BRING ALL VOTERS INTO THE WORLD. They were yelling something he could not make out.

‘Good Lord!’ Rutherford declared, unable to draw his eyes away from the spectacle.

‘What is it?’ Fortescue asked. Rutherford did not answer, just pointed towards the women. The younger man managed to catch a glimpse of a black dress and a crisp white
blouse, then he saw a police officer walking briskly towards the protesters. The hansom turned right into Downing Street and the sounds of the suffragettes dwindled to nothing.

The cab stopped outside number 10 and the door on Rutherford’s side was opened by a footman who escorted the two scientists up the steps, past the police officer on duty and
through the black door into the hall.

The two visitors each carried a briefcase stuffed with documents and scientific papers. The footman guided them towards the sweeping staircase and led the way up. To their left hung
portraits and photographs of the thirty-two prime ministers preceding the present incumbent dating all the way back to Robert Walpole.

They reached the first-floor landing. The footman stepped to one side of a door with a brass handle, bowed and swung the door inwards.

They were the last to arrive. The four men already in the room rose together and the Prime Minister, Herbert Asquith, came round a dark oak table dominating the centre of the room,
his right hand extended.

Asquith had a warm, lean, intelligent face, slightly unruly white hair and a piercing gaze. He escorted the new arrivals to the table and began his introductions.

‘Gentlemen, I’m sure these men need no introduction, but good manners demand it of me.’ Asquith indicated the man to the left of the three, a rounded-faced
individual wreathed in blue smoke from a fat cigar. A chubby hand was stretched out towards them. Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty. Asquith then nodded to the middle man.
‘This,’ he said, ‘is Mr Whitelaw Reid, the United States Ambassador to the Court of St James.’ The American was elderly, a little stooped with a shock of pure white hair and
a neatly trimmed beard. He gave the two scientists a curt nod and shook their hands. And here,’ added Asquith, ‘is someone you may have already met: Mr Thomas Edison, who has sailed
over from New York to attend this meeting.’

Rutherford and Fortescue were a little taken aback.

‘My goodness!’ Rutherford exclaimed. ‘No, we have not met, but this is indeed a great honour, sir . . .’ He stepped forward and shook hands with the American
inventor, who clasped the Englishman’s shoulder and produced a broad smile.

‘It is my pleasure, professor,’ he said in his gruff Midwest accent. ‘I have read much of your work.’

They all sat and the prime minister began the discussion. ‘You will, of course, realize, gentlemen, that what is exchanged in this room will not go beyond these walls. We are
here to ruminate on one of the most important military and social matters humankind has ever faced. I am no scientist; although I do not understand the technicalities, I do realize the import of
what the esteemed gentlemen, Professor Rutherford and Dr Fortescue, have discovered.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Now, I suggest that the professor explains his findings, so that we are all at
least aware of his work from the horse’s mouth as it were.’

Rutherford cleared his throat and explained to the gentlemen their discovery of ibnium . . .

‘. . . and when the isotope is split open,’ he concluded, ‘. . . it forms two smaller atoms, or isotopes, and a certain, rather large amount of energy. I believe
that it would be possible for a special team with enough funding and resources to use my technique to generate a form of energy that could improve upon our steam turbines presently in use and power
industry far more efficiently and with hitherto unimagined potential.’

The room was quiet for a moment. Winston Churchill leaned back in his chair appraising Rutherford and Fortescue. ‘Professor,’ he said, ‘you offer a picture of truly
inspiring development, but have you considered other applications of this new science?’

‘Well, of course, for every application to benefit mankind there would be an alternative use. The potential for this advance to be used militarily has not escaped
us.’

Churchill nodded and took a puff on his cigar, staring at the scientists through the haze. ‘It strikes me that your work has come to fruition at a particularly auspicious
juncture.’

Asquith shifted in his seat. ‘What my esteemed colleague means,’ he said, ‘is that war is brewing in Europe. You will, of course, be aware of the arms race between
the Germans and the British Empire.’

‘I read
The Times
,’ Rutherford said flatly. ‘But the fact is,’ and he surveyed the gathering, ‘my work is nowhere near complete. When I offered
you a way to greatly enhance industry, productivity and eventually the wealth of the nation with this potential power source I was talking about a long-term commitment. I don’t imagine this
form of energy – what we call “atomic energy” – would be practicable for many years.’

‘Professor,’ Edison said, ‘may I ask how far you have got with your experiments?’

Rutherford indicated that Fortescue should speak.

The younger man glanced round at the five men and cleared his throat, his bristly moustache twitching involuntarily. ‘Our first conclusive result was achieved last month, in
early January,’ he said. He glanced at his papers. ‘Since then we have repeated the experiment thirty-four times. Our average energy production is 40,185 joules from one hundredth of a
gram of ibnium.’

The ambassador turned to his compatriot. ‘Could you translate please, Mr Edison?’

The American scientist was startled and staring sceptically at Fortescue. ‘Well,’ he said after a moment, ‘if these figures are to be believed, then this material
has an explosive power in excess of ten thousand times the power of TNT.’

‘We still have a great deal of analysis to do on these experiments, ’ Fortescue insisted and glanced at his boss.

‘We have merely scratched the surface,’ Rutherford added.

‘And what is your set-up in Manchester, professor?’ Edison asked. ‘How many in your team? Are you funded privately?’

Rutherford allowed a smile. ‘Our “team” sit before you,’ he said. And as for private funding, that is a completely alien concept to us, sir. My research is
financed solely by the University of Manchester.’

Edison raised an eyebrow and glanced first at the prime minister then at the other two men seated opposite the British scientists.

‘I thought this was the crux of the reason for this meeting,’ Rutherford added and turned to Asquith. ‘My understanding, Mr Prime Minster, was that the government
was interested in establishing a team to exploit the potential of my work, to produce a powerful new source of energy for industry.’

Asquith nodded. ‘Yes, but whatever you read in
The Times
, professor, it is in reality a mellowing of the facts. Things in Europe are in a much worse state than many
would admit. The Germans are gearing up for war, and so must we.’

‘Because of this,’ Churchill interrupted, ‘the prime minster and myself have already concluded that the direction of your research into this amazing new science
must be guided by defence principles. It must be studied as a potential weapon first, and as an enhancer of our industrial power second.’

‘I see,’ Rutherford commented without the slightest conviction. ‘I must say,’ he stated as he glanced at a nonplussed Fortescue, ‘and I think I also
speak for my colleague here, you have taken us completely by surprise. This would explain the presence here today of Mr Edison and the honourable ambassador. ’