The West Winford Incident (20 page)

Despite his earlier resolution, Dave had delayed submitting his technical note for a few days, convincing himself that awaiting the results of these latest experiments was a valid reason. Had this just been an excuse? He had almost certainly missed the September deadline as a result. The next opportunity for publication would be October. This thought brought the whole question back into doubt again. What would be the outcome if he did publish then? Would he be prosecuted? Could he find another job locally? The family were all so nicely settled – just so many reasons for not acting. He knew that this was just an excuse for his cowardice. He had been so close to submitting the note earlier in the week. He had had it typed and actually sealed in an envelope, but he had baulked at the final moment as his heart pounded outside the post office. He had walked away, ashamed. He found little consolation in the fact that no further failures had occurred, as far as he knew.

“Wouldn't mind, where to?” Dave answered.

“Soviet Union.”

Dave was surprised. Tony went on to say that the British Electrical Consortium were putting together a delegation to visit Moscow on an exchange visit with the USSR Electrical Union. It was planned to be a wide ranging exchange covering most aspects of power generation and distribution. Dave's name had been put forward by the SSA to the Consortium. In fact, it was concern for Dave's mental state at present which had prompted Sweety to put his name forward. He and Tony felt that he needed a diversion just now, which in all likelihood would serve to defuse the present situation and result in a less extreme reaction to the Winford business. It was to be a ten day stay in Moscow.

*

Dave had been surprised a few days earlier to receive a phone call from Pauline as, to all intents and purposes, the sub-committee had become defunct since the summer. She wanted to meet up with him away from work. His first thought was that perhaps she had reconsidered his proposition of another social evening, but her manner suggested that this was not the case. It was something important that she wished to discuss. Dave thought that it might prove difficult as he had no reason to visit London at present. He would have to call her back.

Now, out of the blue, this opportunity had arisen in the form of his forthcoming USSR trip. He could certainly make a case for being in London on the evening before his Heathrow flight, when he could arrange to meet Pauline.

The days leading up to the planned trip were eventful for Dave. He decided to amend his note to
International Power Digest
, to include the latest crucial part of his hypothesis. He was on edge for the whole of Thursday and was not completely calm when the typed final version arrived on his desk on Friday morning. He felt like a character from a Le Carré novel as he slipped it into his briefcase ready to post. But would he? And if so, when?

He checked in at the hotel. He was still procrastinating about posting the letter, which was burning a hole in his pocket. Maybe at the airport. It would still make the October edition easily enough. He was in the bar before seven o'clock and predictably, Pauline was on time. He had forgotten in just a couple of months, how attractive she was. His mind moved on towards a shared meal, followed by the possibility of Lena revealing herself later. He ordered her a drink. It soon became clear that Pauline was not her usual self, she was plainly unsettled as she explained her reason for wanting to meet.

“I can't stay long, but I've something I want you to see. It came as quite a shock to me and following the acrimonious discussions of our last meeting, I thought that you ought to read this.” As she spoke she pulled a large envelope from her briefcase. “Before you do I have to have your word that you will not reveal how you found out about this. I've taken quite a risk. I've done it partly because I felt that you were being badly treated, but also because I believe it is scandalous that such a thing should be allowed to happen.”

After receiving Dave's assurance, Pauline passed over the envelope, which contained a letter which he read with a mixture of disbelief and anger. The letter, dated the 17
^th
of August 1970, was classified as ‘SECRET' and was from the Chief Executive of the Strategic Supplies Authority to the Head of Research at Slough, with a copy to the Head of Public Relations, and read as follows:

SUBJECT
– Examination of a Low Pressure Turbine Rotor after 30 years, service at the Mid-Newport Electric Works of

the Welsh Petroleum Corporation.

Dave was amazed at what he'd read. The first thing that struck him was that Pauline had appreciated the significance of this letter. Furthermore, she had taken this risk. He then considered the implications. If cracking was over an inch deep after thirty years' operation at this power plant, the rate of cracking was about the same as that found at Winford. Clearly, as the letter acknowledged, the Slough hypothesis of a particular operational incident on Number 2 turbine (the contamination of the steam) could not be sustained.

“Well, Pauline, I'm so pleased that you thought of letting me see this, but how did you get hold of it? Won't you get into trouble?”

“Yes, if anyone finds out. I came across it whilst I was standing in for the woman who handles the work for the secretariat of the main Technical Committees. No one knows I made this copy.”

“But is there anything that we can do about it, without implicating you?” asked Dave.

“I'm not sure. I was just so angry that I thought of alerting the national press directly. Surely if other failures occurred people could get killed, couldn't they?”

“There is a real risk, but it may not happen and it's this uncertainty that the SSA is banking on. They are in a real dilemma now that the new government is looking hard into the whole SSA concept. If they acted as they should, both Winford and Thornton power stations should be removed from service immediately and all operators of similar turbines would be advised of the danger, but that's unthinkable for them, as they approach the winter and peak demand. The programme of turbine refurbishment and the introduction of improved non-destructive examination is in hand and this should eliminate the risk when it is complete, but that won't be for at least two years. Their best hope of avoiding failures in the meantime, is the suspension of routine overspeed testing, as it is this that really does increase the risk of a repeat of Winford.”

“Yes, but that is only within the SSA,” countered Pauline. “By sticking to the Slough explanation they can't alert other utilities, here or abroad, to the danger. Surely there are hundreds of turbines at risk worldwide?”

Dave was surprised by Pauline's passion. She had finished her drink almost without noticing. He explained that he would be away for about ten days, which would give him plenty of time to think the whole thing through. He could give her a call at the beginning of October. Although she seemed to accept this, he could see that she was clearly agitated.

“Anyway, let's get some food,” suggested Dave, but Pauline refused. She explained that she was going away on Sunday to Italy to visit her aunt. Dave was sorry. He would have welcomed her company.

He was unsettled by what he'd heard and he didn't feel up to the Italian restaurant so, after a quick snack at the hotel, he had an early night. It was to be a disturbed night as he slept fitfully. The following morning he handed in his keys at the reception desk, together with a letter to be posted. He was only sorry now that he'd missed the September deadline.

During the flight, Dave's anger subsided, but he had no misgivings about his reckless action and as he approached his destination his thoughts turned, with keen anticipation to the immediate prospects of this adventure. The British Airways jet touched down at Sheremetyevo on time. As the plane taxied along towards its designated stand, Dave noted the armed guards stationed on the tarmac around the terminal building, a collection of clones, just young lads really but their uniforms, severe haircuts and impassive expressions seemed so at odds with their years. Thank goodness we don't have the need for anything like that at home, he thought. The idea of armed soldiers or police around the streets or at the airports of Britain was so foreign.

There was more evidence of the cultural divide at passport control. Dave's passport and visa card were taken in through the booth window and glanced at by another youthful clone – a very long, embarrassing wait. Dave finally assumed he could proceed, though the wordless automaton refused to blink.

Exiting into the public area, he was amongst the waiting group of fur-clad men, women and children, together with the usual jostle of people holding up cards, hand written for the most part, with company's names, family names, and so on, displayed to catch the attention of their unknown visitor. Then he saw ‘Mr Harrison' displayed by a young man whom, Dave approached. He smiled and introduced himself as Ivan Razumov from the Electrical Institute of Moscow. A car was waiting and they were driven smoothly along wide, well-paved, roads into the city centre. Dr Razumov led Dave into the spacious reception area of the Rossia Hotel. It was a huge building. His host said that he would return later. Dave registered and was taken up to the fifth floor. He wandered along a corridor, looking at the room numbers. He was challenged by a middle-aged woman, sitting at a table at the corner of the corridor.

“Gdye vash klyooch?”
she said, and Dave could see that she was leaning forward over her table, looking sideways at his left hand, in which he was holding his key. He offered it up with a questioning look. “
Da, prava
,” she said, indicating a door on his right hand side and as he moved towards it hesitantly,
“Da, da.
” This woman, he learned, was the appointed
‘dezhurnaya'
(woman on duty) who, though apparently doing nothing, acted as the lynch-pin for that particular floor. She looked after the keys of residents, answered the phone and also supervised a samovar for guests. In most westerners' eyes however, the role as a spy was thought to be her main duty.

The hotel comprised four sections, built around the periphery of a large courtyard, and Dave was delighted to find that his room had an excellent view over Red Square. As he unpacked, he idly wondered where the microphones would be hidden, or was that just in spy novels?

At seven o'clock he met Ivan and they went up to a restaurant on the twenty first floor. The service was slow. Eventually an impressive menu arrived. Dave mentioned how comprehensive the menu was and Ivan smiled. “Pardon me,” he said, “I am not making fun but I should perhaps explain. You see the very long list of food and wine on offer here?” Dave nodded. Ivan continued, “You will now note how many items have their prices listed. Take the wine, for example.” Again Dave nodded. There were probably over twenty wines mentioned, though only two had prices included. “So,” explained Ivan with a smile, “only two wines are really on the menu. If they only listed the available items, the menu would be only one page long, not ten.”

Even with this limitation, Dave was hoping that Ivan would suggest something and order for them both, which he did when, eventually, their order was taken. Of the two wines, red or white, the latter had been selected by Ivan and Dave attempted to read the label ‘
Tsinandali'
with only partial success. Ivan gave the accepted pronunciation and went on to say that it was a medium-dry wine, from the Georgian Republic. It was very good, as was the main meal. It was a pleasant evening and Dave learned a little of the arrangements for the week's visit. His colleagues had arrived earlier and were being escorted by an Intourist guide. Dave was pleased to be in a one to one situation, as he enjoyed Ivan's company and was interested in his information and anecdotes about life in the ‘sinister' Soviet Union.

Monday morning arrived and Dave glanced out through his window. At eye level were the many domes of St. Basil's Cathedral – so foreign. It was still dark. A more familiar scene down at ground level, as clusters of dark silhouettes shuffled along the pavements to their workplaces, heads bowed, a template for a modern day Lowry. A lukewarm shower and down to the breakfast room, where he met his British colleagues.