'What did he say?'
'As far as they can tell – subject to double-checking -Rogue One, Brazil's satellite, is describing an orbit which takes it over Asia, Europe, London, the Atlantic, Washington, San Diego, and across the Pacific. He said the orbit seems to vary spasmodically, which doesn't make sense. He is also furious because he says the main orbit seems to pass over the Pentagon. He'll come back with more later.'
'Curious.'
Tweed went over to a globe of the world standing on a corner table, used his finger to follow the orbit Cord had detailed. The phone rang as he was studying the globe.
'Professor Grogarty.' Monica called out.
'He's been quick. Or maybe he has a query.'
'Tweed?' Grogarty gave a hoarse chuckle. 'I've cracked it – with the aid of the microscope I invented. A sticky one, this. The photos show your satellite is a travelling telephone exchange. Most ingenious. Thousands of numbers, but I recognized one.'
'Which one?'
'The top secret one at the Pentagon – linked, I know, to their computers.'
'You know that number?' Tweed asked sceptically.
'Of course I do, man. They're always asking me questions so I need their number to call them when I've worked out the answer.' He chuckled again. 'I spotted another – yoursl What's the orbit of the damned thing?'
Tweed told him, adding that Rogue One appeared to vary its course.
'That's Irina Krivitsky. Remember I told you one of the names on the list you showed me was a top Russian? She specializes in the control and manoeuvre of satellites by laser. Well, it has a laser mechanism embedded into it. But somewhere there has to be a ground station on Earth and another laser system to activate the one in the satellite. I've never seen anything like this bag of tricks.'
'Would it need a team to produce it?'
'Definitely. The kind of team made up by the missing scientists on your list. They could do it. And it's very advanced, is this little baby rotating over our heads. I've sent the courier back to you with the photos.'
'Can't thank you enough…'
'Yes, you can. Send me a bottle of Chateau d'Yquem.'
Tweed put down his phone, thought for a minute, and then asked Monica a question.
'I suppose my personal phone number isn't linked up with that rubbish upstairs?'
Monica looked embarrassed. She got up and beckoned for Tweed to look behind her desk at the lower part of the wall.
'I was going to tell you, but we've been so busy. No, the truth is I didn't know how to tell you. I thought you'd blame me.'
'Blame you for what?'
'While you were in Dorset Howard came in with some men and said they were installing a cable to link your phone number with that crazy junk they've got upstairs. I protested, but Howard overrode me.'
'Did he now? Well, I certainly don't blame you. Howard obviously chose a time while I was away to pull that trick. He knows my number – the private one -is the most secure in the building.'
Tweed examined the thick grey cable which almost merged with the grey skirting board and disappeared through a well-concealed hole into the hall outside.
'Howard's getting crafty in his old age. But we can't waste time on that…'
He told the others the gist of what Grogarty had reported.
'It's beyond me.' said Monica. 'Didn't he explain it more clearly?'
'I purposely didn't ask him to. I'd have been here all day…'
He broke off as Monica answered the phone, then pulled a wry face.
'Grogarty is back on the line.'
'Hello again,' said Tweed. 'Keep it short, please. I have a plane to catch.'
'You always have. I just wanted to remind you that one of the team on that list – Ed Reynolds from California – is an expert in sabotaging communications. You hear me?'
'Yes. Go on…'
'The too-clever-by-half scientists have invented a global communications system. They've centralized communications. I think your satellite tearing about the skies over our heads could be a very efficient instrument for sabotaging world communications. The question is why would they want to do that? And when? Bon voyage
Again Tweed tersely reported to the others what Grogarty had said. Marler nodded, looked at his watch.
'I've got to go now to catch my flight. I'll be having a chat with my friendly arms dealer in Geneva.'
He gave a little salute, slipped into a smart cold-weather coat with an astrakhan collar, picked up his bag, and left.
'What we have to do.' Tweed said after he had gone, 'is to locate the ground station controlling that satellite.'
'And how do we do that?' asked Newman.
'I've no idea.'
23
Arriving in Geneva, Marler took the same route Paula had followed. He travelled in a taxi, asking to be dropped outside the Hotel des Bergues. There, unlike Paula, he didn't enter the hotel.
Instead, carrying his bag, he crossed the Rhone, which was swollen, by using the footbridge. He paused several times, putting down his bag as though it was heavy, and changing it to the other hand. As he did so he glanced back. The footbridge was empty. For Rico Sava's sake it was important he was not followed.
It was supposed to be daylight but February had ended and March had begun. The worst time of the year for bad weather. Overhead dark clouds drifted over the city, which was just waking up. It was more like a dirty dusk than daylight and he had to watch his footing. The footbridge was a solid sheet of ice.
Leaving the footbridge, he threaded his way into the street where Sava lived and carried on his illegal business. It was almost dark despite the fact that the street lights were still on. He walked past the heavy door leading into Sava's shop. His instinct told him he was being watched.
And I'm not armed yet, he thought. He walked a long way, turned back suddenly. No one in sight. You are getting paranoid, he told himself. Arriving back at the heavy door he closed his eyes after pressing the bell, remembering the glaring light.
It came on. There was the usual wait. Then the Judas window was opened.
'We are closed.' Sava's voice said in French.
'Not to me. It's Marler. Marler,' he repeated.
The glaring light was switched off, the door was unlocked and he walked slowly into the dark. Sava closed the door, relocked it, switched on a light, took the hand Marler had extended, and clasped it between both his own.
'As always, you are most welcome. Not just for the business you bring me, but for yourself. Why do you never pay just a social call, have a drink with me?'
'I will do. One day. What's your tipple?'
'A fine old brandy.'
'You shall have one. When I have the time. Or maybe a couple?' Marler said with a smile.
'A couple, drunk slowly – so we have time to talk. And now, what can I supply you with?'
Marler rapped out his list, a long one. For the first time since he'd known him Sava stared in amazement.
'You are going to clean up Switzerland, start a small war?'
'The other side will start the war, we'll finish it.'
'But you need something to carry that cargo.'
Marler slapped his suitcase on a table top, unlocked it, took out two large flattened bags with shoulder straps
