Now for the second story. He leafed through the notebook until he found the statistics on Stalwart Divider. He retrieved the USAF press release that he had placed between the pages, unfolded it and read. He hadn’t had a chance to examine it in any detail before.
There wasn’t much; just technical specifications relating to the USAF fighters and tankers that had flown in the exercise, wrapped inside the usual bullish prose. Hardly good subject matter for pop news.
The tankers gave him an idea.
Girling opened a new file on the word processor. At least the news desk wanted him to be brief. It was coming up to three o’clock. He was already late.
Using the data provided in the press release, he decided to work out how much fuel would have been passed between the tankers and the fighter-bombers during the exercise. By applying some simple mathematics, he reckoned he could calculate how that same amount of fuel could have gone to serving the energy needs of a small Third World nation, or how many times it could send an average family car to the moon and back. It was the kind of bullshit that Kelso thrived on.
The release said that the tankers were there primarily to support Red Team, the attack force composed of Tornado and F-15E fighter-bombers.
He frowned.
In the three days he had spent at Marham, there had been no mention of air-to-air refuelling. And during the fifty minutes he had spent sealed inside the Tornado, he had seen no tankers in the air.
The twenty-four KC-10 tankers that had flown into England suddenly had him intrigued.
Girling looked at his watch. Any minute now and the news desk was going to start yelling for his copy. He picked out a name and telephone number from the list at the bottom of the press release, lifted the phone, and dialled. When the exchange operator answered at Fairford air base, near Oxford, he asked for Captain Sheree Hope and waited.
Presently, a cheerful voice with a pleasant Texan burr came on the line. ‘Captain Hope. How can I help you?’
‘My name’s Tom Girling, I’m with Dispatches magazine. I’m doing an article on Stalwart Divider. I need some information on the tanker force which arrived to support the exercise three days ago. Have I come through to the right office?’
‘Yes, you have, sir.’ She sounded hesitant. ‘Is this an inquiry based on a press release we put out about that time?’
‘That’s right,’ Girling said.
‘I’m afraid there was a factual error in that information sheet,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘The reference to the KC-10s was wrong. None of those aircraft ever deployed to the UK.’
‘How come?’ Girling asked easily.
She paused. ‘They were down to attend. We were expecting them from all over the States, but the order was rescinded. The press release was a little premature, I’m afraid. You should have received an advisory on that.’
Girling looked at the date of the release. It was put out four days ago, the day before the tankers were due to arrive. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Tell me, how many tankers does the USAF currently have in the UK?’
‘Well, we have some KC-135s here on rotational deployment and around twenty-five at Mildenhall in Suffolk. That’s a standing force of around thirty in the UK at any one time.’
‘Added to which, the USAF was to have sent another twenty-four tankers. I’m no aviation specialist, but that seems a hell of a lot of fuel for a bunch of Tornados and F-15s participating in an exercise.’
‘I don’t decide strategy,’ she laughed, ‘I just draft the releases.’
‘Why was the decision reversed?’
‘We don’t get told things like that. If you really want to know you’d have to call the public affairs office at SAC headquarters.’
‘Have you got a number?’ He jotted the words Strategic Air Command down on paper and waited.
‘Offutt air force base, Nebraska. Area code 402, 294, then, let me see… public affairs.’ She gave him a four-digit number. ‘Ask for a Major Kampfhoffer.’
‘Thank you very much, Captain Hope. How do you spell your first name, by the way? You never know, you might get famous.’
She laughed again, spelt it out, and hung up.
Girling’s hand hovered above the phone. It was probably nothing. Why waste the time? He looked at his watch. Nebraska would just about be coming on-line.
In less than a minute he was through to Kampfhoffer at SAC headquarters. The major was part of the large public affairs team there.
Girling went through the spiel about the exercise, deliberately omitting his conversation with Sheree Hope. Kampfhoffer cut him short.
‘Hold on there, Mr Girling, we were never down to dispatch KC-10s to the UK for Stalwart Divider. I’m afraid you’ve got that all wrong.’
Girling held the press release in front of him and read. He heard Kampfhoffer chuckle almost five thousand miles away.
‘Why didn’t you say you were taking your information from that particular release? Didn’t you get any further notification on that?’
‘I don’t think we’re on the USAF’s fax list,’ Girling said drily. ‘I picked this up from a British Royal Air Force press officer during Stalwart Divider.’
‘That release contained a straightforward error. A second message directed the press to ignore that information.’
‘Why was that, Major?’
‘The fact is, the KC-10s were never due for deployment to the UK; somebody goofed, pure and simple.’
‘That’s not what RAF Fairford had to say. A Captain Hope from the public affairs office said that a decision to send over twenty-four KC-10s had been reversed.’
Kampfhoffer had an irritating laugh. ‘Between you and me, Mr Girling, and not for publication… have you ever been to Fairford? I staged through there earlier this year. It’s a backwater. Nowhere land. It’s been a ghost town ever since it was deactivated to stand-by status. Their office made an error in the drafting of the release and we’ve had to cover ass. I’m afraid that’s the end of the story.’
‘So no KC-10s were ever due to come to the UK in the past week? Never? Not at all?’
‘No, sir. That is correct.’ Kampfhoffer paused. ‘I fail to see why this is so important, anyway.’
‘It’s not,’ Girling said. ‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Major.’ He put the phone down.
Girling thought fast. If he was right, Kampfhoffer would be calling Fairford right now. There was still time. He went back to the press release, quickly found the name of the relevant unit, and then asked the international operator for the telephone number of Seymour-Johnson air force base, North Carolina.
In a matter of moments, he was talking to a public affairs lieutenant called Kirk at the SAC KC-10 tanker base. Perfect, Girling said to himself; he didn’t want anyone too senior. As he spoke, he searched the open atlas in front of him for a suitable place name.
‘Good mornin’,’ Girling said, suddenly thankful that Mallon wasn’t at his desk to hear his apology for an American accent. ‘My name’s Steve Rollins, I’m the night editor on the Cascade Inquirer, way over here in Oregon. We’ve received a report from some folks out climbing the mountains around these parts about a plane crash they say they witnessed four nights ago. These guys were claiming that they’d found wreckage identifying the aircraft as a… let me see, a Kay Zee Ten from Seymour-Johnson. Could that be one of yours?’
‘That’s a KC-10,’ Kirk said, patiently. ‘And it’s definitely not one of ours.’
‘Oh, a Kay-See-Ten, thank you,’ Girling stammered. ‘You sure it’s not one of yours? You are the 68th Air Refuelling Wing, aren’t you?’
‘Yes we are. Why?’
‘Well these guys say they found lettering on wreckage which tagged the aircraft as a KC-10 from the 68th Air Refuelling Wing.’