“That simply cannot be. It must be a double exposure.” But even as he said that Tovey knew that King George V and Prince of Wales were only now scheduled for a good active duty shakedown cruise. When might that photo have been taken to find them at sea like that? The photos next in that series were equally astounding. There was the ship, the Russian battlecruiser, clearly photographed as it emerged from the Straits of Gibraltar. He could make out the distinctive landform of Isla de las Palomas on the far left, and something about that island stirred a deep memory, more a feeling than anything he could really recall.
“There’s more, sir,” Turing said quietly. “The entire box-gun camera footage, film reels, and voluminous reports and other attachments.” Now he handed Tovey a sheaf of plain typewritten papers, and if Tovey thought he was flummoxed before, this was the final straw.
Chapter 36
He looked at them, unbelieving, yet utterly convinced on another level as to what he was seeing. To the Admiral’s profound amazement he was soon reading what appeared to be his own reports, dated from August of 1941 through August of 1942, regarding a coded series of incidents under the broad designation Geronimo. Where Turing had gaped at his own initials on the back of reconnaissance photos, Tovey now stood dumbfounded to see his full signature, unmistakably affixed to the reports Turing had handed him. If this was an elaborate ruse, a forgery, it was expertly done. Tovey recognized his own unique style in the way he would format his briefings and reports, and his ‘voice’ in the text itself.
He sat, stupefied, bewildered and badly bothered, speechless for some time. “This is absolutely impossible,” he said at last. “Impossible… Yet here it is. This is my signature, yet it is quite obvious that I could not have written any such report. Royal Navy ships dueling with this Russian battlecruiser?”
“It was more than a duel, sir,” Turing ventured. “I’ve been reading all morning, and this documents involvement by the American Navy, the use of some rather amazing weaponry, action against the Italians, a full out running gun battle with our own Nelson and Rodney, and more. Apparently that little war was ended by truce in a meeting between you and the commander of this mystery ship designated Geronimo, and it was at that meeting that the ship was finally determined to be of Russian origins-a ship firing advanced rocketry that was effective against both aircraft and surface ships.”
“Someone has a rather bold imagination,” said Tovey at last. “This sounds to me like a rank and file effort at drafting up an alternate history, a work of pure fiction, yet so chillingly real. I could swear that report you just handed me was written by my own hand, and the signature certainly was. What could this possibly be about? Are the two of us completely daft?”
“This evidence is simply too authentic in format and detail, sir. No one outside Bletchley Park could have done this, and I can assure you that no one inside it has the slightest bit to do with it. We would have neither the time nor the inclination to produce such a complex fabrication. And yet, my initials are there as plain as your own signature. This may also seem odd, but I have the distinct impression that you and I have discussed all this, in great detail, at some time in the past.”
“Mister Turing, correct me if I may have forgotten a prior encounter, but is this the first time we have ever met in person?”
“It is, sir, and I thank you for coming, and putting up with what must certainly seem a complete crock of mad hatter stew. I am as perplexed about all this as you are, yet the details presented in these documents are chillingly accurate-units, designations, officers involved. Whoever wrote these documents would have had to be privy to information that no one head might hold. That aside, the photographs, sir. These images simply cannot be fabricated.”
“I should think not.”
“If you think you are confounded now, I dare you to venture further into the contents of that box. Things begin rooted to the here and now, familiar names and such. There is, indeed, a Melville-Jackson, for example. I looked up his service record. The man is presently posted to No. 236 Squadron R.A.F., ^ flying Bristol Blenheims on convoy patrols and escort sorties over the Channel and Western Approaches. Then there are references to Royal Navy Fleet operations that are either top secret, in the works, or completely fabricated. One was called ‘Jubilee,’ another ‘Pedestal.’ There are documents referring to a FRUMEL unit in Australia, an acronym for Fleet Radio Unit, Melbourne, yet no such unit exists. I looked into that.”
“Australia? What would the Aussies have to do with any of this?”
“This ship apparently went round the Cape of Good Hope to the Pacific and tangled with the Japanese navy as well.”
“The Japanese?”
“It’s right in the box, sir. Envelope number seven. You will find photographs taken by coast watchers near Darwin-of the same ship. The really alarming thing is that the reports reference action by the Japanese against Darwin, and against the American Navy in the Solomons. Yet we both know there is no naval war underway in the Pacific, at least not yet.”
Tovey reached up, took off his hat, and set it quietly in his lap. He knew all of this, on some deep unfathomable level of his being. It was all true, yet impossible. It could simply not be possible in any wise. It was madness, sheer lunacy, an anomaly so impenetrable that it numbed the mind. It was Geronimo.
“Alright,” he said, his mind settling on the only thing left that might explain the situation, like a man scuppered into the sea grasping at any floating spar he could reach. “Suppose all this is some complex deception plan, aimed at throwing off the Germans. Suppose these reports were prepared by some secret arm of the government, and there are many, Mister Turing.”
“How would you explain the uncanny resemblance to reports you might draft yourself, Admiral?”
“It would be challenging, but it might be mimicked. And the signature could have been forged.”
“The photographs?”
Tovey stumbled at that. The photographs were the bulk of the information. There were images of the ship in many different settings. Was it possible that some photo alchemist in a hidden special section was turning them out, superimposing negatives, conjuring this all up in a darkroom witches brew of deception?
“The photographic evidence is daunting, but I must admit the possibility of tampering and tomfoolery before I can go down the lane to the next house, Turing. For to knock on that door admits to sheer bedlam. You and I both know that these cannot be images and reports from 1941 or 1942! That is madness. So it must be something else, correct?”
“Yes, it must be, but I cannot shake the awful feeling I have about it all, Admiral. It’s as if we have had this discussion before, and bent our minds around it at the edge of that insane conclusion that we cannot admit to here and now. I can say nothing more than that, but I have the most nagging feeling that something is terribly amiss here. Have a look at some of that gun camera footage and you will be utterly amazed, as I was. The question now is what do we do with all this?”
“Assuming the only logical explanation that I have put forward, that this is material prepared as a deception, then we should keep it safe and very secure. Say nothing about it to your colleagues, Turing. The fewer cooks around this kettle, the better. However, I should like it if you would select four or five photographs for me. Choose images you think are particularly compelling. In a few days time I have scheduled a meeting with the commander of that ship- Kirov. Yes, it is a Russian ship after all, in truth as well as in that fiction we’ve uncovered from your storeroom.”
“One remark, if I may sir. This ship first appeared just a few weeks ago, right in the middle of your recent operation against the Germans. Before that time nobody heard of this ship. Are we to assume that all this material was doctored up in the last week or two, then tucked away in this box and hidden in the archive? I must tell you that when I first dragged it from its shadowed resting place, it was covered in dust as if it had been sitting there for years, completely undisturbed.”