They exchanged glances. Hanover had already considered using C Section. “No,” he said finally. “I want to know what he’s told them first.”
The two left, leaving Hanover alone to work on his briefing papers. The food distribution network was working fairly well; everyone had enough to eat. There had been some celebrations after Norway fell, and Crete, but for the moment everything was surprisingly peaceful. Hanover smiled to himself; conscripting most of the unemployed youths into the army had reduced crime more than anything the socialists had suggested.
“They can take out their aggressions on the Germans,” he said, and chuckled darkly. The confidential report from Agent Yar, from Russia, was next; they were making progress, slowly. It had been a long shot, one of several that Smith would never have dared to try, but perhaps it would work. Now that there were some satellites in orbit, watching Russia and relaying messages, he could signal to them without fear of detection.
Darkness fell around the room as night cloaked the building, but he worked on, making his way through the paperwork that could not be delegated to the civil servants. Few of the documents were interesting – one covered the sudden number of private doctors who had applied to work in America – but they were important. An uninformed Prime Minister wasn’t a Prime Minister for very long.
A chime rang in the room. “Prime Minister, Mr Berrios respectfully requests an interview,” his secretary said. “Shall I give him the boot?”
Hanover thought rapidly. Normally, Berrios should have asked his superior, who would have relayed the request. Either this was very important, or Berrios was arrogant beyond belief. Either way, it had to be dealt with quickly.
“Send him in,” he said grimly, and waited for Berrios to pass through the security checks.
“Good evening, Prime Minister,” Berrios said. He didn’t sound too arrogant. Hanover decided to hear him out. “I found some interesting bits of information that had to be shared with you instead of…”
“Passing through the bureaucrats?” Hanover asked dryly. Each of the bureaucrats would have tried to add their own spin to the information. He swung around and waved the black man to a seat. “What have you found?”
“If Mr Bracken exists, he’s very well hidden or was left behind in 2015,” Berrios said. “I checked through every surveillance system we have; all of the reported meetings with him were through his substitutes. You know, the people who were linked into the Internet and relayed his words?”
Hanover nodded. If you were rich enough, you could do that. “Yes, I know,” he said.
“Sir, no one seems to have seen Mr Bracken in person,” Berrios said. “If he wasn’t abroad at the time of the Transition – and there is no record of him leaving before we did – then he must be still in Britain. Indeed, AIMworks reported that Mr Oliver had taken up work as one of Bracken’s substitutes, and had a link to him. So I checked further… and I am convinced that there is no such person.”
Hanover lifted an eyebrow. “How did we miss it?”
“His taxes were all paid and he owned a vast number of companies,” Berrios said. It wasn’t quite an answer. “However, most of the companies weren’t real, not in the sense that they made anything, but merely shell companies. Sir, I consulted with the Police departments – under strictest security of course – and it looks as if all Bracken was is a fat bank account – and a number of people who played at being him. However, recently, that changed; Bracken went on the market, snapped up a number of American companies over here that were about to fold – and a number of American businesses in this year – and manoeuvred himself into prime position in the transatlantic trade.”
“Bugger me,” Hanover muttered, ruefully impressed. “Talk about a powerful position.”
“Yes, sir,” Berrios said. “We’re unravelling the money trail now, and we’ll find out who was behind it quickly, perhaps some of the mobsters we have around. Sir, if he is working for the Germans, then he’s suddenly a very real danger.”
“That point has been made, several times,” Hanover said absently. “Clever bastard, if we drop a hammer on him, we tear apart the trading network with America.” He thought rapidly about assassination, and dismissed the possibility. It might have destroyed the trade relationship, even if their hand was never seen to have been involved. “What else was he doing here?”
“I’m not certain,” Berrios admitted. “His people bought a lot of books and technical machines, but all of them were accounted for at the last census. Still, all this does make it very likely that he’s our missing spy.”
“Humm,” Hanover said. An idea had occurred to him. “Mr Berrios, I want you to carefully, very carefully, work out everything that he’s been doing and inform me. This is your only priority; send your boss to me if he makes a fuss.”
“Yes, sir,” Berrios said, smiling. What officer would not be delighted to have a chance to embarrass his boss?
“You are to keep this to yourself,” Hanover ordered. “You are not to do anything that would alert him, whatever happens.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a card. “This is my direct line,” he said. “Should you see him doing anything that requires immediate action, let me know.”
“Yes, sir,” Berrios said. Hanover nodded, dismissing him, and then thought rapidly. The plans for Redemption were known to only a handful of people, none of them in America. Redemption was also the only major operation that would be conducted for the remainder of the year; Norway would absorb much of the American resources and the Middle East would absorb the British resources.
“At least Japan is no longer a threat,” Hanover said to himself, and headed for his bed.
Churchill Space Centre
French Guiana, South America
31st May 1941
The CAD-generated design was simple and cunning, exactly the sort of design that previous space programs had rejected, simply because they couldn’t see the point. If Major John Dashwood had squinted at it just right, he could have believed that he was staring at one of the Shuttle-C designs that NASA had invented, but never put into use. Two small booster rockets, built with designs that had been invented in the 1970s, were placed on each side of the massive external tank; a pointed cylinder that had been based on space shuttle technology.
Dashwood allowed himself a chuckle. No matter how impressive the space rocket was, it was empty. No mammoth amounts of fuel would be required to lift the light cylinder; it had been built from materials that were very light, relatively speaking. The first models were being shipped to Churchill Space Centre now, prepared for launch into Low Earth Orbit, and Dashwood hoped to be launching them in a week. Once enough of them were in orbit, the first stages of space station construction would have been completed; the astronauts in the SSTO or the space capsules would have somewhere to live in space.
He smiled again. It was amazing what American pressure could do; the Americans had loved the reconnaissance reports from Norway and were demanding more, offering all kinds of bribes in exchange. Even as American forces ground onwards to Oslo, the British were launching more satellites into space, completing the observation of the Earth.
“Once we have a space station, we can begin developing the space-based weapons,” he remarked to his second, Commander Troy Tempest. Churchill Space Centre had developed remarkably in the month since they had placed the first satellite in orbit; they now had a complete staff and entire factories. Everyone was benefiting, even the natives; some of them had expressed interest in incorporation into the British Commonwealth.