‘That’s what I am asking you, Mr Springley,’ said Charlie, cautious against giving the man any lead or guidance.
‘One of the drawings,’ said the project chief, spacing the words in growing disbelief. ‘The final drawing of the planned sidescreen moulding, with the process description. Where did it come from?’
There were several sounds of audible reaction throughout the room but Charlie didn’t see who made them. He said: ‘That’s what we want you to tell us.’
‘Blackstone!’ interrupted Harkness foolishly. ‘It was stolen by Blackstone, wasn’t it!’
There was another audible sound, one of annoyance, and Charlie knew this time it was from the Director General.
‘No,’ said Springley, shaking his head. ‘It’s one of the drawings from the project but not the drawing. It’s a completely accurate copy…’
‘By Blackstone!’ said Harkness again, but it was not the deputy’s interjection that caused the project manager to stop in mid-sentence. Springley went back to the drawing, looked up and said: ‘Dear God! Oh dear God what’s happened?’
Charlie thought that if God responded on each occasion he’d been called upon already it was going to be a busy night for all concerned. Encouragingly he said: ‘What?’
‘Krogh!’ said Springley weakly. He shook his head once more. ‘It has to be. I even thought…it actually crossed my mind…not very strongly, you understand…but I did…I thought it was strange…’
‘I’m not following you,’ said Charlie. ‘Who’s Krogh?’
‘The chairman of the main American manufacturing company,’ said Springley. ‘He approached us weeks ago: said he wanted to visit to ensure that what we were making and what his plant were constructing were compatible…’ The man trailed off, lost.
‘The American manufacturer came to you!’ prompted Charlie.
‘Over a fortnight ago now,’ confirmed Springley. ‘The company checked his bona fides, of course. He had the topmost clearance. He said he wanted to study our drawings and he did, for days. Told me once that he was glad he did, because he’d thought for a while that there had been an incompatibility. There wasn’t, it turned out. That’s what he said, anyway… Oh God, what a mess!’
‘He saw everything?’ pressed Charlie.
‘Everything there was. All of it.’
‘How many drawings?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘Shit!’ said Charlie, not talking to anyone but looking at what the project chief still held in his hands, which were shaking now. Charlie said: ‘When did he leave…the last day he was with you?’
Springley shrugged uncertainly. ‘Over a week ago. Maybe nine or ten days.’
‘It’s important!’ said Charlie. ‘Be precise.’
‘I can’t be, not exactly,’ apologized Springley. ‘Eight days, I think: yes, eight days.’
‘Where is this American firm based?’ It was the Welshman, from behind.
‘California,’ said Springley at once.
‘We’ve got to tell America now! At once!’ said the Whitehall official. ‘It’s still only afternoon there. They can pick him up at once.’
‘He’s not there, is he!’ said Charlie, not bothering to turn. ‘We’ve already seen that the drawing’s dated, with what is now yesterday’s date. And it was found here, in England. So that’s where he’s working, somewhere here in England.’ And I bet I know where, Charlie thought.
‘This gets worse…appalling…’ said the Welshman. ‘We must alert the embassy here, then. They’ve got security secondment in Grosvenor Square. FBI as well as CIA.’
Charlie moved slightly away from the project chief, gazing down contemplatively. When he looked up it was to Wilson. ‘It is a disaster,’ he said. ‘An unmitigated one. If this man Krogh has been here, copied all twenty-four drawings, then it can only mean he’s already passed over, long ago, everything there was to have from his plant in California.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the Director General at once. ‘And it doesn’t matter a damn, in the end, that strictly speaking it’s not our leak, either.’
‘But that drawing is our responsibility, isn’t it!’ demanded Charlie suddenly. ‘I mean we could argue that we’ve got the right of decision over it?’
Wilson frowned, head to one side, then looked for guidance to the other two men: Harkness was not included. First the Welshman, then the other official shrugged. Wilson said: ‘What’s the question about, Charlie?’
‘Desperation,’ admitted Charlie. ‘Absolute, utter desperation.’ He went back to Springley, gesturing to the drawing. ‘Explain that to me. Completely. Every detail.’
‘Like I said, it’s a drawing of the sidescreen moulding,’ began Springley hesitantly. ‘More to explain the process, really. We got the contract for our reinforced resin system because it’s more resilient than monoset carbon fibre. It performs better in the atmospheric vacuum of space, too.’
‘Performs better how?’ queried Charlie, needing everything.
‘It doesn’t give off vapour, like monoset: lenses, mirrored reflective detection devices, surfaces like that won’t get fogged.’
‘What’s resilience got to do with it?’
‘If monoset carbon fibre is struck, by space debris for instance, it shatters. Thermoset – our system – might be penetrated but the overall structure remains intact.’
‘You called it reinforced resin?’
‘The resin is made from polyetheretherketone: it’s an oil by-product of petrol distillation. We construct a laminated matrix of resin and carbon fibre: in this case the complete lamination is twelve sheets in thickness.’
It wasn’t coming, realized Charlie. Maybe it had been naive – really desperate – to imagine that it would. He said: ‘So you lay sheets of carbon fibre, interspersed with the oil-based resin, one on top of each other?’
Despite the seriousness of the situation Springley smiled at the simplicity of the question. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s got to be created quasi-isotropic: meaning that it can carry loads in all directions. So as each layer is added it is laid at a different angle to that of the sheet beneath it…’ The man hesitated. ‘We call it a weave and it’s very much like that. A sheet of carbon fibre is composed of many fine threads, all running in the same direction: as each sheet is laid one on top of the other those threads criss and cross to provide the strength of the final, composite sheet, very similar to weaving cloth. Only hundreds of times stronger.’
‘We need to follow this, Charlie,’ cautioned Wilson.
‘I haven’t got it yet,’ freely admitted Charlie. To Springley he said: ‘What about how it’s made?’
Springley shrugged once more. ‘In a moulding bay…’ He indicated the process specifications, alongside the drawing. ‘There are temperature and cleanliness requirements, of course…’
‘What!’ seized Charlie abruptly.
Springley continued to take Charlie through the drawing itemizing the points as he got to them. ‘Constantly maintained temperature, at twenty degrees centigrade. Fifty per cent humidity…’
‘…what are all these?’ demanded Charlie, going ahead of the man. ‘Dimethicones…magnesium sulphate…lanolin…camphor…salicylic acid… phenol…what’s the importance of these things…?’
‘I don’t really see the point of singling out those particular ingredients,’ conceded Springley. ‘There are many more, after all. We might just as well say any cream.’
‘For what?’ said Charlie, beginning to feel a tingle of hope.