She stopped, looked up, met Newman’s gaze. ‘This is quite extraordinary,’ she said. ‘Who else has the raw data?’
‘Just the pair at the Marine Institute, Lou Bates and Kate Wetherall… and, of course, Captain Derham, the section commander.’
‘I’m not so sure they are the only ones. I am concerned that this information has gone further.’
‘But how? How could it…?’
Buckingham waved a hand in front of her face and Newman shut up immediately.
‘I will ensure all parties are eliminated, all copies destroyed.’
‘So, you’re pleased?’ Newman asked, almost childlike in his enthusiasm. ‘I was staggered when I—’
‘No! I can’t say I’m pleased with this turn of events at all, professor. This discovery represents a terrible risk. The radiation leak from the Titanic is coming from some unknown energy source; that much is clear from its profile. The governments of the West will know that, the Chinese will know it from satellite surveillance, so too will the Russians… the whole shooting party will be alerted by now. If that energy source could be harnessed as this information will allow, within five years conventional forms of energy production will be made quite obsolete. That scenario must be prevented at all costs.’
‘There is something else you need to know,’ Newman said nervously. ‘This material —’ and he nodded towards the screen ‘— is incomplete.’
‘Explain.’
‘It is only about, oh, I’d guess, maybe seventy per cent of the total.’
‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘Whole chunks are missing, random sections. The math jumps; concepts are missing as though its creator has gone through the original completed work and deliberately taken out sections. It’s like reading a book with thirty per cent of the pages ripped out indiscriminately.’
‘And you cannot fill in the gaps?’
Newman shook his head. ‘It would be like trying to put in several minutes of missing score from the music of a master composer.’
‘Please,’ Buckingham had a hand up. ‘Spare me any more tedious analogies, Professor Newman. So this work really was written by a scientist travelling on the Titanic?’
‘I am convinced it is the work of Egbert Fortescue.’
‘Rutherford’s assistant?’
‘Yes. He must have been on the ill-fated ship. This work has his personality stamped all over it. It is as unique as…’ He stopped himself. ‘He must have deliberately split the work in case it fell into the wrong hands.’
‘Aboard the Titanic?’
Newman merely shrugged.
‘So then… this missing material could still be somewhere within the wreck, or may have been utterly destroyed.’
Newman stayed silent and Buckingham seemed lost in thought for a few moments before turning her piercing eyes on him. ‘We are grateful to you, Professor Newman. Now you must return to the naval base before anyone notices you are missing. For our part we have to find the location of that missing thirty per cent — before anyone else does.’
14
But Professor Newman did not return to the Norfolk Naval Base. That had never been a part of his plans. Instead he walked back to his car where he had parked it the previous evening. He pulled onto Chesapeake Boulevard, headed south and then turned onto the 64. A very ordinary blue saloon turned onto the highway behind him. The man in the passenger seat spoke into his cell phone as he gazed out at the trees and buildings flashing past.
‘Mistral here,’ he said. ‘We have the professor in sight. He’s heading south-east on 64.’
‘He must be on his way to the airport,’ Sterling Van Lee replied. ‘I’ll alert them.’
Twenty minutes later Newman’s Ford Taurus pulled into the long-term parking compound of Norfolk International Airport. The blue saloon kept a discreet distance and the two men in the car followed Newman, who had no other luggage but his briefcase and laptop.
Inside the airport, the professor headed straight for the United Airlines desk. After making a call from his cell phone, Mistral watched with satisfaction as a man in a United Airlines manager’s suit walked over to the First Class check-in desk just as Newman approached with his passport in hand. The manager whispered a few words to the girl at the desk and she vacated her seat to let the manager sit in her place.
Newman smiled at the man and offered his passport and credit card.
‘One return ticket for Acapulco,’ the manager said, glancing at his computer screen, his words passing into a miniature contact mic under his suit lapel and along the open line to Mistral standing fifty yards away.
‘Holiday?’ the man asked cheerfully.
‘Much needed,’ the professor replied.
‘Right, that will be 1,695 dollars,’ the manager intoned, lifting his eyes from the screen.
Newman slid the credit card across the countertop and the man processed the fare. ‘Beautiful this time of year,’ he commented.
‘I think it’s meant to be beautiful at any time.’
The man chuckled. ‘Gotta beat Virginia in the fall. Rain? Enough already!’ He handed Newman his card and a ticket as a boarding pass emerged from a printer under the counter. ‘No luggage, professor?’
‘No. I plan to buy my bathing trunks there,’ he said jauntily.
‘You have a safe journey now,’ the manager said.
Newman headed towards the gate, followed by the two men from the blue saloon. They held back as he presented his boarding pass and passport at the security check. He then put his bag and laptop onto the conveyor belt, strode under the metal detector arch and disappeared behind a screen.
‘He’s on the 11.50 United flight to Acapulco,’ Mistral said into his cell. ‘Lands 14.55.’
‘Good work,’ said Van Lee.
Passing behind the screen, Newman lowered himself onto a bench and watched the other passengers coming through security control. He waited five minutes, ten minutes. There was no sign of the two men who had been tailing him.
Standing, he pulled the plane ticket and boarding pass from the inside pocket of his jacket, ripped them into half a dozen pieces and tossed them into a metal bin beside the bench. From the left pocket of his trousers, he withdrew a different ticket, for American Airlines, and stopped at a large display listing departures. He checked the time of the flight leaving for JFK, which connected to a Thai Airways flight to Bangkok departing at 15.10 that afternoon.
15
Kate and Lou met for an early breakfast at their favourite cafe, Donovan’s, close to the beach half a mile along the coast from the institute. They both had fond memories of the place. It had been their secret rendezvous when they were first romantically involved and wanted to keep their relationship to themselves.
They found a table in the back and watched despondently as the rain came down outside. Their drinks arrived.
‘You’re a constant surprise, Kate Wetherall,’ Lou said suddenly, looking away from the rain, searching her face with his dark-blue eyes.
She gave him a puzzled look and tucked a few strands of blonde hair behind her left ear, a habit Lou had always found endearing. ‘What do you mean?’
Lou shook his head. ‘Oh, nothing.’
‘Lou! That’s not fair!’ And she leaned forward, arms stretched across the table each side of her coffee mug to take his fingers as she gave him her best ‘big-eyed’ look.
‘Well, you’re only the goddaughter of the most famous scientist since Einstein, and you hadn’t told me!’
‘Oh, that… It wasn’t my decision, Lou.’ She let go of his fingers and pulled back into her chair. ‘I was only two weeks old when I was christened.’