He also needed to speak to Giles Clayton. He pulled up the duty roster on his computer. As luck would have it, he was in the Ops room now.
Carol came in with his sandwich and coffee. He asked her to get on to the Ops room and get Giles to come up if he wasn’t too busy.
“Let me eat this, first, though, or he’ll want one! While I’m doing that, get the medical people on the phone for me if you would. Doc Perkins, if he’s about.”
Ex-RAF Air Commodore Mark Perkins, known in the trade as Doc Perkins, had been in charge of Aviation Medicine before he joined the intelligence service to run their medical section (read ‘Motorbike Men’).
Doc Perkins was about.
“I need a quick appointment for you to re-assess Jon Fields,” he said. “You will remember that he was withdrawn from field work after being shot up in Damascus. Well, we may need him back out overseas in a hurry if he’s fit enough.”
“Damascus again?” queried Perkins.
“No, somewhere quite different.”
“I need to know where. He may be fit for New Zealand but not for Namibia. Know what I mean?”
“Try Korea.”
“You were right. That is ‘quite different.’ There’s a special breed of diseases out that way, so a lot will depend on his immune system. I take it you mean South Korea, by the way, and not North.”
“Don’t ask me. God knows where he could end up.”
There was silence for moment.
“OK. I’ve got his record up on my screen. I’ll see him myself. When can he come over?”
“He’s on nights this week, and due in about eight this evening, but he doesn’t know anything about this yet. ‘C’ only pulled his name out of the hat an hour or so ago.”
“I don’t mind doing a bit of overtime. Get him over here as soon as you can, and I’ll get nurses and all the tests set up for him.”
“Great stuff, Mark. Thanks. I’ll ring him about five when he’s had some sleep, and get him to go straight to your place.”
“Will you tell him where you want to send him when you talk to him?”
“I probably don’t need to, at this stage. In view of recent events, he will guess.”
“I shan’t tell him, then. He won’t know a typhus jab from tetanus, so it shouldn’t matter.”
“He’s just dead keen to get out in the field again, even if it is North Korea. That enthusiasm may wane a bit when he knows he is only third reserve, so to speak.”
“What if I find him fit enough for other places but not there?”
“Just tell me and we’ll find someone else. If there’s the slightest doubt, fail him.”
“Nothing would persuade me from doing otherwise, as I’m sure you know.”
***
Giles Clayton was having a quiet day, but nevertheless wondered what was going on to warrant a summons to the boss.
He thought he noticed a faint smell of bacon as he went into James Piper’s office, and realised he was hungry. He hoped this wasn’t going to be a long meeting – it was getting near lunchtime.
“Come in Giles. This won’t take a minute, but I wanted to warn you that I may need to make changes to the duty roster fairly soon. We could well end up short of Jon Field – he’s having a medical later to see if he’s fit enough for operational work again, and we have a possible job lined up for him if he is.”
“He’ll be delighted to be found fit enough again. He bangs on quite a bit about wanting to get back into action.”
“Well if he is fit enough, he’ll be on contingency stand-by. That’ll mean that you will be the only watch-keeper briefed about the secure signal transmissions, and rather than brief someone else about this top secret affair, I shall want you to run it solo. That means always being on duty when a signal is due, and always being on shift with Doug Ritchie as your Duty Officer.”
“Sounds OK,” replied Giles.
“The problem is, as you know the signals are very randomly scheduled, so you could be on a day shift one day and nights the next. It will make planning your own life quite difficult, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mind that.”
“Good. The other thing you need to know is that we have received no signal at all on the last two scheduled transmissions. We don’t know why yet, although there are theories, but obviously we have to keep listening for them at the planned times in case the satellite comes back on air again.”
“That’s odd,” said Giles. “I thought the whole thing was supposed to be virtually infallible.”
“So it is, but we think we know what could have happened. The transmitter has probably moved out of range – we hope that’s what the problem is. Anyway, if you’re happy to work in this rather unstructured way, I’ll arrange for you to have a further briefing before you start.”
“Not a problem,” said Giles. “I shall look forward to having my own project as well as all the other operations going on.”
“Perhaps you’d stand in for him this evening, until he gets back from his medical. He shouldn’t be too late.”
Giles decided to go back to the Ops room via the mess to pick up a bacon sandwich. The smell of it in James’s office had proved too much for him.
***
Later that evening, James managed to get hold of both Doug Ritchie and Jon Field before they left home. Doug was told to report to James’s office before going to the Duty Officer’s ‘shack’, so that he could be briefed about the need for a new roster and the reasons for it.
Jon was absolutely delighted to be told to go straight to the medical centre for a going over.
“What happens if I get through this check-up?” he asked.
“If you’re found to be fit enough, we can send you out into the field again,” replied James.
“That would be wonderful news,” said Jon. “With all due respect, I’d sooner be out and about than being a watch-keeper, interesting though that is.”
“Just what we thought. And we have an operation in mind for you if you pass, although only as a back-up, so don’t get too excited about it.”
“Where to?”
“Pass the medical first!”
“Why so suddenly, then.”
“This is ‘C’s’ idea. You impressed him this morning and he thought you were being wasted stuck indoors.”
“A very astute fellow that Sir Geoffrey! Is this North Korea, to find Maurice Northcot if he doesn’t make contact soon.”
“You’re on the reserve list, so don’t be disappointed if this one doesn’t come off.”
“I shall actually be over the moon. It will mean Maurice is safe.”
“Something else will turn up, once we know you’re fit again.”
“A tenner says I’m fit to travel.”
James rang Doc Perkins.
“I win a tenner if you fail Jon Field.”
“I’m a professional,” he replied. “I can’t be bribed!”
“But I want him to pass.”
16.
THE ESCAPE
Maurice Northcot was trying to do several things at once.
The first was to become invisible. He had to avoid detection and possible capture at all costs if he was to stand any chance of completing his mission.
The second was to try to work out what the hell could have gone wrong.
He knew the souvenir peddler at the Museum was one of the top men in the admittedly rather shaky organisation in North Korea run by his MI6 colleagues. For that reason, the man could well have been under surveillance already, and picked up by the authorities. If so, it should have been possible – just – for London to get word through to Maurice. If the man had been picked up, then so had the vital package of secrets which Maurice was supposed to collect. If that was the scenario which had unfolded, then was it really worth trying to track down Dr. Choi? Of course it was – Northcot knew better that to make so many assumptions, or to give up so early into his operation.
Nevertheless, it would be nice to know
where the package was, and what had happened to the guy who was supposed to ‘sell’ it to him.
In all honesty, he wasn’t used to working while almost totally out of touch with HQ.
He could understand the reason – most communications networks in North Korean were routed through China, and as it was some of China’s nuclear secrets he had come to collect – well, he could understand why.
But he wasn’t totally out of touch. He was able to send pre-coded and very short messages, like the one he had just sent -‘No Drop’- although he had hoped to be able to send ‘Collected’. Perhaps later. And he knew that HQ was able to keep in touch with him in terms of knowing where he was. Always providing, of course, that he was where he was supposed to be. But as he was about to set off out of range, they wouldn’t have a clue where he was, and he couldn’t tell them, like he usually could when he was ‘travelling’ abroad.
Not that it mattered particularly.
He had a job to do, so would get on and do it. But it would be nice to tell someone where he was and what he was doing.
As it was, he was blessing the day that he had met Kang Soo at Bourleywood House before he left. Soo had been able to give him a complete debrief on his own experience in North Korea from the time he and his now murdered colleague Park Yon had got ashore, to the time he had left. They had been able to pour over maps together, and it was now essential that Maurice was able to recall the details of the way the two SAS men made their way to Yongbyon.
He planned to follow the same route, as best he could, in the remote chance that one of the people who had helped Kang Soo may be able to help him as well. There was an outside chance that the internal network could be alerted to the fact that Northcot was there, and look out for him. If not, he could remember enough of the detail to enable him to make his way to Yongbyon, although he thought he would mostly have to travel at night. He headed west towards the coast where the two men had been put ashore, and then turned north, skirting Pyongyang. But nobody made contact with him, and he appeared not to have aroused any suspicion on his journey.
He made a brave decision some miles from Pyongyang. At buses stop. He noticed there was a service of sorts to the town centre – two a day.
After all, he had all the right papers, so why not take a chance, even if he would be immediately identified as a foreigner – and a Westerner at that.
He decided to catch the next bus to Yongbyon, although he had no clear idea what he might do when he arrived. Find Dr. Choi’s flat, he supposed, and hope that the man would be at home.
He paid his fare, and decided to sit near the front of the bus in case he needed to leave it in a hurry. Apart from one or two strange looks from other passengers, nobody took any notice of him.
He got off in a small village just outside the town, where the two SAS men Kang and Park had met their first contact. Northcot remembered the place from the satellite maps and Kang’s description, and headed to the small street market with its half-empty stalls in the village square.
He sat at a stall selling tea, and drank a thin but warm concoction, which tasted of nothing much, and slowly ate a small bowl of vegetable stew, which tasted much the same as the tea. He remembered that if you are hungry and thirsty, it is best to eat and drink slowly to stave off the worse pangs. He was both hungry and thirsty.
He could see the nuclear research power complex in the near distance, but thankfully did not have to make his way to it. He knew that Dr.Choi’s flat was not far from the village square, and decided to wait until dusk before looking for it.
Suddenly, Maurice was startled to find a man standing beside him. He should have been more vigilant and noticed him approach, but he was immediately alerted to the possibility that the man represented danger of some sort.
Instead, he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and thrust it at Northcot.
“Keep this. I shall not want it again. Dr Choi is in hospital, very sick. Visit him and ask to see his surgeon, called Ramsay. You are expected.”
At last, some form of communication. Somebody friendly knew where he was, and had made contact of sorts.
The man disappeared into the gathering gloom as silently as he had arrived.
He was the farmer, and the piece of paper was the photograph taken at Aldermaston.
***
Northcot thrust the now dog-eared picture into his pocket, and looked about him.
People were too concerned about their own lives to bother about his, it seemed.
He racked his brains to remember, from his briefings, whereabouts the Hospital was in Yongbyon. The man had indicated with a jerk of his thumb that it was away from the nuclear facilities, which would be a great relief if true.
If it was within the perimeter, he had no idea how he would get past the security system to reach it. If it was outside, however, all he had to do was find it. He supposed it made sense for a large local hospital to be sited away from what could be the source of a major health disaster within the nuclear complex.
He wondered if it was signposted.
It was.
He wondered if it was like hospitals in the UK, where people could walk in and out freely.
It wasn’t.
Northcot had decided to wait until early morning before attempting to get into the place, to give him plenty of time to find Professor Ramsay. From what the man had said, Ramsay was expecting him, although Maurice was at a loss to work out how he could be. But at least he had found the rambling buildings, which he had to admit looked more modern than he would have expected. There were signs, too, directing ambulances and, he supposed, visitors, to the various departments of the hospital. The radiological and cancer department was in a separate block, away from the main hospital but linked to it. He decided to go straight there, rather than go to the main entrance.
He spent some time watching the entrance. Not everyone who turned up was allowed in.
Some were turned away, so there was obviously some form of monitoring system to filter out people who were not deemed to be ill enough, from those who were in need of immediate treatment and who were therefore admitted. He could not imagine that the system was anything like that in UK, with its timed appointments.
So he needed to convince whoever it was at ‘reception’ that he was really ill, and ill enough to warrant the attention of Professor Ramsay. The problem was, he had no real idea of what the symptoms might be of, say, radiation sickness. But somehow, he had to bluff his way in to see the man. In the end, it proved easier than he had thought.
Acting had never been his forté, but he had to gamble on the fact that most North Koreans, especially those in responsible jobs, would speak some English.
Eventually he summoned enough courage to stumble up to the hospital entrance, gripping his stomach and holding a rather dirty handkerchief over his mouth.
“Sick,” he mumbled, and managed to wretch convincingly.
The man in nurse’s uniform, who had greeted him, took a step backwards.
“Very ill,” moaned Maurice, and pointed towards the Nuclear Research Centre, visible behind the hospital buildings.
He wretched again, and half collapsed.
This time, the man stepped forwards to help him.
“Ramsay,” said Maurice, throwing all caution to the wind. “Must see Ramsay”
He collapsed to his knees, and was again helped up by the man, who had this time called for help.
“Accident,” mumbled Northcot, pointing again at the nuclear facilities and at his stomach. “Must see Ramsay.”
He vomited.
The two nurses grabbed a stretcher, bundled him on to it, and pushed him hurriedly away from the entrance into the hospital. One of them made what was obviously an emergency call on his phone.
Northcot was in.
***
Professor Peter Ramsay was sitting in a small cubicle which served as his office, catching up on case notes and viewing X-Rays and various scans on the screen in front of him wh
en the emergency call came through.
There was no emergency at the nuclear site but it seemed a foreigner, English they thought, had suffered an accident while working at the research centre. He had arrived very ill and was demanding to see him.
Northcot, he wondered? Who else could it be?
He quickly put on his white coat, grabbed his stethoscope, and hurried towards the admissions ward.
Northcot was lying on a bed in a small ward. He thought there were three other beds there, from what he had seen when they pushed him into his cubicle, surrounded by curtains.
He hadn’t been there long before Ramsay appeared, and ushered the hovering nurse away.
He immediately started work with his stethoscope, muttering quietly as he did so,
“Dr. Penny, I presume? I’m Peter Ramsay,” he whispered.
Northcot raised a hand in silent salute.
“You acted too well,” said Ramsay. “They are convinced you have radiation sickness, so I shall have to keep you in at least overnight for observation. It will mean routine tests too, I’m afraid, but to respond otherwise would arouse suspicion.”
He sat back to look at his new patient. “No bad thing, probably; we can clean you up and give you a meal.”
“That sounds like good news,” replied Northcot in hushed tones. “I’m certainly hungry and thirsty, and must smell like a pole-cat. I’m in your hands, and will do what you say.”
Ramsay nodded.
“I have what you came for,” he said. “Our supply chain broke down, and the material never left here for Panmunjom.”
He went to the console behind the bed, and pressed the bell. He was fitting the blood pressure apparatus when the nurse arrived – a pretty young thing, Maurice noticed.
“Soon-Bok here speaks reasonable English,” said Ramsay, as he noted Maurice’s blood pressure, “and will look after you.”
He turned to the nurse.
“Mr. Northcot is a technician visiting the research centre, and believes he managed to expose himself to quite a high dose of radiation. He is certainly exhibiting early signs of low level radiation sickness – nausea, vomiting and so on, but no diarrhoea or fever yet.”
He looked at Maurice, who nodded agreement.
“Headache?” he asked.
Maurice shook his head.