Skydancer by Geoffrey Archer Page B

a.m., and Sir Marcus decided there was no point in returning to his bed. The PM wanted to see all his top officials immediately after breakfast, so Beckett drove across Whitehall to the slab-sided building which controlled Britain’s defences. He went straight up to his office on the sixth floor to prepare for the meeting. There were several phone calls he would have to make before long.
    By 7.30 a.m. that same newspaper headline had also caused consternation at the Royal Navy’s Headquarters at Northwood. Polaris missile submarines are sent their orders from inside a deep concrete bunker there, hidden in the leafy suburban hills north-west of London. The Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Navy Fleet read the
Daily Express
over his toast and marmalade, sitting at breakfast under the carefully restoredAdam ceiling of his elegant official residence a short distance from the command centre.
    Scalding his mouth on coffee sipped too eagerly, he hurriedly scanned the rest of the paper, but found no other reference to the story.
    The admiral was acutely concerned to know more, remembering that HMS
Retribution
was now approaching the final proving trials of the new Skydancer warheads. Rising from the table, he strode to his study to telephone the First Sea Lord at his official residence in Admiralty Arch overlooking the Mall.
    â€˜Good morning, First,’ the C-in-C began. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing your breakfast.’
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ Admiral Baker replied. ‘Had my breakfast ages ago. Been up for hours. Got a morning call from Marcus Beckett at six o’clock. I suppose you’re ringing about the same thing.’
    â€˜The story in the
Express
– I assume you’ve seen it?’
    â€˜Certainly have!’ Admiral Baker confirmed. ‘The PM is calling a crisis meeting at 9.30, so it looks serious. Whatever you do, don’t let them go ahead with that test until you’ve found out how bad things are.’
    The Royal Navy was extremely proud of its role as keeper of the British Strategic nuclear deterrent. If the weapon’s secret new ability to penetrate the strengthened Soviet defences had been lost to the Russians, it could be like cutting off Samson’s hair, the two admirals agreed. If that happened, the damaging effect on the Navy’s status could be dramatic.
    Precisely at half-past nine, eight men sat themselves down at the table in the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. The angriest of them was Michael Hawke, the Secretary of State for Defence, who was clearly furiousthat his most senior civil servant had failed to inform him of such a monumental security breach. Hawke had entered politics late in life, and was fiercely ambitious. The fact that the Prime Minister had learned of this security leak before he had would not look good on his record.
    The most unhappy man at the table was the Permanent Undersecretary himself, whose efforts to keep the politicians out of the investigation had failed so dismally.
    They all stood up as the Prime Minister stormed in. It was the sort of formality he expected in his efforts to show that he was as tough and domineering as the woman who had preceded him in office.
    Sir Richard Sproat, Director of MI5, was the first to be called on. Conscious of heading an organisation for which he was still struggling to regain public confidence, he looked uncomfortable as he admitted their investigations had made little progress.
    â€˜We have learned one thing,’ he assured the meeting. ‘The
Daily Express
got their story from some anonymous caller with a well-spoken voice. An English voice at that. He rang their defence correspondent. The quotes from General Twining were then elicited by a newspaper reporter posing on the telephone as someone from the Defence Ministry seeking clarification on precisely where the document had been found. The general was most indignant to find himself quoted all over the
Express
this morning,