Chapter 76 Another view from the pulpit

Sunday 22nd August

Peter Rogers stood once again in the pulpit of St. Jude’s Anglican Church. The Reverend Bob Freeman was visiting a sick relative, and Peter had agreed to lead the service.

Peter had given a lot of thought to the sermon he was about to deliver. He had considered rehashing an earlier address that reflected the conservative position for which he was well known. He had also considered writing a sermon from scratch that expressed what he now believed – despite any eyebrows that might be raised. He had finally chosen the latter.

‘When I last stood here,’ Peter began, ‘I talked about tolerance. I talked about it, however, as a strategy. I talked about it as a means to an end in bringing unbelievers to Christ – to help them to listen and understand the truth that we know with certainty.

‘Events which have occurred since then, which I do not wish to relate at the present time, have caused me to revise that view. In fact, I think I was fundamentally mistaken.’

Peter took a deep breath and looked around at the congregation before continuing. ‘We are all brothers and sisters. We are all part of a complex, interconnected web. We must recognise that we are not separate entities navigating our way around other separate entities. Instead, everything is an interrelated part of God’s plan.

‘Even for those who have acquired the greatest wisdom, words have always been an inadequate way to express their understandings. It is too easy for even the wisest words to be reinterpreted to fit the conceptual model of the listener. Jesus sometimes taught in parables precisely because he wanted to communicate the underlying essence of a teaching before his followers could think too hard and misunderstand what he had to say.

‘In our Church, particular analogies to represent the nature of God have become set in the concrete of our doctrines, and we have become arrogant enough to think of these as objectively true. Fear of a theological free-for-all and fear of undermining Church authority have led to an unwillingness for us to accept that we might have a biased or incomplete perspective. That’s the real reason why we should be tolerant of others – and the understandings of others. It may be that we can learn from them. The cracks in the old concrete certainties are where the light gets in. The wisest are not teachers, they are students.’

Peter continued in the same vein for a further five minutes.

Although the church would have been silent after a sermon, before the next hymn, the silence that followed Peter’s address had an unusual quality. The congregation was unusually alert. Even those who had never focused on the Sunday address – preferring to think about lunch or the activity they planned for the afternoon – had looked carefully at the person in the pulpit to make sure it was the same Peter Rogers who had addressed them on the Sunday before last.

‘That was a very interesting address you gave, Peter,’ said Henry Mortimer, a local builder, as he shook hands with Peter on leaving the church. ‘I almost felt like applauding. I only come to Church because, as a parish councilor, I feel I should support the local vicar. To be honest with you, it always feels when I come through this door as if I’m stepping back into the Middle Ages. What you said today was a breath of fresh air.’

‘Thank you,’ said Peter.

Peter had been expecting some negative comments or at least disapproving looks from an older congregation who he had expected to be highly conservative. The fact that many people echoed Henry’s comments pleased and surprised him.

‘If we heard more of that,’ noted Betty Wright, a stalwart of several local charities, ‘I reckon this place wouldn’t be so empty on a Sunday.’

Chapter 77 A voice from the past

Sunday 22nd August

Sue glanced at her watch. ‘Shall we catch the evening news?’ she said to Ben, Sahadeva and Sam as they all sat in the lounge area of the bungalow. They all nodded. Ben picked up the controller and turned on the TV, joining the programme shortly after it had begun.

There were views of huge crowds in various Indian cities. ‘India has also seen increasing disruption as the date for the closest pass of the comet approaches,’ said the correspondent. ‘Very many workers have left their jobs in the main cities to return to their hometowns in time for the event.’

The scene moved to a group of colourfully dressed people who were joyously dancing. ‘For some, the exodus has been an occasion for celebration. These people view the comet as a good omen that heralds the beginning of a new age.’ The scene moved to other people who appeared less happy as they silently stared skywards. ‘For some, however, the comet is seen as a harbinger of doom – possibly even a signal that the world is to end on the day of its arrival.’

The scene moved to a London street. ‘Although there has been less disruption in the UK, recent polls have indicated that as many as sixty percent of the population see some cosmic significance in the arrival of the comet.’

A reporter addressed a middle-aged couple on the London street. ‘Are you concerned about the arrival of the comet?’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied the woman hesitantly. ‘But you never know. Some people think it’s an alien spacecraft. My neighbour thinks it’ll hit the Earth, and they’re not telling us the truth.’

‘Some people also think,’ added Ben with a tone of irony, ‘that the comet will mark an attempt by the Western allies to take over the world.’

The image on the screen returned to Reeta Chakrabarti in the studio. She was smiling to provide an official BBC undermining of those more speculative theories. ‘The government has declared Friday the third of September a public holiday. A Whitehall source has admitted this was in part because the government believes that many workers will take the day off anyway in preparation for parties on the Saturday.’

Suddenly, there was the sound of an unfamiliar ring tone.

‘There’s a landline here,’ said Ben, getting up and walking towards a small cupboard in the wall. ‘I’d forgotten about it. I don’t even know what the number is.’

Sue turned off the television.

Ben opened the cupboard and picked up the receiver of the phone that was inside. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello. Can I speak to Ernest Ball, please?’

Ben quickly pressed a button on the phone to stop his voice from being heard by the caller. ‘Someone asking for Ernest Ball.’ Ben then pressed the button to talk to the caller and also switched on the loudspeaker so they could all hear both sides of the conversation.

‘Who’s calling?’

‘Let’s say I’m associated with Robert Watson. Does that name mean anything to you – or anyone else who might be there?’

Both Sam and Sahadeva thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar.

‘OK, I guess the name means something or you would have assumed this was a wrong number. I would like to arrange to meet with Ernest. Would you like to suggest a time and place?’

Sam quickly picked up a pen, scribbled on a scrap of paper and showed it to Ben.

Ben answered the caller. ‘Can you come to the shelter on the Sandgate esplanade that’s across the road from the end of Wilberforce Road at ten tomorrow morning?’

‘Thank you. I’ll be there. Good evening to you.’ The caller hung up.

‘I know that voice,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve heard it recently.’

Sahadeva looked at Sam. ‘Do you remember where?’

‘No.’

Ben put the television controller down on the coffee table. ‘He obviously knows where we are but not who we are. If he’s on our side, whatever that means, then we’re moving forwards again. If he’s not, this could be very dangerous – and we’re in a very vulnerable position. George McKenzie has just been killed by a professional hitman. For all we know, the guy on the phone might be him. We’re on the back foot here.’

Sue looked puzzled. ‘George is dead. How did the guy on the phone know about the Victorian connection, and how did he link that to this address?’

‘I guess the answer to the first question,’ replied Sahadeva, ‘assuming that George did incarnate the awareness of Robert Watson, must be that our caller got the information from George.’

Ben stood and walked to the kitchen table. He removed from his computer bag the USB stick that he and Sue had recovered from George Mackenzie’s flat. He then inserted it into a USB port on his computer. Ben then took another device from his bag, which he held over the memory stick. The others watched in silence as he typed on the keyboard. ‘This is a scanner,’ he said, indicating the new device. He then pulled the USB stick from its port. ‘I think this stick’s got a tracker in it, and, more than that, I think it sent a signal when it had been opened with the correct password. That would explain how the guy on the phone knows where we are and can infer our knowledge of the Cheshire Cheese and those who drank there.’

Sahadeva shook her head. ‘We should have thought of the USB stick transmitting. I agree with Ben that we’re on the back foot. We’ve got an anonymous individual with uncertain motives who at minimum knows the names of Robert and Ernest, and he knows we’re here.’

Ben nodded his head. ‘We need to check out this guy tomorrow, but we need to be on the front foot when we do it. I’ve got a plan.’

‘And I,’ added Sam, ‘have just remembered where I’ve heard that voice.’

Chapter 78 A rendezvous

Monday 23rd August

Peter Rogers looked at his watch. It was five minutes to ten in the morning. He had parked on Wilberforce Road and was now walking back towards the sea. A few people were strolling around, enjoying the morning sunshine. He had the impression that none were heading for his rendezvous at the shelter, although he had no idea what any such person might look like.

The shelter, across the esplanade from the end of Wilberforce Road, faced out to sea, and so Peter could not tell if anyone was waiting inside. He crossed the road and walked around the structure.

There was no one there, but there was a letter on the bench. It was held down by a rock to prevent it from being blown away by the breeze. Peter picked up the letter. On the envelope were the words: For the attention of Robert Watson.

He opened the envelope and removed the note that was inside:

Thank you for your call yesterday evening.

I am sure you will understand that, given the matters with which we are dealing and recent events, I am unsure whether it is safe to join you this morning.

I neither know your circumstances nor from where you might have obtained information about Ernest Ball and Robert Watson.

I would like to meet you to explore your knowledge further, however, and will be in contact shortly to make more secure arrangements.

Sincerely,

Ernest.

Peter looked around him and then read the letter once more. How could the writer arrange an alternative meeting when he or she did not know Peter’s identity? His phone call on the previous evening would not have revealed his number, and the writer surely had no other way of knowing who he might be or how to contact him. Peter wondered if he was being watched now.

He put the note in his pocket and then stood up and left the shelter. He began to walk along the esplanade in the direction of the bungalow identified by the tracker in the USB stick. He periodically looked around him as he walked. Years in special operations had given him a sixth sense about when he was being followed. Today, he had no sense that he was under surveillance by either the MOD or anyone else. He had made great efforts to ensure that no one related to Starchild knew of his phone call or his current whereabouts. The call on the previous evening had been made on an unregistered phone. He had also switched off his own mobile before leaving his accommodation this morning and had not taken his security tracker.

As Peter reached the bungalow, he noted that an older, West Indian woman was pulling a wheelie bin from the pavement, back towards the building – presumably, it had been collection day.

He crossed the road and approached her. ‘Hello. I see from the sign that this is a holiday bungalow that can be rented.’

‘That’s right. I’m Grace Clarke, the owner. Do you want to book it?’

‘Not immediately, but I’d like to take your details. I expect there are not many vacancies this time of year.’

‘There are vacancies for a few days here and there. A group left yesterday in fact, and the next guests aren’t due for a fortnight. The last lot left the place in a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. That’s why I’ve come down to tidy it up and get rid of some of the stuff they’ve left behind.’

‘Do you mind if I have a look inside so I can see if it’s what my wife and I might want?’

Grace Clarke walked towards the front door. ‘Sure. Go in. You’ll have to excuse the mess. You can never guarantee what guests are going to do. These were supposed to be here for another week, but they just suddenly decided to hightail last night.’

This was now making sense to Peter. His call on the previous evening had spooked the occupants. They had decided they were potentially at risk and had left in a hurry. He assumed they would still be nearby, however, as someone had left that note in the shelter, and the note had talked of arranging another meeting.

Peter reflected on his good fortune in encountering Grace Clarke. Walking past the bungalow had been the obvious thing to do just to check if there was any activity there, but he had not been expecting to meet the owner. He was also very pleased with himself for making use of that encounter to engineer a way to search the property. In their haste to depart, yesterday’s guests might have left some useful information about themselves.

Grace pushed open the front door. ‘You have a look around. I’ve got some work to do in the back garden.’

Peter entered the house and walked into the lounge area. He was as oblivious to Sam’s presence as he had been when she had been sitting in the back of his car, one week previously.

Sam discovered that injecting Peter in his shoulder was a much easier task than injecting an orange – the latter being a skill she had been practising under Sue’s instruction. Sam even managed to put the syringe down on a nearby table and support Peter so he did not hurt himself as he collapsed unconscious to the floor.

Chapter 79 A new calculation

Monday 23rd August

Hal Bennett looked at the charts on the computer screen in front of him. ‘Why didn’t we notice it before?’

Kathy Harris did not answer at once. Instead, she looked out of the window and across the lawns that lay in front of NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California. She then glanced up at Beth, who was making her daily journey across the sky. ‘It’s hard to see how anyone could have noticed it before. Her mass had no significant impact on her trajectory until it began to interact with the gravity of the inner planets.’

Hal kept staring at the computer screen. ‘Are we sure this is right?’

‘We’ve run multiple computer simulations. The path will be as previously predicted until Beth gets to around nine million miles from Earth. At that point, she’ll start to be captured by the gravity of the Earth and moon, and her trajectory will bend towards Earth's orbit. That’s when others, including amateur astronomers, are going to notice.’

‘You don’t think other space agencies will work it out before that?’

‘We’ve developed some very special observation and analytical techniques here at the Centre for Near Earth Object Studies. Other nations don’t have satellites with specialised instrumentation that are dedicated to studying NEOs in the detail we can. They’re unlikely to spot it before the major change in trajectory.’

‘But we don’t know what happens after that, Kathy.’

‘Beth’s specific mass and trajectory have produced a unique situation. Had they been slightly different, we could have predicted either a collision with Earth or a near miss leading to a stable orbit around the Earth. Beth’s right on the borderline. Either could happen. Frankly, the flapping of a butterfly’s wing could make the difference.’

‘Let the President know in accordance with the Asteroid Protocol. At least we don’t have to decide what to do with this information.’

Chapter 80 Contingencies

Monday 23rd August

Justin Troughton was feeling anxious as his call to MI5 was connected. ‘What the hell’s going on in Folkestone, Mike?’

‘I don’t know Prime Minister. I understand that Lieutenant General Rogers still can’t be contacted. He apparently left Shorncliffe at nine-thirty this morning. His phone’s off, and he either didn’t take a security tracker or that’s been switched off too.’

‘Do you think this might be related to Mackenzie?’

‘It could be, but I’m not sure in what way. Peter was very experienced. It was a clean hit on Friday morning. I debriefed Peter myself in the normal way. There was no indication of a problem.’

‘Kidnap related to Starchild?’

‘The jungle telegraph’s completely silent on any Russian or Chinese involvement – or any other state actor for that matter. Maybe we shouldn’t make assumptions yet. Let’s remember, he’s only been off the radar for five hours. I know it’s against protocols, but there could be an innocent explanation.’

‘Can you go down to Folkestone, Mike, and just keep an eye on things? If Rogers has vanished, we’ll need to investigate what’s happened to him, and we’ll also have to think about who else can implement Starchild. You wrote the Starchild manuals with Paterson and so you might need to become more operationally involved.’

‘OK, Prime Minister, I’ll leave at once.’