CHAPTER ONE

Employing a substantial amount of self-control he lowered himself gingerly into the comfortable rear seat of the powerful car. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the street lights he fumbled around for the two parts of the seat belt and fastened it around his body as the faceless driver pushed his right foot down and the car accelerated out of the quiet street in which he lived and headed for the heart of the city. It was a journey he had made thousands of times over the preceding fifteen years. Normally it would take anywhere from thirty to forty minutes, depending on the time of day and the amount of traffic on the streets. However this was not a normal time of day and he knew the journey time would probably be approximately half that duration. As he relaxed further into the seat he contemplated the situation he found himself in. It was, he reflected, indicative of his diabolical bad luck to receive an emergency call right at the start of his annual leave and to have that leave immediately and irrevocably cancelled. Not that he had planned to go anywhere in particular or do anything except some long overdue decorating in his modest flat. He just needed a couple of weeks in which to totally relax and recharge his batteries. Of course had he been able to peer into a crystal ball or use some other means of predicting future events and foresee that he would be summoned to the office at five on a wet Sunday morning Pete Darwin would certainly have moderated the amount of alcohol he had consumed at his sister's wedding reception the previous afternoon and evening. Undoubtedly he would also have left the ensuing party much earlier thereby giving himself the luxury of more than three hours sleep in which to shake off the effects of such a heavy drinking session. He felt certain that combined these two measures would have left him suffering from only a mild hangover and not the real corker that was now developing. Then again had he had the good fortune to come from a close family and not one that merely made the effort to assemble at such infrequent social functions then the male fraternity would not find it necessary to try and drink each other under the table when attending these gatherings and he would not be in the precarious predicament he was now, or feeling anywhere near as rough around the edges. Giving himself just enough time to get his bearings he briefly opened his eyes as the car skidded to an abrupt halt in the underground car park of his office. In the semi-darkness he fumbled for the release catch on the seatbelt as the driver flung open the rear passenger door and stood smartly beside it. Somewhat unsteadily Darwin climbed out of the vehicle, staggered the half dozen paces to the lift door and pressed the button. As he waited he took a few deep breaths to compose himself. As he stepped from the lift into the brightly lit corridor, the intensity of the incessant pounding inside his head tripled as it throbbed in perfect time with the beating of his heart. Silently he cursed the person who had ordered the painters to use white gloss on the walls. He squinted, looked down, and directed another equally vehement curse towards the cleaners for polishing the floors so highly. Not unnaturally it followed that his walk to Marshall's office was slow and, to say the least, a little unsteady. He was however quietly thankful that it was so early on a Sunday morning and the building was not the bustling hive of activity it normally was during the other six days of the week. He wasn’t in the slightest bit surprised to see Alice sitting at her desk in the small outer office. Over the years, no matter what time of day or night it was, if an emergency such as this one arose she would be ready to answer the call to duty and could always be found there. Like the majority of the long serving staff he had come to regard her more as one of the fixtures than a paid employee. Considering the dedication to duty she had shown over the years all things being equal she would probably fight off retirement and die at her post like a captain going down with his ship. She had been George Marshall’s secretary for a few months more than twenty-five years, almost ten years longer than Darwin had been with the department. Close inspection of her face would undoubtedly reveal her true age, or something very close to it, but very clever application of just the right amount of make-up ensured that she didn't look a day over thirty-five. However, the neatly brushed and set short brown hair and somewhat masculine glasses, which had always reminded Darwin of the way women looked and dressed during the years of the Second World War, concealed her ageless good looks almost as well as the drab, baggy, clothes hid her slim, perfectly proportioned, figure. Although he could not see them from where he was standing he knew that the shoes she was wearing would be comfortable brown lace-ups with sensible, low, heels."Hi gorgeous!" He greeted her in as close to his customary manner as his delicate condition would allow. "What's cooking?" He’d tried desperately hard to make his words clear but he had not succeeded in deceiving her. Through sparkling brown eyes the woman peered lazily at him over the top of her black-framed glasses. She smiled briefly, her thin lips almost disappearing with the action, then frowned heavily and gave a petite, disapproving, shake of her head."If you’re not careful it could be your balls." She replied coldly before announcing his arrival into the intercom. "Define sober?" She commanded mockingly as she released the button and waited for the small grey box on the left hand side of her desk to answer her. Darwin offered nothing more than a pathetic smile in response as he frantically searched his befuddled memory for his boss's definition of the condition. 'That state in which a persons’ mind and body are devoid of drug or alcohol induced encumbrances thereby bestowing upon their occupant full control over both mental faculties and physical co-ordination.' He rehearsed mentally. Along with the awkward silence into which he and Alice had lapsed, his thoughts were disturbed by the little grey box barking an order at her. Obediently she rose from her chair and crossed the room. She knocked gently on the large oak panelled door, which was flanked on either side by a pair of dark green, filing cabinets. There was a brief pause before a muffled response emanated from

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beyond, signalling the woman to open the door. Having done so, she stepped neatly aside so that Darwin could enter the spacious office of his immediate superior, and head of the Department. As he brushed passed her Alice announced him again then gently closed the door behind him."Take a seat." Marshall commanded in his familiar gritty voice without any pleasantries. With his heart pounding and feeling uncharacteristically nervous only too willingly Darwin obeyed the order and carefully lowered himself into the nearest of two, black, leather armchairs a few feet in front and to the right of him. Fortunately, or so he believed, the old man had been too engrossed in the contents of a file to notice his delicate condition."Does Professor Iain Archibald’s name ring a bell with you?" Marshall asked without bothering to look up. Primarily to allow him to collect his muddled thoughts Darwin paused for a long moment before answering the question."The name does sound vaguely familiar sir." He eventually replied in a pensive voice. "Didn't he attend that big scientific seminar in Las Vegas back in ‘87?""Actually it was back in ‘78." Marshall corrected him. "You’ll no doubt remember that you posed as one of his assistants.""I vaguely remember the assignment sir but I don't see the significance of....""He was found dead at three twenty-three this morning by a routine patrol. They noticed that the back door to his flat was open and went in to make sure everything was as it should be." Marshall interrupted."I take it then that the Professor didn't die of natural causes?" Darwin enquired almost casually but still making a conscious effort to ensure that his words were clear and struggling to do so. Marshall at last stopped reading, closed the file and tossed it lazily onto the unblemished blotter in the centre of his desk. With a simplicity that can only be gained through years of experience and practice he eased back in his chair and calmly shook his head before giving his reply."Not unless you consider having a carving fork thrust upwards through the base of the skull in any way natural, or even accidental." He stated calmly."I must admit that it is somewhat difficult to envisage sir. Where do I fit in?" Darwin quizzed in an understandably puzzled tone."You fit in because according to our records you are the only person still with the Department who spent any time at all with the man. Jessop has retired through ill-health, Harman was killed defusing a car bomb two years ago and I don’t think I need to remind you what happened to Yorke." Marshall was silhouetted by the grey light of dawn that filtered through the buildings beyond the tinted window. However Darwin did not need to see his face to enable him to describe every feature of it. He was sixty-two but looked at least fifteen years older. The mass of curly dark brown, almost black hair, which had adorned his head when the two men had first met, had thinned considerably and was receding passed his ears. Not surprisingly it had long since lost all trace of colour, unlike his bushy eyebrows, which had for the most part, remained brown. His steely blue eyes were set deep into his head and over the years Darwin had watched the bags beneath them change from a mere fold of skin into something more the size of a pair of World War two barrage balloons. During his lengthy service in the field he had collected numerous scars on each of his sagging cheeks and had had his nose broken so often that it now resembled a section of track from Silverstone. The lips were still thin but, in sympathy with either his cheeks or his stomach, the chin had drooped so badly that to describe it simply as a double was an immense kindness."We have plenty of men capable of finding his killer or killers, sir." Darwin stated objectively."I’m fully aware of the manpower capabilities of this department." Marshall agreed with a slow, authoritative, nod of his head. "However your job is not to find his assassins.""I'm not sure that I follow you sir." Marshall held up a finger indicating that Darwin should remain silent. Casually he leant forward and casually pressed one of the three buttons on the intercom."Alice, would you be kind enough to rustle up some tea for me and some very strong black coffee for Mr. Darwin please?""Yes sir." Alice replied almost instantaneously. The old man waited until he had listened to the distinct sound of the outer office door open and close and satisfied himself that Alice had indeed left her office before removing his finger from the button and resuming his relaxed position. Despite her long service and unblemished record the old man was still rightly cautious about saying anything sensitive either in her presence or that she could possibly overhear through the intercom."At the time of his er.... rather unfortunate demise Professor Archibald was working on Project Corkscrew." He explained. "Everything you need to know about it is in there." He added pointing to the file he had previously discarded on his desktop."I take it then that there's a small subterranean mammal at work?""Almost certainly but I don't want you to concern yourself with that area of the investigation either.""Then I'm completely mystified as to just exactly what my assignment is to be sir. If you don’t require me to find the Professors’ assassins and you don’t want me to plug the obvious security leak we have then what exactly do you want me to do?" Darwin asked in an obviously baffled tone. Slowly Marshall leant forward, interlocked his bony fingers and rested his elbows on his desk, one each side of the folder on the unused blotting pad."As I mentioned earlier according to our records you are the only person still with the Department who has spent any time at all with the now sadly late Professor Archibald.""And presumably that solitary fact makes me the most qualified man for this, as yet unknown, assignment?""No. That fact coupled with your above average IQ makes you the most qualified man for the assignment."

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There was another short, enforced, interruption in the conversation as Alice breezed into the room carrying an oval tray. The two men remained stony faced and silent as she placed two mugs of steaming liquid on the desk, one in front of Marshall, the other in front of Darwin and a plain paper plate with half a dozen assorted biscuits on it between them. Her task completed she smiled pleasantly, turned and left quietly."Actually the truth of the matter is that you were selected by the computer." The old man continued as the door clicked quietly shut. "And in the eyes of the P.M. what the computer says, goes.""What exactly does the computer want me to do sir?" Darwin enquired in a deliberately sarcastic tone, knowing of Marshall’s distrust, and dislike, of high tech machines."As you will undoubtedly discover when you read the file the project was just about completed." Explained Marshall as he reached forward and extracted the only chocolate biscuit from the plate. "Tomorrow morning the Professor was going to activate the system by entering the final subroutine into the master computer." He explained as he dunked the biscuit into his tea, shook off the excess liquid and put the whole thing in his mouth."And?" Darwin questioned none the wiser, as he took the only cream biscuit and bit into it."Presumably for reasons of security Archibald felt it necessary to conceal the subroutine in an unknown location." Marshall replied after an enforced and lengthy pause as he chewed and swallowed the biscuit."So you want me to find this missing part so that the project can be completed?"“That’s exactly what I need you to do.” The old man stated with a certain amount of satisfaction. “Without that vital component the whole thing is just a pile of space junk. Very expensive junk I might add.""Personally sir I can't see that having met the man, briefly, more than a dozen years ago is going to be of any significant advantage." Darwin admitted as he reached forward and picked up his coffee. “After all I was only one of his bodyguards, not his confidant. I don’t think I said more than half a dozen words to the man during the entire assignment.” He added as he shakily raised the vessel of steaming liquid to his lips."Neither do I." The old man agreed. "But that infernal machine does."“As I recall Jessop spent more time with him than the rest of us put together. Would it not be prudent for me to pay him a visit and see if he can remember anything that might be of some use?”“Perhaps, but before you go involving outsiders in a strictly internal matter I’d prefer you to go it alone for a couple of days. If you find that you’re still not really getting anywhere at the end of that time then I’ll consider allowing you to contact Jessop and seeing if he can help.” Marshall informed him however, the tone in his voice told Darwin that he would rather cut off one of his own arms than sanction the visit. That was one of the many areas where Darwin and the old man agreed to disagree. Because he no longer worked for the Department Marshall considered Jessop an outsider and no longer privy to what was going on despite his more than twenty years exemplary service. To exclude him so completely and thereby cut off a possible source of vital information was, to Darwin, utter madness. With an almost undetectable shake of his head Darwin watched as Marshall casually opened the top right hand drawer of his desk and extracted another folder."That's Archibald's personnel file. It might be of some help to you." He stated as he tossed it across the desk, the top edge of it gently hitting the paper plate and dislodging one of the remaining biscuits as it came to rest."Do I get an assistant?" Darwin enquired expectantly. Marshall picked up his mug from the desk and for the first time, sipped some of the pale brown liquid, and nodded in response. He frowned heavily, peered into the vessel, picked up the teaspoon and stirred his drink."You can have young Finch. He's a bit green I know but I'm sure that under your expert guidance he'll prove to be more than adequate for your needs. You'll also have the assistance of Dr. Harry Underhill, the Professors number two, who should be able to recognise the missing subroutine when you eventually find it." Marshall told him, the tone of his voice confirming to Darwin that it was definitely a case of when rather than if he found the missing subroutine."I would prefer someone with a little more experience than Finch sir.""I know you would but I’m afraid they have all been assigned to other aspects of the case. Finch is the only person available at the present time.” Marshall stated with finality that meant the subject was irrevocably closed and no longer open for either discussion or debate. Darwin shrugged his broad shoulders. Perhaps it was because of the early hour or maybe the day of the week but for one reason or another the old man was in one of his uncompromising moods and trying to argue with him at such a time was pointless. Without uttering another word he finished his coffee as quickly as the high temperature of the liquid would allow, picked up the two folders from the desk and stood up."This is level nine Darwin. That should tell you that I expect you to tell young Finch as little as possible and keep me informed of your progress. Progress which in this particular instance I trust will be swift as time is of the essence.""Yes sir. I’ll get started on it straight away.""Once you’ve studied them those files must be returned to me and no one else." The old man added with considerable emphasis on the last three words."Yes sir. I’ll return them as soon as I’ve read, learnt and inwardly digested their contents.”"Before you settle down with them I suggest that you make a start by making a visit to Archibalds’ flat before the cleaners get there." The old man suggested as he sipped some more of his tea."Have the sweepers finished yet?"

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"No. Because of the exceptional circumstances of this case the forensic team took longer than anticipated so the sweepers have only just started." Marshall informed him. "That should give you sufficient time to get some more coffee inside you to help you to sober up a little bit.""Yes sir.""And thank your lucky stars that it's presently just before six on Sunday morning and not eight on Monday morning.""Yes sir.""And remember Darwin those files are to be returned to me and no one else." The old man reiterated, again employing an excessively strong emphasis on the final three words."I understand completely sir." Darwin assured him, not wishing to repeat his previous answer for a third successive time. With those words he quietly turned and left the room. After returning the empty mug to Alice he made his way, falteringly, along the corridor to his own much smaller, and less comfortable, office. As he walked Darwin reflected on the conversation with Marshall. It was obvious from the tone of the old mans voice that he was not his first choice for the assignment. And who could blame him. With a bullet lodged perilously close to the base of his spine, so close that surgeons were reluctant to operate in an attempt to remove it, Darwin was not relishing the prospect of returning to the field for an assignment after four years of comparative safety behind a desk. He knew, as did just about everyone in the Department, that a field operation, however simple it appeared to be, could well bring that inevitable, dreaded, day when he would forever lose the use of his legs much closer. He sat wearily at his desk and wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow. Spending almost five years in the same office had its advantages. Consequently, without looking, he was able to reach down and remove the battery shaver from the bottom left hand drawer and the bottle of ibuprofen tablets from the top right simultaneously. Hastily he unscrewed the cap and shook a few of the small white discs onto his desktop, separated three and swallowed them as he buzzed the shaver into action. The motor slowed to a virtual standstill as the cutters attacked his modest stubble, making him wince. He made a mental note to replace the batteries before using the device again as he opened the first file and started reading. On the face of it Project Corkscrew was basically just another spy-in-the-sky satellite. Admittedly it was very complex and extremely secret but nonetheless simply another orbiting camera watching whoever needed watching. There were a couple of dozen pages of technical specifications and other information on the systems capabilities which, not fully understanding them Darwin skipped through, the obligatory personnel list covering everyone from the cleaners upwards who had been involved, in any way, with the project. There was nothing in itself significant however; a couple of possible motives for the Professors elimination sprang to mind. Either someone wanted to gain control of the system or they were trying to prevent it from becoming operational. In their own unique way they both seemed ludicrous. Why would anyone want to gain control of this particular system? Logically any country that had the technology to attempt it would have the capability of producing one of their own that was equally as good. Similarly why would someone wish to prevent it from becoming operational? There were over a thousand of the damn things already floating around up there. Surely one more was not going to make that much difference. He dismissed them both as unlikely and anyway it was not his problem. He switched off the shaver and closed the file. With a practised precision he replaced the machine in the drawer with his left hand and opened the second file with his right. It was much thicker than the first and contained everything known about the deceased person. Professor Iain Dougall Archibald was born in Edinburgh on 18 December 1934. He was educated at a Grammar School in the city, winning a scholarship to University in Oxford where he gained a degree in electronic engineering. Surprisingly, whilst they were both still at University, In June 1955 he married fellow student Dorothy Green. After graduating, with honours, he set up his own electronics firm in London but in January 1961 it went into liquidation. The Ministry of Defence recruited him less than one month later and he had been in their employ ever since working on a variety of sensitive and top secret projects for both the M.o.D. and MI5. Apart from a few associates at work he had no known close friends except his postal chess opponent, Gwen Roberts, who was currently living in America. He seldom attended parties or other social functions and after the death of his spouse in 1987 he retreated further into his shell. He rarely had visitors to his modest ground floor flat in Maida Vale and even more seldom ventured out from within its walls. There were two children produced as a result of the marriage, both boys. William, the eldest, had been killed in a freak car accident whilst on a fishing holiday in Eire four years before the death of his mother. The youngest son, James, was an alcoholic who had not been seen or heard of since one month after the death of his mother. The Professors leisure interests were listed as chess, ornithology, bridge, compiling and solving crosswords or any other kind of puzzle and listening to classical music. He had an exceptionally high IQ of almost two hundred and was, needless to say, a member of Mensa. One point of interest was that whilst attending a scientific convention in Helsinki in March of 71 he had been approached by agents of an undetermined foreign and offered the opportunity to defect. Needless to say he refused the offer and immediately reported the incident to his security liaison officer, a certain George Marshall by name. So when the old man had told him that he was the only person still with the Department he had been lying. The only possible explanation for his deliberate oversight being that he considered himself to be too high up on the ladder to be included in the list. With a well-practised eye Darwin flicked through the wad of papers picking out the salient points and little snippets of information that might prove useful at some future date. Before returning the files to Marshall and cheekily scrounging a second mug of coffee from Alice he quickly scanned the first file for a second time.

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By the time he returned to his own office to arrange a car and driver to take him to Archibalds’ flat his hangover had reached epic proportions. Reading and concentrating on the information contained in the two files had given the tablets little chance of suppressing the pain. Momentarily, as he replaced the half full bottle of painkillers in the drawer, he contemplated taking an overdose but quickly dismissed the idea as an insane one. Instead, in desperation, he tried telling himself that he did not have a headache but it was far more aggressive than his thoughts and easily won the mental battle. As the black Sierra whisked him through the virtually deserted streets of the Capital city, for the first time, Darwin began to worry about the assignment. If Archibald had indeed been murdered for either of the two reasons he had previously considered then it was logical to assume that, whoever committed the crime, would be equally ruthless to anyone who tried to follow in the Professors footprints. That being the case it was hardly the best time to baby-sit a scientist like Underhill who wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what was involved in a field operation. And it certainly wasn’t the ideal time to nursemaid a rookie like Finch, whose knowledge would be only slightly superior to that of Underhill. With everyone else assigned to 'other aspects' of the case and with his own somewhat delicate condition added to the scenario the chances of successfully completing the assignment were it seemed, at best, minimal. Still there was always the chance that he would find the missing subroutine in the flat and be able to return to his desk for a continuation of the mundane, but safe, existence he had been enjoying for the last four years. As he closed his eyes and tried to sleep he figured the chance of that happening was about the same as that of the world coming to an abrupt and violent end before midday. In accordance with Marshall’s suggestion he arrived at the flat in Maida Vale before the cleaners, they being an efficient team of men who would remove all trace of the late occupant. Before the end of the day they would carry out any minor repairs, redecorate and refurnish the place. The locks would be changed and, through an independent housing association, the property would be rented out to an unsuspecting couple or single person. Never again would the Department use it as a dwelling for one of their employees or a safe house. The sweepers had almost finished by the time he arrived. They had removed all of the known listening devices and were in the process of checking for additional ones. With his head throbbing in perfect time with the beating of his heart and his eyes closed Darwin sat in the lounge waiting for John Stokeham to give the all clear. Sleep was the one thing he desperately needed at that time but it was also the one thing that he did not dare do."That's it Oz. Clean as a whistle." Stokeham announced confidently as he strode purposefully into the room."What about additional fixtures and fittings?""No, nothing here that shouldn't have been." Stokeham replied, thrusting his enormous hands deep into the pockets of the black anorak he always wore. "Mind you, that's not to say that there hasn't been.""Uh?""Well it's not beyond the realms of possibility that whoever topped the old man could have had time to remove any devices he'd planted before our boys showed up.""Okay thanks Johnny." Darwin stated and cursed his less than sober condition for not recalling the obvious reason for Stokehams’ original statement."Looks like you had one hell of a good time. Was it a good night?" "It was my little sisters wedding reception, big family reunion." Darwin explained briefly."Don't you mean big family booze up?" Joked Stokeham cheerfully."You can say that again." Darwin admitted and at last opened his eyes. "Don't suppose you've got any ibuprofen tablets or similar on you?""Not me mate." Stokeham responded in a jovial voice. "Try the cleaners, they should be here soon. Ever since the Helsinki fiasco Jerry usually has something like that somewhere close at hand." Darwin forced his lips into a smile and looked at Stokeham. They were very similar and had often been mistaken for brothers even though, at forty-eight, Stokeham was a dozen years his senior. They both had the same light brown hair, cut short according to Departmental regulations, the same hazel eyes although Darwin's were set slightly deeper into his features and a little closer together. Stokehams’ nose was a fraction larger and had not been broken as many times and the line of his jaw was slightly less prominent. However, their ears, dimpled chins and high cheekbones were practically identical. Apart from their ages and the small scar between Darwin's eyes the only thing that really separated the two men was height and build. At exactly six feet Darwin was seven inches shorter and weighed a good forty pounds less than Stokehams’ two hundred and sixty."Thanks anyway mate.""Take care Oz." Stokeham advised him as he picked up his briefcase from one of the chairs and strode out of the room. Somewhat gingerly Darwin stood up and surveyed the room. It was sparsely, and inexpensively, furnished with a brown dralon suite which had seen far too many years service, matching curtains that had started to fade from exposure to afternoon sunlight, a small oblong coffee table, a self assembly wall unit decorated with a few cheap ornaments of the type that friends give out as souvenirs of their foreign holidays. There was a colour television and a video recorder and underneath the centre of the bay window stood a small, single bar, electric fire with an exaggerated teak surround that looked out of all proportion to the appliance. The wallpaper could have, and in all probability had, been up since the place was built and, like the paintwork, was yellowing from the effects of too many years of tobacco smoke and neglect. Inside the drop leaf section of the wall unit there were four videotapes, ten music cassettes, five whisky glasses and a virtually empty bottle of cheap Scotch. The two cupboards underneath contained a few books, mostly on bird watching, copies of the current television guides and the operating instructions for the video recorder. Darwin removed a small packet of adhesive labels from his inside jacket pocket and stuck one on each of the fourteen tapes. Without success he tried to move the unit away from the wall so,

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after contenting himself with shaking each of the books, he turned his attention to the fire surround, which was considerably lighter and easier to shift. Systematically he removed all the cushions from the ageing three-piece suite, squeezed them and examined them for signs of recent repair. Digging his hands as deep into the framework of the thing as he could the only things he found were a ten pence piece, two hairgrips and a short green pencil that had been heavily chewed at the end and in the centre. After a similar search of the two armchairs proved equally fruitless he lifted both the video recorder and the television and checked underneath them. He would have to wait for the arrival of the cleaners to find out what, if anything was under the chocolate brown, fitted, carpet and behind the wall unit so, satisfied that he had not overlooked anything obvious he wandered into the kitchen. Like the lounge it was long overdue for redecoration and for a moment Darwin thought of how much of a favour the person, or persons, who had killed Archibald had done the flat. The sink was full of dirty plates, heavily stained mugs and the sixth whisky glass. Two dirty saucepans stood on the back rings of the electric cooker and a half eaten meat pie in a tin foil dish had been placed in front of them. On the small table, adjacent to the sink, were two more dirty dinner plates, one with half a slice of burnt toast and part of a congealed fried egg still on it, a heavily stained mug with a mouthful of cold tea in the bottom and the previous days newspaper opened, and folded, at page sixteen. Methodically Darwin searched the cupboards, drawers, refrigerator, freezer and oven. He examined all the tins and packets of food and shook the pages of the solitary recipe without success. However in the tiny wall safe, which was disguised as a power point, he found two old, black and white, photographs with inscriptions printed neatly on the reverse. These he slipped into his inside jacket pocket as he looked out at the garden through the securely fastened glass panelled back door. At the bottom of the small garden was a dilapidated wooden shed with no roof and only three sides. From his vantage point he could clearly see that it was empty and not worth further examination. With a shrug of his shoulders he turned away and wandered into the solitary bedroom. The corpse that had, until approximately three’ o’clock that morning, been Professor Iain Archibald was laying face down on the bed, his head resting on the single, bloodstained, pillow. His facial skin was already cold with a bluish tinge and clammy to the touch. The look of total surprise on the old mans’ face immediately told Darwin that he had not expected to die but more importantly that he had not been tortured. Obvious really, he muttered to himself, if his assassins had wanted to do that they would have taken him somewhere else and kept him alive for days or even weeks. This would then be a simple missing person investigation and not a murder cum mole cum missing computer subroutine one. It did absolutely nothing to clarify the motive for his murder; if indeed this was a murder and not a botched break in, although the odds on the prevention one had shortened considerably. After all it was extremely unlikely that his assassin had known exactly where in the small flat the missing subroutine had been hidden if the Professor had even kept it in the flat. Considering the unusual choice of weapon it was conceivable that, initially anyway, whoever had broken into the flat didn’t mean to kill Archibald and therefore this could simply be a case of a burglary gone horribly wrong but, as Marshall had informed him, that was not for him to ascertain. Accordingly he dropped the subject and expertly searched the compact room. None of the three suits or two overcoats in the dilapidated antique wardrobe yielded anything. The pockets, except for a couple of crumpled till receipts, some flakes of tobacco and a modest amount of small change were empty. The linings had not been tampered with in any way and the buttons were simply buttons. Similarly none of the shirts, ties, sweaters, socks and underwear had been touched. The only things of any real interest were the large bundle of airmail letters from his postal chess opponent and an atlas, which was hidden amongst the clean sheets in the drawer under the bed. These he marked with the same adhesive labels as before to inform the cleaners that he needed them for further examination. Quickly, and purely as a matter of routine and habit, he frisked the corpse. Although it was something that had to be done in cases like this it was something Darwin hated doing. It would have been different if he had just killed the man himself. The flesh would still be warm and the blood considerably less sticky and easier to wipe off. In any event the procedure did not reveal much except that the Professor had not been killed as he slept, after all there were not many people who were eccentric enough to wear pyjama trousers, socks and muddy shoes in bed at night. It did however enforce his belief that this could well be an unfortunate tragedy. Everything pointed to the Professor surprising the intruder, being overpowered and killed. The killer then panicked and dragged the corpse into the bedroom, threw the bedclothes over him and high-tailed it out of the area. Hopefully that would be an accurate assessment of what had transpired earlier that morning and before long he would be able to replace young Finch with someone more experienced who would be an asset rather than a millstone. For obvious reasons checking under the mattress and the wardrobe would, like the wall unit and the carpet in the lounge, have to wait for the moment. Even discounting his somewhat delicate physical condition he did not possess sufficient strength to move all the furniture in the lounge and his delicate mental condition prevented him from moving the late Professors body from the bed. The cleaners arrived just as Darwin came out of the bathroom. They consisted of a team of six muscular young men led by Jerry Lister. Unlike Stokeham he was a short yet surprisingly stocky man in his mid thirties with green eyes and sandy coloured hair. In keeping with the majority of his associates, Darwin included, he had seen action in some of the most hostile and inhospitable places on earth and bore a scar for every one of them. His left foot was turned slightly inwards due to a grenade injury sustained somewhere in the Middle East half a dozen years ago but like thousands of other people, the world over, he had adjusted to the disability so well that his limp was hardly noticeable."Mornin' Oz." He announced as cheerfully as Stokeham had done an hour and ten minutes earlier. "What've we got?""One deceased male in the bedroom." Darwin informed him as he strolled into the lounge and retook his seat on the sofa."Any special instructions from you to go along with the ones I've already been given?""No. As far as I'm concerned it's a routine clearance but I would like to check under that wall unit, the wardrobe and the bed as soon as you've moved chummy.""No problem mate." Lister remarked.

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"And anything with a red dot I'd like sent to my office.""Okay Oz.""Thanks Jerry." He paused, delved into his inside jacket pocket and removed the two photographs he had taken from the safe in the kitchen. "These too mate." He added, handing them to Lister so that they could be added to the inventory of everything taken from the flat."Right, is that it?""No. I've forgotten I'll need to see what's under the carpets in here and the bedroom. They don't look as though they've been moved since before the war but you never know." Lister merely nodded in response and started out of the room to begin organising his team."Jerry?" Darwin shouted after him and then wished he hadn't as his head throbbed even more violently. "Have you got any ibuprofen tablets or something similar I can take for this damned headache?""I've got aspirin or a sharp knife. Take your pick." Lister stated with a chuckle, his bulky frame filling three quarters of the open doorway."A couple of aspirin will do for now but keep that knife handy just in case.""They're in the glove box of the wagon. Help yourself.""Cheers mate." Darwin shouted as the man left the room and again regretted doing so as the intense pain stabbed at his forehead from within. Two hours, a long refreshing cold shower, a light breakfast of toast and coffee and a change of clothing later Darwin arrived back at his office feeling slightly more human. The items he had requisitioned from the Professors flat had not arrived so to occupy his mind until they did he went to see the drummer boy to get the files on Dorothy Archibald, the Professors two sons and his postal chess opponent Gwen Roberts. The drummer boy was an extremely misleading nickname. Tom Thompson had been with the department for forty-three years during which time his name had been gradually shortened from Thomas Thompson to Tom Tom before finally, and inescapably, the nickname of drummer boy had been given to him. Little drummer boy would have been slightly more apt. The man being a somewhat diminutive figure with a body more suited to a twelve year old boy than a man rapidly approaching retirement age. Time had been relatively kind to him and there were not many wrinkles on his face. His hair, like Marshalls, had lost its entire colour but, as yet, had not started to thin or recede. For some unknown reason Darwin recalled an article he had recently read on testosterone and how only men with a high level of this particular hormone were likely to go bald and he wondered how Tom had managed to father five children. His eyes were pale blue and oozed warmth and friendship, especially when coupled with his warm smile. His nose and ears however seemed out of all proportion with the rest of his features, the former being unusually small and the latter grotesquely large. He was, as you would expect, extremely efficient and when Marshall had ordered Professor Archibalds file he had put to one side the dossiers Darwin was now requesting."How did you know I would need these Tom?""I didn't know it would be you but it stands to reason." The small man replied in a somewhat timid voice, which was entirely in keeping with his appearance. "If you're going to check up on someone then it's almost certain that you're going to want to look at the files of his family, friends and close associates.""You'll be greatly missed when you retire next year. A computer would never think of that." Observed Darwin."And they call it progress." The old man removed his bifocals and delicately cleaned the lenses on the front of his shirt. "Personally I think it's a step backwards for my line of work.""I'm inclined to agree with you." Darwin stated as he picked up the four files. "I don't want it just yet but can you sort out Dr. Harry Underhills’ file for me?""You mean this one?" Thompson asked, holding up a blue folder in his left hand and simultaneously replacing his spectacles with his right."Cheers Tom." Darwin had considered pulling Underhills’ dossier there and then but his head was still pounding out the powerful reminder that too much strain on his eyes would make things worse. He sensibly decided that he had sufficient paperwork to wade through for the moment and casually strolled back to his office to get started on it. It did not surprise him in the least that there was very little information in any of the files. The people concerned not actually being directly connected with any Government department they did not have lengthy service records and had been the subject of only a thorough security check. There were periodic entries in each of the files giving details of the most recent checks and in the cases of Dorothy and William Archibald the word 'deceased' in bright red ink had been stamped diagonally across the front cover in large capital letters. In his accustomed nonchalant manner Darwin browsed through each of the files picking out dates, places and other pieces of information that might prove relevant to his investigation. Dorothy Green was born in Bristol in 1935, had a grammar school education in the city before going on to University in Oxford where she met, and eventually married, Archibald. After the wedding she soon became pregnant with her first son and gave up a promising career as a teacher to become a full time housewife and mother to her two sons. Like her spouse she was something of a social leper, preferring to stay at home and keep herself to herself. In 1987, after a very short illness, she died of cancer. With a non-existent social life she had no close friends or associates.

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William, the eldest son, left school at sixteen and, after working in a newsagents shop for nine months, joined the army. He completed an apprenticeship in mechanical engineering after which he received postings to Germany, Cyprus, Belize and Northern Ireland. In September 1983 whilst stationed at Aldershot he and three friends were killed in a freak car accident whilst on a fishing holiday in Eire. There was a subsequent investigation to ascertain if the IRA had in any way been involved but the results were inconclusive. At the inquest a month or so later a verdict of accidental death had been recorded. James, the youngest, was by far the more intelligent of the two boys and followed in his fathers' footsteps by going to University where he graduated in computer studies. However, for him everything fell apart when his brother was killed. It had affected him worse than his mother and father and he started drinking heavily. At their own expense his parents sent him to an exclusive drying out clinic and eventually persuaded him to join Alcoholics Anonymous. In the beginning this proved very successful but when his mother died less than six years later he had a major relapse and embarked on another massive drinking binge. Since January 1988 he had not been seen or heard of and his present whereabouts were unknown although it was strongly suspected that he was currently living in a cardboard city somewhere in London. Gwen Roberts, formerly Gwen Crowe, was Dorothy's best friend at both school and University. Naturally enough she had been Maid of Honour at her friends’ wedding to Archibald. During the course of their higher education the three of them had become very close, almost inseparable, friends until she had unexpectedly married Hank Roberts, a colonel in the American Air Force, in late 1957. Dorothy had naturally enough returned the compliment and been her best friends Matron of Honour. Shortly afterwards she had emigrated to that country when her husband was recalled to the United States and posted to Scott Air Force base in Illinois. She and Archibald had been playing chess by post since that time. There was a much later entry in the file giving brief details of her husband’s death in 1974 during the height of the Vietnam conflict. For more than another hour Darwin pawed over the files until at last, satisfied that he had extracted all the necessary, and relevant, information from them he locked them in the top drawer of his desk. From experience he knew that until the items from the Professors flat arrived there was little more he would be able to accomplish on a Sunday. After filling out his initial report and delivering a copy to Alice for Marshall’s perusal he went home for an early lunch and a few hours much needed sleep. He would be better equipped to attack the investigation with full enthusiasm once he had managed to completely shake off the effects of his excessive binge the night before.

CHAPTER TWO

By arriving at the office a great deal earlier than usual on Monday morning Darwin managed to escape most of the correctly predicted torrential downpour that now hammered incessantly against his office window as he stared at the five plastic bags Lister, or one of his men, had dumped in the centre of his desk. Four video tapes, ten music cassettes, two old photographs, an atlas and a pile of airmail letters was not much to show for the best part of fifty-eight years of life. Even added to the clothes and furniture in the small one-bedroom ground floor flat it did not amount to a hill of beans. It was puzzling that there had been so little but, to Darwins enquiring mind, not as puzzling as the items that had not been there. No driving licence, no passport, bankbooks or credit cards. Except for the name on the envelopes there was absolutely nothing to confirm that the dead man was indeed Professor Iain Archibald. However, as Marshall had informed him, that did not concern him, being one of the 'other aspects' of the case. Ignoring the problem he turned his undivided attention to the pile of letters, which Gwen Roberts had, over the years, sent to the late Professor. In total there were one hundred and thirty-six of them spanning a period of almost three and a half decades. Using the postmarks as a guide Darwin arranged all the letters in chronological order before settling down to read every one of them. Until mid 1970 they had been sent from an address inside Scott Air Force base, which was presumably one of the married quarters, but after July of that year the address had changed to a town called Troy, both places being in the State of Illinois. The letters were quite unremarkable, containing brief comments on the Professors last move, how she saw the game developing and her own move. Darwin sensibly ignored the early ones and concentrated on those sent in the last two years. Logically, he reasoned, anything relevant to his assignment would be contained in them. He paused for a long moment, closed his eyes and mentally revisited the small ground floor flat in Maida Vale."How on earth can somebody play chess without a board and a set of pieces?" He muttered to himself."Sorry sir?" Momentarily startled by the unexpected quizzical response Darwin stopped what he was doing and looked up at the young man who was standing on the far side of his desk. He had been so engrossed in reading the letters that he had failed to register his arrival. Taking in as much information as possible in the shortest amount of time he studied the person standing in front of him. Marshall had been correct when he had referred to his new assistant as 'young Finch' he thought. He was a little too young for Darwins’ personal preferences. He was barely out of nappies by Departmental standards. Standing well over six feet and fairly muscular with broad, slightly rounded, shoulders he was the perfect example of the Departments ideal recruit. Smartly dressed in a black suit similar to the one Darwin himself had chosen to wear to the office that morning, clean-shaven and without a single hair out of place he looked as though he had just come off the assembly line. Had it not been for his striking ginger hair a description of him could have fitted a thousand men of his age. He had deep set brown eyes, a Roman nose and a face full of acne scars. His lips were thin and parted in a half smile that seemed to angle slightly downwards from right to left. He had a square shaped jaw and high cheekbones that gave him a considerably rugged and tough appearance.

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"You must be Finch." Darwin stated confidently merely to confirm his initial decision as to the man's identity."Yes sir." The young man responded in a distinctly deep and husky voice."What's your first name?""Steve sir."“Right Steve before you do anything else I need you to get some coffee. I take mine white with one sugar. And by the way I prefer to keep my working relationships on an informal level. So in future don't call me sir, my name's Pete.""Yes s... Pete." Finch acknowledged then scurried away as silently as he had arrived. Darwin shrugged his shoulders briefly then turned his attention, once again, to the letters. He was convinced that, as brilliant as he undoubtedly was, Professor Archibald would not have been able to memorise the position of every piece in a chess game over a period of months, possibly years, without the aid of a board. There was nothing obvious to suggest that the letters contained anything except chess moves and perhaps the flow of information, if any, only went one way. He would have to get Andy Jarvis in the cipher department to examine them more closely. If there was indeed anything secretive or revealing concealed in either the text or on the paper Jarvis was just the man to find it. He replaced the letters in their bag and, pushing them to one side, took out the two black and white photographs that he had found in the kitchen of Archibalds’ flat. The first one was of the Professors eldest son William in his uniform with the appropriate message 'BY THE CENTRE, QUICK MARCH.' printed neatly on the back. Darwin held it up to the light and scrutinised it briefly before turning his attention to the second, much older, picture. It showed three people sitting on some steps outside a church. The man, whom Darwin instantly recognised as a very young Archibald, was sitting between two women and slightly lower down on the steps. One of the women was undoubtedly the late Mrs. Dorothy Archibald and, although it was impossible to be certain due to the lack of a photograph in her file, Darwin was convinced that the woman on the right of the trio was the Professors postal chess opponent, Gwen Roberts. The inscription on the reverse side was rather more cryptic than the other but, in its way, equally appropriate. It read 'ME UNDER MY BIRD AND DOROTHY'. In both cases it was clearly evident that the inscriptions were fairly recent additions. As with the first one he held it, briefly, up to the light looking at it from both sides before replacing them both in the plastic bag and throwing them on top of the letters so that they too could be further, and more expertly, examined by Andy Jarvis. Quickly he thumbed through the pages of the atlas. There were crosses indicating the places the Professors eldest son had been posted to whilst he was in the army but nothing remarkable. This would also, he decided, go to the cipher department for further scrutiny. The assortment of ten audiocassettes and four videotapes could be passed on to Phil Harrington in the electronics lab. Just as the lack of a chess board and pieces had nagged at him a few minutes earlier so the lack of a stereo system, or a suitably alternative method of playing the audio tapes, nagged at him now. Additionally it stated, categorically, in the Professors personnel file that he enjoyed listening to classical music. Why then would a man with no sound system who liked listening to Bach, Beethoven and the like have a collection of pop music tapes in his possession? There were no nephews or nieces since he and his late wife were both only children. Neither of his sons had married and provided him with grandchildren and as far as was known his one living son never went to see him. Of course it was conceivable that they were simply a reminder of the days when his sons were living at home but Darwin doubted it. Finch at last returned with the coffee and half a dozen assorted biscuits on a tray."Did you manage to work it out Pete?" The young man enquired eagerly as he placed the tray on the desk and lowered himself into the solitary chair in front of Darwin’s desk."What?" Darwin asked, his thoughts still on a completely unrelated matter."How someone can play chess without a board and pieces?""No I didn't." Admitted Darwin as he reached for his coffee and snapped up the only chocolate biscuit amongst the limited assortment."They could use a computer." Finch informed him proudly."Possibly." Darwin agreed as he dunked the biscuit into his drink. "It's not really that important at the moment though." He lied. They lapsed into a comfortable silence whilst coffee and biscuits were consumed and Finch had returned the tray from wherever he had obtained it. The short period gave Darwin sufficient time to decide exactly what he wanted the young man to do."I'd like you to check clubs and associations in the Maida Vale area and find out if Professor Iain Archibald was a member of any of them." Darwin instructed his charge as the young man re-took his seat."What, all of them?" Finch asked incredulously."Not quite. I want you to concentrate on pub quiz teams, chess clubs, bridge clubs and bird watching organisations.""What am I supposed to be looking for? Apart from his membership I mean.""Anyone who associated with him closely such as a regular chess opponent, bridge partner or anyone he chatted to on a regular basis. Also get the names of all the people who have joined the club or team within the last twelve to fourteen months.""Okay.""If you do happen to find someone whatever you do don't approach them. Just find out who they are and where they live.""Sure thing Pete.”"One more thing, I want you to make a discreet check of all the television and radio repair shops in the area. Find out if Professor Archibald left a stereo system or portable radio cassette player there to be fixed.

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"Shouldn't present me with any problems s... Pete." The young man stated in a confident, almost arrogant, tone. The two men stood up simultaneously. Darwin picked up the five plastic bags from the desk and followed Finch out of the room turning left, away from the lift the young man headed for, towards the cipher room at the far end of the one hundred yard long corridor. Perhaps, pondered Darwin, Finch had been right about the Professor using a computer to play chess, after all they were certain to have one at Project Corkscrew and as the head of the project he would have unlimited access to it. Failing that if he was a member of a local chess club he could be using one of their boards. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind as he arrived outside the room he'd been heading for. He tapped lightly on the glass-panelled door, opened it and breezed in. Andy Jarvis was sitting, as always, in front of a computer with his jacket off, tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled untidily up passed his elbows. He was a small man in his late twenties with a mass of uncombed black hair through which, when deep in thought, he habitually ran his long slender fingers until he could scratch the back of his head. The red marks on the bridge of his small nose had faded considerably over the preceding six months, ever since he had changed from wearing unsightly spectacles with extremely thick lenses to contact lenses. This had the added advantage of giving him a much friendlier appearance. He smiled pleasantly as Darwin strolled up to him, swinging three of the plastic bags in his left hand and twirling the index finger of his right round the top of the other two."Good Morning Oz. What's the problem?" The voice, even to those unfamiliar with it, oozed breeding and an expensive, private, education."Can you take a look at these for me Andy?" Darwin enquired genially as he handed over the parcel of three bags. The smile changed to a toothy grin and the man's clear blue eyes widened as he took the bags from Darwin. He raised his eyebrows at their contents.What do you want me to look for?""Anything unusual or hidden that might not be immediately obvious to the casual observer." Darwin informed him."That specific eh? I'll do my best." Darwin smiled in response to the sarcastic, but friendly, response to his request then launched into a short but detailed explanation of why he thought that there might be something hidden either in the letters or the inscriptions on the back of the photographs."Okay, I'll give it a bash.""Cheers Andy.""How urgently is it required?""Extremely, I need the results by last Friday at the latest.""I suppose I had better leave doing my crossword until I get home then.""I would appreciate it. By the way it might be best to start with the most recent letters and work backwards.""Sounds like a sensible course of action." Jarvis mentioned casually with a curt nod of his head. Darwin thanked him again before leaving the room and making his way to the electronics lab, three floors below his office, to deliver the remaining two bags to Phil Harrington. He was of a similar stature to Andy Jarvis but twice his age. His hair was, like his narrow eyes, dark brown and perfectly groomed. He too had made the transition from spectacles to contact lenses but didn't bother putting them in every day and reverted to his glasses on numerous occasions of which this day was one. Darwin had always been of the opinion that whereas contact lenses suited Andy Jarvis, they didn’t suit Harrington. Whenever he wore his he lost the distinguished look that made everyone want to know him. As usual his white coat was immaculately ironed and his tie perfectly positioned at the neck of his pale blue shirt and tied with a double-Windsor knot. Darwin gave him virtually the same reasons for the examination of the audio and video cassettes changing only his explanations of the reasons why, stressing this time the absence of a stereo system and the late Professors love of classical, not pop, music. Before he left Darwin scrounged a fresh set of four batteries for his shaver. As he strolled back to his office he realised that now all he could do was wait. Initially until his two-thirty appointment with Dr. Underhill at Project Corkscrew headquarters, an appointment that had been made by Alice at Marshall's request. It would take more than a day for Phil Harrington to subject the fourteen tapes to the extensive array of sophisticated tests and he knew he'd be lucky to have the results by the following afternoon. Similarly it might take days, or even weeks, for Andy Jarvis to complete his examination of the letters, photographs and atlas. If he failed to find anything he would then have to pass them over to Harrington so that they could be subjected to a few more tests. More as an afterthought than anything else he called in to see the drummer boy and pulled Underhills dossier before returning to his office. He was meeting with the man that afternoon and wanted to know more about him than just his name. Relaxing in his chair and stretching his legs out underneath the desk Darwin opened the folder and started reading. Dr. Harold Underhill had worked for the Ministry Of Defence for a little less than half of his forty-eight year life and, like so many both before and after him, he had first been approached while still at University in Cambridge where he was studying electronics. Like his superior on Project Corkscrew he had worked on numerous sensitive and top-secret Government assignments over the years, more often than not as Archibalds’ number two. Similarly he was a member of Mensa, his IQ being only a few points below that of the late Professors. Until a particularly nasty skiing accident ten years ago, almost to the day, had left him with a badly broken left leg he had enjoyed participating in a variety of energetic sports including football, hockey, squash and badminton. Unlike the Professor Underhill had never married and still lived with his parents in Kensington. He had an older sister who was a missionary in Africa and a younger brother who was the assistant manager at a third division football club. He rarely visited his

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brother, or sister when she came back to England for a holiday, and was considered to be very much a lone wolf by his work mates, both past and present, as well as his superiors. Once again, in his customary manner, Darwin flicked casually through the file making a mental note of dates, places and names for possible future reference before adding the other four files to it and returning them to the drummer boy. Merely as a precaution he asked the man to keep them handy in case he should need them again. By now it was fast approaching lunchtime and in the company of John Stokeham, Andy Jarvis and Phil Harrington Darwin went for the, somewhat customary, liquid lunch at the quiet local pub half a mile from the office. No doubt young Finch would be enjoying a similar meal in one of the many drinking establishments he would be checking. The others in the party didn't take long to notice Darwins’ pensive mood and knew, from years of experience that he would not be as talkative as usual and consequently left him out of the majority of the conversation that flowed as readily as the drink. He was quite happy to be generally ignored as his mind rifled through the mass of information it had accumulated during the preceding thirty or so hours, more specifically that on Professor Iain Archibald and Dr. Harold Underhill than the other four people. He continued with the sifting process as the same car and driver as the previous morning carried him, more sedately, through the light, mid afternoon, traffic of the Capital. Slowly, but more increasingly, he became aware of the headache that was once more growing inside his head, no doubt the remnants of the hangover he'd suffered from the previous morning. He arrived at the apparently disused warehouse close to the start of the M1 motorway at precisely two-fifteen by his watch. After the statutory, but keener than usual, security checks the man on the gate directed his driver to a shuttered loading bay at the rear of the building. Once again there was another intense security check before Darwin was permitted to leave the car. He entered the building at exactly two twenty-eight and was met by Dr. Underhill, the badge clipped to the breast pocket of his white coat identifying him as such before he'd finished introducing himself. In modern day terminology the man was a wimp standing only five feet seven inches tall and weighing less than one hundred and forty pounds. His sandy coloured hair was beginning to thin on top and go grey at the sides. His blue eyes were greatly magnified by the powerful spectacles he wore. He had a fair complexion with a scattering of faint freckles on each of his rosy cheeks and across the bridge of his nose, which incidentally seemed altogether too large for him. As Darwin had expected he walked with a heavy limp, almost dragging his left leg, the toes of which were turned outwards. As he fell loosely into step a couple of paces behind the man he couldn’t help but compare him to Quasimodo, without the hunch, and fully expected him to start shouting ‘The bells, the bells.’ as he laboured along the short corridor. Effectively smothering his laughter Darwin followed him through a sequence of three locked and guarded doors, across a large empty area, up a metal staircase and into a small office. Through the glass partition he could see several people in identical white coats milling around a variety of sophisticated computer equipment. The office itself was simply that, containing only an ancient wooden desk, two uncomfortable looking chairs and a three-drawer filing cabinet. There were no pictures on the plasterboard walls or the desk, no potted plants to make the place a little brighter and no carpet on the wooden floor."So this is the control centre." He remarked. "It isn't very big." "No it isn't but if size were an important factor Mr. Darwin then a cruise missile would be considerably larger than the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima during the latter stages of the Second World War." Underhill stated with an air of superiority, his timid voice perfectly matching both his appearance and stature."And this is what Professor Archibald was killed for?" Darwin quizzed as he quickly surveyed the room for a second time."No." Underhill corrected him. "Iain was murdered for what's up there." He stated, directing a long slender finger skywards."Have you any idea why someone would kill him over just another spy-in-the-sky satellite?" Darwin asked, lowering himself into the offered chair."Corkscrew isn't just another spy-in-the-sky satellite, as you put it, Mr. Darwin.""The file says it is." Darwin pointed out a little defensively."Then the file is incorrect.""What exactly is it then?""Project Corkscrew is also known as Midas and previously known as Sara." Underhill informed him as he seated himself in the empty chair across the desk from Darwin."Huh?""Midas stands for Military Information Detection and Surveillance.""And Sara?""Sara is the original acronym Iain created for the system. It stands for Search and Rescue Assistance." The scientist informed him."I don't follow." Darwin admitted with a little shrug of his broad shoulders."Okay, let me try and explain. You’ve obviously read Iains’ personnel file so I am sure you are aware that he was a brilliant man. In a class of his own like Da Vinci, Einstein and a few other that have been scattered throughout this planets more recent history.""Agreed.""In the mid seventies Iain designed an advanced satellite system. Considering the equipment that was available at the time and the limitations that it imposed the system was micro-technology at its best that was then, and still is, decades ahead of anything else." Underhill explained as he casually extracted a tin of small cigars from his coat pocket. "Iain designed it primarily for use by the International Aid and Rescue organisations like the Red Cross." He offered Darwin one of the cigars, which he politely refused."Go on." Darwin prompted as Underhill fumbled in his other pocket for his lighter."Naturally Iain approached his superiors at the M.o.D. but, at that time, they weren't interested in financing it basically because it had absolutely no military value. Although they were greatly impressed with its capabilities the relief organisations couldn't afford to

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provide him with the kind of money he needed to finance the project either. So it was shelved and forgotten about." He stopped talking momentarily as he lit his cigar, blew a plume of smoke into the air and relaxed into his chair."Then what happened?""Then the Falklands war happened." Underhill enthusiastically informed him. "The top brass at the M.o.D. at last realised the military potential of the system. However still nothing was done until the Gulf war in ‘91.""So they ordered Archibald to start work on it?" Darwin stated with a knowledgeable nod of his head."In a way, yes, they instructed Iain to change its designated functions but typically he refused.""So?""There followed almost two years of arguments, demands and counter demands. In many ways it was a classic catch twenty-two situation with Iain refusing to change the system and the M.o.D. refusing to finance it unless he did.""But eventually they reached an agreement over it?""Actually it was more of a compromise." Underhill stated as he blew another lungful of smoke into the air. "Reluctantly Iain agreed to add the military requirements to the system whilst still retaining everything needed for its primary use. It was renamed Corkscrew and work started on it at the end of February '93." He concluded."So exactly what is it that makes this particular system so special? So different from everything else that's up there?""The major advances in micro-technology over the last five to ten years that were incorporated in the revised plans have a lot to do with it. As I told you Iains’ original concept was for a search and rescue satellite so to best describe what the system is capable of doing let's take a hypothetical situation like a major earthquake in a densely populated city such as San Francisco, Los Angeles or Mexico City.""Agreed." Darwin stated with another knowledgeable nod of his head as he tried, unsuccessfully, to relax into the uncomfortable chair."To begin with the satellite is fitted with an ultra-high resolution camera and an extremely sophisticated thermal imaging system that could pinpoint a survivor buried under a couple of hundred feet of rubble. The camera is capable of taking up to one hundred frames per second and the on board computer has been programmed to compare sequential photographs of the same location. That ability alone enables it to detect even the slightest trace of movement, such as the rise and fall of the chest cavity when someone breathes.""Leaving the rescue workers more time to concentrate on the people who are still alive." Darwin concluded."Precisely." Underhill confirmed. "And coupled with the computers' ability to overlay the pictures it takes with a ten figure grid reference and a marker it can save hours of painstaking digging for the ground crews." The scientist continued, pointing his cigar through the window. "Part of the main computer out there is completely portable and can run for up to ninety days using an internal power source.""So it could communicate directly with the satellite from the scene of the actual disaster, which would save even more time and increase the survival rate." Darwin concluded. Casually Underhill reached forward and stubbed out his cigar in the square pottery ashtray in the middle of his, somewhat untidy, desk."I'm sure you can imagine its military potential.""It would probably be able to tell you what size and make of boots the enemy were wearing.""That's just the tip of the iceberg." The scientist stated enthusiastically. "The satellite is completely invisible to radar so it can’t be shot down. It has the ability to change its geostationary orbit to scan any requested area. From an incredibly high orbit thousands of miles above us it can take pictures at the rate of one hundred per second that are of much better quality than you or I could get from an idiot proof SLR camera at ten feet. Additionally it can calculate speed and direction accurate to within a tenth of a second, by that I mean a very small fraction of one degree. The photographs are unbelievably clear and can show an area of a couple of hundred square miles or a couple of square millimetres if required. Regardless of the terrain, be it desert, dense forest or even underwater by correct use of the equipment you can pinpoint the enemy position to within a millimetre or two, relay the co-ordinates to your armed forces and its bye-bye enemy army or navy.”"Very impressive." Darwin agreed with an appreciative nod of his head. "But is it really that good?""In theory it can do that and much more but for me to explain everything it's capable of doing would take a couple of days and neither of us can afford that amount of time at the moment.""You said in theory. Is there a chance that it's not as good as you're making it out to be?""Not really although, admittedly, we've only been able to test the photographic system at a relatively short range up on the Yorkshire Moors. Even then, from over eight miles up and thirty miles north of our position and using the lowest resolution setting, when we magnified the photographs it was possible to count and accurately measure the eyelash hairs on Iains’ face. Obviously we can't test the whole system fully until we enter the final subroutine into the master computer program.""Isn't there any way you can work out what it should be?""No, absolutely not and if there was then you and I would not be having this conversation." Underhill replied with absolute certainty."Why aren’t you able to work it out?” The question was an obvious one but it begged to be asked."By nature Iain was a very secretive man and he didn't let anyone see the language he used for the computers.""And I take it you can't change it?""That might have been a possibility if we hadn't launched the damned satellite into orbit three days ago. However, with it floating around up there and us firmly rooted to the spot down here there's no way on earth that that could be done now. And I doubt if we'd have been able to succeed in doing it anyway."

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"Why not?” Darwin pursued interestedly. “I freely admit I’m not that well informed on the subject but surely it would be a relatively simple job.""Let me try to explain the situation to you, in layman's terms. Iain created a special language for the system. You see when it was agreed to amalgamate the military requirements with the original rescue ones more instruments had to be added. Now for financial reasons if no other a satellite has to have the maximum amount of equipment in the smallest possible space and with the minimum amount of weight. When the extra instrumentation was added we had to rearrange everything and reduce the size of the onboard computer with the result that we lost two hundred and fifty-six gigabytes of memory. That meant that all the conventional computer languages, such as Fortran, Forth, Pascal, Cobol and even C were, for want of a better term, too bulky, to allow us to enter the full program code. Even after deleting several seldom used operations we were still woefully short of having the system we wanted. So in order to overcome this problem Iain created a unique language specifically for the system. Although it will almost certainly have some similarity to one or more of the present day languages it will not be fully compatible with any one of them. Were we, for instance to send the satellites on-board computer instructions written in one of the standard computer languages at best it would misinterpret them and at worst it would crash the entire system and consequently waste millions of pounds of tax-payers money." Underhill explained at length."And being such a unique language no one down here can understand it?" Darwin speculated."Sadly at the moment that is true. But to be fair it is only true because we don’t have a sample of the language from which to work. We have probably the best team of computer experts in the country who between them would be able to decipher it in a matter of hours if they could see it. The problem is that, secretive as ever, Iain secured the master program with a password and we haven't yet worked out what that password is.”"A password?""I think it would be easier if you allowed me to show you what I mean Mr. Darwin." Without speaking and using a nothing more than a few simple hand and arm gestures to direct him the scientist guided Darwin into a larger room on the other side of the glass partition and casually sat down at one of a row of eight computer terminals. Darwin stood directly behind him, clasped his hands behind his back, and peered over the top of the man's head."From here." Underhill began and waved his arms around in the air enabling him to encompass the whole area. "We should be able to communicate directly with the satellite and instruct it to do whatever we want." He turned his head to the right and waited for Darwin to acknowledge his understanding before continuing."As you can see the computer is ready to receive an input but watch what happens when we try." Underhill rapidly typed a few instructions on the keyboard and pressed the enter key. Momentarily the VDU screen went blank then in the centre of the small screen displayed the message: 'COMMUNICATION FREQUENCY NOT YET DESIGNATED'."The missing subroutine uses a series of random numbers, plus the total number of days elapsed since the first of January to calculate which transmission and reception frequencies are to be used for the next twenty-four hours. If that particular frequency has been used at any time during the last twenty-four months it goes through the whole process again and again until it comes up with one that hasn't." He informed Darwin and again waited for his acknowledgement before proceeding."Now if we try to access the program we get..." He just as quickly typed some more commands."For security clearance please enter password." Darwin read aloud from the small screen."Each of these twelve dashes represents one character and could be any one of the one hundred and two characters on the keyboard." Underhill explained, touching the appropriate area of the screen with the index finger of his right hand."A name perhaps?" Darwin suggested."Quite possibly." The scientist agreed with a nod of his head. "But by the same token it could be a single word, a short phrase or even an alpha-numeric code. And if we get the wrong one... we get the message...""Access denied. Incorrect response." Darwin just had time to read before the screen went blank."Now we have to wait two hours before we can make another attempt." Underhill explained with an understandably heavy sigh."Why did he program it with such a long interval between attempts?""For security reasons of course although personally I believe the duration to be too long, thirty minutes would have been adequate. If the system had been configured to allow an infinite number of consecutive attempts anyone with half a brain could sit down at this terminal, or another one just like it, and using a process of elimination keep trying different passwords until they enter the right one. It was something the top brass at the M.o.D. insisted on and one which both Iain and I fully agreed with." Underhill informed him."But they didn't count on the untimely death of the only person who knew the password.” Darwin remarked pensively. “However I must admit I find it strange that only he knew the password to the system.”"Unfortunately that's something none of us could have envisaged. As for your astute observation on this project it wasn’t that unusual for Iain to change the password on a whim and then tell me what he’d changed it to the following day. The only way to describe it would be to say that he was paranoid about security. Not just on this project but on every one that he’s ever worked on for the Government. ""So obviously he must have changed the password sometime on Friday night or Saturday when no one else was around. What about a back door?” Darwin suggested after dragging up a view vague memories from the back of his mind. “Wouldn't he have left another way into the system? I seem to remember watching a film....""Oh undoubtedly he has put one in but it doesn't help us in the slightest. Iain would only need to use the back door if the powers that be had decided to revoke his security clearance and lock him out of the system. And then it would only be accessible through an external telephone line."

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"But it does help a little." Darwin stated objectively. "It means that there is more than one way to unlock the system.""Unfortunately Mr. Darwin it doesn’t help at all, although I can see what you’re driving at. When I said Iain would only need to use the back door if he'd been locked out of the system I meant if, for some reason, the Ministry, in their infinite wisdom, had decided to terminate his normal access route. In order for anyone, Iain included, to get in through the back door the system would have to be up and running. And without the subroutine it isn’t.”"So do you want me to look for the password or the subroutine?""Good question and one that I have spent many hours considering. On the face of it the best thing to have would be the password because it would give us access to the whole of the language Iain created. On the other hand it’s not inconceivable that he used more than one password to protect the system. However if I had to choose between the two I would prefer you to concentrate your efforts on locating the missing subroutine. At least that would give us a sample of the language, and considering the complexity of what that subroutine does a very detailed sample. Once our experts have deciphered it and duplicated the program we can reprogram the computer and start all over again.”“Can’t you do that anyway? Just erase the computers’ memory and reprogram it?”“Unfortunately not, without a copy of the language from which to work with it would be futile. Another reason is that Iain has used another password to prevent anyone from doing just that. Additionally he has configured the computer in such a way that if we try to reset the BIOS, basic input and output system, by removing the back-up battery we get a warning message telling us that if power to the system isn’t restored within two minutes everything, including the main program, will be erased. And we need to protect the core programming at all costs.”"And at one attempt every two hours it could take an awfully long time for you to find the correct password and gain control of the system.""At the rate of twelve attempts per day I seriously doubt if even our great, great, great grandchildren would be alive when the final combination was typed into the computer Mr. Darwin."“By which time the system would be obsolete.”“Without the slightest doubt, it would almost certainly be sitting in some futuristic museum somewhere.” The scientist confirmed."What is this subroutine likely to look like?""Most logically it'll consist of a series of words or letters and numbers with a few special characters mixed in with it. Unfortunately since we don't have a sample of the language I'm afraid I can't give you any idea how long it'll be.”"And similarly the password could be anything from a name to a series of seemingly random keystrokes?""Yes although it's my guess that it will be a name or something close to Iains’ heart.""How about Gwen Roberts?" Darwin suggested. "Her name's got twelve characters if you count the space.""To a computer a space is the same as any other character." The scientist remarked informatively. "But who on earth is Gwen Roberts?" He asked, raising his eyebrows as he did so."They attended university together and have been playing postal chess together for years.""We live and learn." Remarked Underhill and jotted the womans’ name down on a small pad beside the keyboard. "As soon as the system resets I'll start trying the various combinations."“With only twelve letters you should only have one shouldn’t you?”“Unfortunately not Mr. Darwin, each character on the keyboard has a unique numerical value which means that an uppercase, or capital, ‘G’ is entirely different to a lowercase, or small, ‘g’ so there are a considerable number of variations that Iain could have used. He could also have entered her name as Roberts Gwen or anything else you can make from those letters.” “It's just a thought but could the subroutine be disguised as a series of chess moves?""Conceivably it could. Why?""I found over a hundred and thirty letters in his flat and they've all got a chess move like E8 to G8 or F2 to E4 on them.""It's more likely that he would have sent them to her, not the other way round.""If you believe it would be beneficial I can obtain permission to pay her a visit." Darwin pointed out."At the moment anything would be considered helpful. And if you can come up with any more names like Gwen Roberts then give me a ring and I'll try them. You never know we might just get lucky.""Any I come across during the course of my investigation I'll jot down and send to you." Darwin advised him. "Before I go could I take a look at the Professors office?""Be my guest." Underhill replied and pointed toward a glass-panelled door next to the one he himself used. "I might warn you that we had two of your associates, a Mr. Anderson and a Mr. Hilton, here early this morning and they went through the room in my presence. All they found were three old desk diaries.""I'd still like to check, they might have overlooked something." Darwin said knowing full well that the two men the scientist had mentioned by name were too well trained to miss even the slightest detail."Okay, I'll be in here if you need me." Although slightly larger the office was almost identical to the one Underhill was using. The Professors desk was in front of the window with an uncomfortable looking wooden chair on each side. A grey, three drawer, filing cabinet occupied the left hand corner and in the right one, the only addition to the basic furnishings, an antique hat stand over which a white coat, presumably Archibalds, had been draped. Seating himself in the wooden chair behind the desk Darwin expertly rifled through the drawers, a fairly routine procedure which he had carried out on countless occasions over the years. As Underhill had previously informed him there was absolutely nothing except

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three out of date desk diaries in the centre drawer of the desk. Two hadn't been used at all but in the third he found a solitary, puzzling, entry under December the eighteenth, Archibalds’ birthday. It read: 'Aunt Sally played bridge - she used booth fund'. Taking a pen and a piece of paper from his own jacket pocket Darwin scribbled the entry down along with a note of the date. There had been no mention of an Aunt Sally in the Professors personnel file, in fact there was no mention of any Aunts at all. His only living relation was his alcoholic son James. It didn't take long for Darwin to confirm that the three drawers of the filing cabinet and the pockets of the white coat were, like the other four drawers of the desk, empty and within ten minutes he had rejoined the scientist at the computer terminal."No I don't know who Aunt Sally is or was." Underhill stated with certainty as Darwin approached him. "She certainly hasn't been here and to the best of my knowledge Iain has never mentioned her." He added."Somehow I didn't think you would know her. Is there any chance that...""Absolutely none." The scientist interrupted him in mid question. “Logically the subroutine has to contain some numbers and, if nothing else, Iain was a logical man. And before you ask, even if you count the space Aunt Sally only has ten characters.""Well thanks anyway Doctor. And thanks for the information it's been, shall we say, most enlightening.""My pleasure." Replied Underhill genially for almost the first time during the entire visit and rose from his chair to shake Darwins’ hand. With Underhills final words still ringing in his ears Darwin jumped into his car and returned to his office, stopping briefly en route to pick up a chicken salad sandwich and an apple turnover in order to soak up the remnants of the liquid lunch he had quietly enjoyed earlier in the company of Jerry Lister, Phil Harrington and John Stokeham. He reflected on his meeting with Underhill as he attacked his sandwich and apple turnover with gusto. Overall it had gone well but even with all the additional information the scientist had provided him with he was still none the wiser as to just where either the subroutine or the security password had been concealed by the late Professor. Underhill had stressed that if nothing else Archibald had been a logical man. Therefore logically the subroutine, or the security password, would be hidden somewhere where they could be found but almost certainly not where they would be immediately obvious to anyone who was looking for them. Without doubt they would be in separate locations, which was in itself puzzling. Apart from the small ground floor flat in Maida Vale and his office at Project Corkscrew there were no other locations to search except the home, or more precisely the chess letters, of Gwen Roberts in Illinois. He had told Underhill that he could pay her a visit if it was necessary and now, at the back of his mind, he was beginning to believe that it would be. When he arrived back at the office, as expected, both Phil Harrington and Andy Jarvis were still hard at work examining the items he had left with them. The former was subjecting the assortment of video and audiotapes to microscopic, spectroscopic, chemical and a variety of other tests in an attempt to determine whether or not Professor Archibald had concealed anything on them. Andy Jarvis was running the letters through the standard range of cryptographic tests to unlock any secrets they might hold. Finch, rather surprisingly, had returned briefly to the office leaving the simple message that none of the radio and television repair shops in the Maida Vale area had received anything from Archibald or anyone else living at the same address and consequently he was widening his search area. After a number of telephone calls and leaving several urgent messages for them, whilst he filled out his daily report for Marshall, he had failed to contact either Anderson or Hilton or get them to contact him. In order to tie up a few loose ends he desperately needed to ascertain whether they had removed anything from Archibalds’ office at Project Corkscrew headquarters, and if so what. Shortly after six-thirty, with no other obvious avenues available for exploration that day, he delivered his report to Alice then went home for a long refreshing shower, an early dinner, and a relaxing evening in front of the television. Alas his plans, like the best laid ones of mice and men, went awry and not long after he had settled into his favourite reclining armchair in front of the television he became distracted by the small piece of paper, on which he had scribbled the diary entry. He had removed it from his jacket pocket and studied briefly as he ate his dinner. Without bothering to turn the television set off he stretched out in the chair with a writing pad balanced somewhat precariously on the arm of the chair and a pencil held loosely in his hand. If the information contained in his personnel file was accurate, and there was no reason to believe otherwise, the Professor apparently enjoyed compiling crosswords and solving puzzles of any kind. Perhaps, if this wasn't a cryptic crossword clue, it was an anagram or some other form of obscure word puzzle. Patiently Darwin started to separate vowels from consonants and constructing new words from the available letters. It kept him occupied well into the early hours of Tuesday morning. The clock on his video recorder showed it to be just after two-forty when, after a brief telephone call to the relevant department to confirm it, he was convinced he'd come up with the correct solution to this particular puzzle. In a considerably happier frame of mind he retired for a few hours sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

Before going to his own office early on Tuesday morning Darwin called in to see Andy Jarvis. Having, over breakfast, convinced himself that he had indeed solved the riddle of the solitary, mysterious, diary entry he wanted Jarvis to confirm it and also find out if the inscriptions on the photographs were of the same ilk. For over ten minutes he paced impatiently up and down the small area of tiled floor in front of the desk, jingling the loose coins in his trouser pocket, as Jarvis studied the sheet of paper and eventually verified the accuracy of what was written on it.

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"Very interesting." Jarvis mused with an appreciative nod of his head."And the inscriptions on the back of the photographs, could they also be anagrams?""If ' Aunt Sally played bridge -- she used booth fund' does indeed mean 'House burgled today but plans safely hidden' then I would think it's a distinct possibility. Even if they’re not it won't hurt to try anyway." Jarvis admitted. "I can run them through the computer and see what it comes up with.""I checked with security last night and his flat in Maida Vale was broken into on that date." Darwin informed him confidently. "And the photographs were both in the same place so you might have to try them together as well as separately." Darwin pointed out, the eagerness in his voice unmistakable."No problem, it'll just take longer.""Thanks Andy. Have you had any luck with the chess letters or the atlas yet?""The atlas no, but the chess letters yes." Jarvis stated with obvious satisfaction."What did you find?" Darwin enquired in a puzzled tone having fully expected to receive a negative answer on both counts."I'll show you." Darwin followed the man to the other side of the room and watched as he switched on a projector, selected a slide and inserted it."You're going to be more than a little disappointed." Jarvis informed him as he adjusted the focus and sharpened the image on the screen. "There's nothing of National importance, just a clever way of passing short, personal, messages. Take a look at this letter." He said nodding in the direction of the screen. Darwin read it eagerly. My Dearest That was an impressive move but it now leaves your King desperately vulnerable to attack from my Queen. I assume this is necessary to your future strategy, which is obviously to capture my queen or build on the Bishop/Castle fronts - clever but I'm on that track. I can't truthfully see what you hope to achieve, after all I'm in the best position. Offering Queen allows me to take your Castle with safety assured and Black Bishop would then be open having recently sacrificed your Queen.A move or two should see me home. That'll make you two down. I luv it so much I'll make the expected move. E3 to E6.

Lovingly

Gwen

"Just details about the current game." Stated Darwin."That's exactly what you are supposed to think but take a look at the way the letter has been signed.""Lovingly, Gwen. There's nothing unusual about that.""With this letter, and all the others I've checked, there are eight letters in the salutation. Lovingly, With Love, A Big Kiss and so on." Explained Jarvis."What about it?" Jarvis changed the slide again focused and sharpened the image on the screen before continuing."A chess board is, as you can see, eight by eight and when you play chess by post, or on a computer, the easiest system to use is lettering the columns and numbering the rows.""That much I know." Injected Darwin."Now, the E is very important. If you replace a,b,c etc. with l,o,v then e, the fifth column, becomes n in this case." Darwin checked the calculations as Jarvis put the original slide back in and reversed the adjustments he'd made."Agreed." Said Darwin. "But why is the E so important?""It’s important because in this particular case the first part of her move is E3. Now if we change the E to an N and then take the third letter after each N in the text of the letter we reveal the message..." Jarvis explained as he changed the slide again."Please be careful. Love you." Darwin read out loud, the highlighted letters making the task considerably easier for him."Correct.""Neat." Observed Darwin."Very clever actually. Not because of its complexity but because of its simplicity." Jarvis stated."Are all the messages like that one?""Those I've deciphered are. I only cracked it late last night so I've still got well over a hundred to do.""Can you send me a transcript of all the messages as soon as you've finished?""Sure thing Oz.""Cheers Andy." Finch was waiting for him when Darwin eventually got to his own office having been further delayed by making a brief visit to Phil Harrington to get a progress report on the tapes. The young man was sitting, shoes off, with his left foot resting on his right knee and was gently massaging his toes and ankle. He looked despairingly up at Darwin and blew out his cheeks."I thought I'd come in and give you the latest before I started again." He muttered."Feet still hurting?""Only because my car broke down last night and I had to walk three miles into work this morning." The young man explained."So, what've you got to tell me?" Darwin asked interestedly as he lowered himself slowly into his chair.

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"So far I've checked fifty-nine clubs, pubs and associations within three miles of the Professors place and managed to come up with zilch. It's almost as if the bloke didn't exist.""How many left?""Less than a dozen of which about half are sort of ladies only with an occasional mans night.""Well you'll be pleased to hear that I want you to do something different today." Darwin informed his young charge."What about the remaining...""Forget about them. I seriously doubt whether he was a member of any of them anyway.""What do you want me to do next? Get some coffee?""Not a bad idea to begin with." Darwin confessed as he removed the bottle of painkillers from his desk drawer. "Then I want you to go and get the file on James Archibald from the Drummer Boy. Copy the photograph and then go and find him.""James Archibald?" Finch asked in a mystified tone."He is Professor Archibalds’ only living relative." Darwin stated casually."The old guy who was found murdered on Sunday?""Correct.""Okay Pete, and it's white with one sugar right?""It’s great to know there’s nothing wrong with your memory Steve." Darwin watched as the young man got wearily to his feet and trudged out of the room. Marshall had ordered Darwin to tell Finch as little as possible and he was thankful that the young man hadn't felt it necessary to ask why he had to go and find James Archibald. The truth was that Darwin needed the young man to find James Archibald because he'd gained a degree in computer studies and, if the old adage 'like father, like son' was true then he would have a better idea of what the missing subroutine looked like. Possibly he might even know the password, or passwords, the Professor had used to secure the system. Admittedly it was a long shot but, if the drink hadn't turned too much of his brain into Swiss cheese, it was definitely worth a try. Things were, at last, beginning to change for the better. Whilst Finch was out of the room Darwin successfully contacted Anderson and confirmed that neither he, nor his partner, had removed anything from Archibalds’ office at Project Corkscrew. He also learned that, surprisingly, forensics hadn't found any fingerprints, footprints or signs of forced entry at the flat and no one had tried to use Archibalds’ credit cards or bank books to obtain money so a robbery that had gone sadly wrong had been ruled out thus enforcing the belief that the assassin had been after either the plans to the system or access to it and nothing else. He had only just replaced the receiver in its cradle when Finch returned, placed the drinks on the desk and slipped effortlessly into the empty chair. As they had done the previous morning they sat in silence whilst the coffee was drunk and Finch finished reading the dossier on James Archibald."They warned me that life wouldn’t be easy but I never expected anything like this. Maida Vale was bad enough, now I've got the whole of bloody London to search or possibly the entire country." The young man remarked ruefully."You can thank Alexander Graham Bell for his invention because the telephone is an incredibly useful tool Steve." Darwin informed him sarcastically. "Using it you'll be able to contact all the hospitals, doss houses and the like without even leaving the office. It's highly unlikely that he'll be using an assumed name because he doesn't know anyone is looking for him." He explained."Thank God for that." Finch stated with undisguised relief. "What do you want me to do with him if and when I find him?""Take him somewhere safe, clean him up and, most importantly of all, get him sober." Darwin instructed him. "Walsh is on holiday so you can use the phone in his office next door. I'll need this one.""Okay." Finch acknowledged, picking up the file and both empty mugs."You might find it best to check with the Central Records Office first and ascertain whether or not he’s still alive. If he is I suggest you contact all the local Social Security Offices. As far as we know he's a homeless alcoholic so he must be getting the money to feed his addiction from somewhere. Social Security is the most obvious place.""Okay." Finch replied with a lengthy, thoughtful, nod of his head."Haven't you forgotten something Steve?" Darwin asked as the young man rose from his chair and headed towards the exit."I don't think so." Finch replied pensively as he opened the office door."What about your shoes? Or are you planning on walking round the office in your socks all day." Darwin reminded him."Oops!" The young man exclaimed, looking down at his feet. "Sorry Pete, it's just that after hoofing it round Maida Vale all day yesterday and walking in this morning I was so comfortable without them on I'd completely forgotten that I had taken them off.""It's okay Steve. We've all been there. It's all part of the learning process." Darwin said with a smile and watched as the young man left with the two empty mugs in one hand, his shoes in the other and James Archibalds’ file in his mouth. Darwin relaxed into his chair and allowed his thoughts to drift as the office door clicked quietly shut behind the young man. Until Andy Jarvis had completed work on the letters and photographs and Phil Harrington had done a similar job with the tapes there was very little he could accomplish. He had an afternoon meeting with Marshall at which, letter translations permitting, he would try his utmost to convince the old man that it was necessary for him to visit Gwen Roberts in America. Following his extensive conversation with Underhill the previous afternoon the idea of going to see her had festered in his mind and when Jarvis had shown him the secret messages she was passing to Archibald in her letters it had developed so quickly that it had dominated his thoughts. Armed with the hidden messages, Underhills’ admission that the subroutine could easily be disguised as a series of chess moves which the late Professor would have passed to her, his own intuition and the fact that she undeniably knew Archibald better and for longer than anyone else, including his missing alcoholic son, he might just be able to persuade the old man to sanction a trip to Troy, Illinois.

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In preparation for the meeting he filled out a report detailing everything he had done, was being done by various people and the precious little that they had collectively accomplished. After reading it a couple of times and making a few minor alterations to the wording, certain that he had omitted nothing, he took it to Phyllis to be typed then went to see Andy Jarvis for an update on the translations."How's it going Andy?" He enquired as he breezed into the room."Not very well Oz, not very well at all."“What do you mean? What’s the problem?”“Well I started with the most recent letters and worked back, as you suggested.""So?""So prior to March '78 all I get is garbage, meaningless crap. The messages only appear in letters from that time until now.""They could have used a different code." Darwin suggested more in hope than anything else."I considered that and I'm in the process of trying all the combinations I can think of but all I come up with every time is rubbish. With the most recent letters she always signed off with an eight letter message but the earlier ones consist of anything from four to eighteen characters.” Jarvis explained in exasperation."On reflection it might well be that there isn't anything before that time. In January of that year he visited Vegas for two weeks.""And he could have met this woman and devised the code then." Jarvis surmised."It would provide us with a feasible explanation. What about the inscriptions on the back of the photographs?""I was hoping you wouldn't ask about them.""Don't tell me there's a problem with them as well?""Only inasmuch as the computer keeps giving me hints that I'm working it too hard, putting it under too much pressure." Jarvis stated lightheartedly."What do you mean Andy?""Well for some reason it keeps coughing up the word 'barometer'." Jarvis explained. "So far it's offered me a red one, a tan one, a churchyard one and, my three personal favourites, a breaded barometer, a buttered barometer and a crunchy, muddy barometer.""Different anyway." Remarked Darwin as, with great difficulty, he suppressed his natural urge to laugh."Apart from that the best it's managed to come up with so far is: 'QUOTE, NICK MET BARMY BROTHER NEDDY IN MINED CHURCHYARD'.""Doesn't mean a thing to me." Darwin stated with a shrug of his broad shoulders."I'd have been mildly surprised if it had done.""Can I take the messages you've got from the most recent chess letters?""Sure thing Oz." Jarvis confirmed and silently proceeded to rifle through a batch of papers on his, perpetually, untidy desk. "Here you go, all neatly printed out and clipped to the appropriate letter.""Cheers Andy. Keep up the good work and let me know what a barometer tastes like with butter on it." Quipped Darwin."Very funny." Jarvis retorted. "Before you go I can't find anything in this atlas you gave me so there's really no point in me hanging on to it.""Okay mate, I'll take it with me and give it to Phil Harrington. He might have more luck than you." And with those words he left. Darwin knew for a fact that Archibald had not met with Gwen Roberts during his time in Las Vegas. He’d been there at the time and would have remembered her as soon as he’d looked at the photograph in the flat. However that in itself didn’t preclude the possibility that that was the time they had somehow devised the code they had used in their subsequent letters. Most hotels provide a service through which their guests could post letters. He could even have given a letter to the attractive young woman he’d spent two or three nights talking to during his stay and got her to post it for him the following day. He let the subject drop as he arrived outside Harrington’s office. He knocked gently on the door and breezed in. As expected it was the briefest of visits and he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised to learn that Harrington had had absolutely no joy with any of the tapes. Similarly the man was less than impressed with the atlas Darwin casually deposited with him on his way to collect his now typewritten report from Phyllis before returning, once again, to the confines of his own office to read the personal messages Andy Jarvis had extracted from the text of Gwen Roberts's letters to Archibald. As the man had originally and accurately pointed out there was nothing of national importance in any of them. The early messages were wholly uninteresting but with phrases such as 'please be careful,', 'watch your back', 'take care' and 'don't take any chances' concealed within their respective texts the latter letters Darwin found intriguing. To him they indicated that the Professor had known for some time, well over a year in fact, that his life was in danger and had confided in his long time friend about his fears. Why then, if that was indeed the case, had he not told someone closer to home, someone in a position of authority within the Department? Could it be that Archibald suspected someone connected with Project Corkscrew was responsible and rather than tell the wrong person decided, in his infinite wisdom, to tell no one except his lifelong friend? Had he, unwittingly or not, uncovered the identity of the mole Marshall, and everyone else for that matter, suspected of being present? And had the Professor been killed in order to prevent him from disclosing that person’s identity? It was all conjecture and had absolutely no bearing on his assignment. Nevertheless, based on this new information, he made several additions to his report and proceeded to greatly annoy Phyllis by asking her to type out the amended version before taking an early lunch and a leisurely stroll through Hyde Park in the late October sunshine. His lunchtime walk, taken in preference to his normal liquid lunch in the company of his three friends, had provided him with the much needed opportunity to rehearse all his answers to the questions Marshall was about to start asking him as he finished reading the

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single page report and allowed it to float gently onto his desk. If he was in the same uncompromising mood that he had been in on Sunday morning then it was going to be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to get him to agree to anything."It's extremely thin." The old man stated simply, shifting his gaze slightly so he could look Darwin in the eye."As thin as the proverbial wafer sir but with so little to go on it is a least a breadcrumb we can follow.” Darwin agreed."Would it not be prudent to wait and see whether or not Jarvis discovers anything hidden in the photograph inscriptions or the remaining chess letters, or for young Finch to locate the Professors son?""Under normal circumstances I would be inclined to agree with you sir. However, as you yourself pointed out on Sunday morning, time is the one commodity we do not have in abundance sir. If I sit here twiddling my thumbs and wait for Jarvis, Harrington and Finch to complete their respective assignments and they turn up nothing then all that time would have been wasted. If I utilise the lull in proceedings to go and see this woman in America I can find out what, if anything, she knows. With luck the others will have completed their respective tasks by the time I return." Darwin explained at length."I don't like the idea of involving outsiders in what is clearly an internal affair." The old man stated emphatically. "Especially foreign civilians, be they originally born in this country or not. Personally I would prefer you to go and talk to Jessop but unfortunately that is no longer an option. He passed away last night and I trust mediums and clairvoyants even less than I trust outsiders. I’m more sceptical of their ability to contact the dead than I am about letting infernal machines control everything we do.""I don’t especially like the idea of involving her either sir but the messages concealed in her letters would seem to indicate that she already knows far more than we do. I'm also confident that I can learn what she knows without divulging anything other than information about the Professors death.""But nothing in her letters indicates that Archibald sent her any classified information regarding Corkscrew.""I agree sir." Conceded Darwin. "But unknowingly she could have in her possession the very thing we are searching for. Regardless of whether or not she has she knew him for the best part of four decades, which, in itself, gives her a great advantage over us. In order to successfully conclude this assignment I need a better insight into the man." He added in protest."What the Devil are you driving at man?""Having known him for so long she must, logically, know more about him and just how his mind worked than we do sir. Normally in two or three days I can compile a mass of information on someone but at the moment I could tell you more about Paddington Bear than I could about the late Professor Iain Archibald. I spent two weeks discreetly watching him more than fifteen years ago. She on the other hand spent a few years at University with him. If you add on the substantial fact that, through the post, for over thirty years she’s played chess against him you have to agree that she must have a much greater insight into the type of man that he was than I do. It’s that insight that I need to bring this assignment to a successful conclusion.”"And if Underhills’ theory regarding the composition of the missing subroutine is correct then he might well have sent it to her in his letters disguised as a series of seemingly innocent chess moves.""Precisely sir. Although if Underhills’ assessment of the man is accurate, and we have no reason to believe otherwise, then the chances are that she isn’t even aware of it. By all accounts Professor Archibald was an extremely secretive man and considering that the messages she sent him undoubtedly indicated that he knew his life was in danger to protect her he might not have let her know what he was sending her. However, even if he didn't send her anything pivotal to this case at the very least we still have to eliminate her from the inquiry.” Darwin repeated clarifying what he had tried, obviously unsuccessfully, to impart a few moments earlier. “If we don't then we would only be making our already difficult job much harder than it is already." He added emphatically in order to drive the point home."I'm far from convinced.” The old man said with a rueful shake of his head. “But because this is such a vitally important assignment, with exceptional circumstances, and in consideration of the fact that all our other avenues of exploration will not bear any fruit for some time, on this occasion I'll sanction the trip.""Thank you sir." Darwin muttered with undisguised relief."You can best achieve that by dispelling my considerable doubts and returning from this trip with something worthwhile, preferably the solution to this assignment.""I sincerely hope to be able to do that sir.""You can have three days, four at the outside. If, at the end of that time, you haven't found anything that will help solve this riddle by then I want you back here to co-ordinate things at this end.""Understood sir.""Alright. Get Alice to make the necessary arrangements for your trip.""Yes sir." Darwin confirmed as he rose to leave."And remember to keep your expenses down to an absolute minimum." The old man ordered in a harsh tone. "You're not going on bloody holiday Darwin." He added."I will sir." Darwin promised faithfully. As he left Marshalls office and strolled down the corridor Darwin felt considerably happier than he had done at any time during the previous three days, with the possible exception of when he'd solved the mystery of the diary entry. Against all the odds he had managed to convince the old man to let him visit Gwen Roberts in Illinois. Considering the endless stream of budget cuts that had been imposed on the Department over the last few years funds for such trips were at a premium so for him it was something of a victory over the system, even if it was only a moral one. Admittedly he had failed to fully convince the old man that the trip was absolutely necessary even though, with every fibre of his being, he knew that it was. Now all he had to do was simply prove it to Marshall.

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His happiness was however tinged with a small amount of sadness. Although the assignment in Las Vegas was the only one he had worked on with Jessop and he barely knew the man he still felt a sense of loss at his death. It was not on a personal level but one that is associated purely with the passing of a fellow professional. Despite this he could not help but think how timely Jessops’ death was in this instance. Darwin did some rapid mental calculations. During the normal course of events it would take the superbly efficient Alice less than twenty-four hours to make all the necessary travel arrangements. In all probability he would only have two or three hours from the time he arrived at the office in the morning until his flight left. With this in mind he made the decision to leave the office early and utilise the extra time to pack the bare essentials for his trip. More as an afterthought than anything else on his way to collect his car from the underground car park he called in to see Phil Harrington for a progress report. A few moments later he marched out of the mans’ office with the four video tapes tucked under his arm, they having been subjected to every test Harrington could think of, all of which had yielded negative results. He would watch four of them that evening. Not simply to see if there were any obvious clues contained within them that Harrington’s tests would not have uncovered but also to try and place another piece into the jigsaw. And just as important to him at that time, they would provide a pleasant, relaxing, diversion to help him adjust his sleep pattern thereby greatly nullifying the effects of the time difference between the two countries. Finally, and more as an afterthought than anything else, he left a message for Finch giving the young man explicit instructions on what to do should he locate James Archibald faster than expected. London’s streets are always busy during the working week but even so his early departure from the office had enabled him to complete the eight-mile distance to his flat in fractionally more than half the normal time. This included the time it had taken for him to stop off at his local shop and choose something for his dinner from the somewhat limited selection available. As usual he had exchanged pleasantries with the young girl on the checkout and studied the headlines of the daily papers as he waited for her to give him his change. Following an afternoon cup of coffee and a sandwich he set about the task of packing for his trip. He extracted the holdall from its resting place under the bed and took it to the kitchen to remove the considerable amount of dust that had accumulated on it during the three years since he had used it last. He wiped the inside with a damp cloth and set it on the table to dry while sorted out three clean and freshly ironed shirts, a change of underwear and socks, a second suit and three ties. Other essential items such as toothbrush, toothpaste, comb and electric shaver would have to wait until after he had used them in the morning. He wiped the inside of the holdall with a paper towel, carefully arranged the items of clothing in it and placed it on the floor outside the bathroom door. After a larger and earlier than usual dinner Darwin relaxed into his favourite reclining armchair. Before settling down to watch the recordings on the four videotapes, three films and an episode of Star Trek, he gave each of the cassettes and their cases a cursory examination. Harrington would undoubtedly have done the self same thing and the procedure was simply to satisfy his own curiosity not to cast doubts and aspersions on Harrington’s ability. Of the three films only one, the Clint Eastwood spaghetti western 'Fistful Of Dollars' was an original recording. The other two, 'The Third Man' and 'I Was Monty's Double' had presumably, like the episode of Star Trek, 'The Enemy Within', at some time been recorded straight off the television by the Professor. Harrington hadn't managed to find anything and maybe there was nothing to find. Perhaps Archibald had simply enjoyed watching these particular films or they were simply the last programmes he had recorded on the tapes. By the same token like the diary entry it was entirely possible that the titles, either separately or combined, were an anagrammatic clue of some description. Could he have concealed the identity of the mole within the titles? Or possibly even the location of the missing subroutine? Maybe the Professor had concealed the password to the computer system within the titles or created it from them. There was no way of telling. It was a little over six-and-a-half hours later that, having reached exactly the same conclusion as Phil Harrington, Darwin replaced the last of the tapes in its cardboard case and switched off both the television and the video recorder. Disappointingly he hadn't found anything so for thirty minutes he played around with the titles of the films and Star Trek episode in the same way as the diary entry but this time without success. Had he had better defined parameters within which to work the end result could have been more positive. He checked the time, made himself a quick sandwich and a hot drink then retired for the night, drifting into a restless sleep almost immediately only to be woken by a terrific thunderstorm and not his alarm exactly three hours later just before five on Wednesday morning the latter, which he had forgotten to reset, sounding as he enjoyed his daily shower and continuing, unabated, until he'd shaved, dressed and combed his hair and carefully placed the remaining items in his hold-all. Throughout this daily ritual he cursed the abominable British weather. He had intended to sleep much later, until at least eight. Now, thanks mainly to the weather and partly to his own absentmindedness, if he did leave for America later that day his body clock would be set to the wrong time. On the brighter side though the early start afforded him the time for a fuller, more leisurely, breakfast than the hurried slice of buttered toast and mug of coffee he normally started the day with. As he wrestled with the bacon rind and greasy mushrooms he studied the notes he had made before retiring for the night. Again he tried re-arranging the letters of the combined titles into a meaningful sentence but was once again unsuccessful. He washed the dishes, picked up the hold-all along with the tapes and after ensuring his flat was securely locked he left for the office. The rain had returned with a fearsome vengeance. As he drove along one of his three preferred routes to the office Darwin noticed the streets were not as crowded as usual for rush hour London. Mother Natures’ onslaught had made the vast majority remain in the shelter of the underground stations or huddle in shop doorways to escape the ferocity of the weather. A few people who were clad in suitably protective clothing and others who were obviously completely insane ignored the torrential, driving, rain and battled bravely onward to make it to work on time. Perhaps understandably the traffic was moving much slower than normal as wipers struggled to keep windscreens clear. Darwin couldn't help but liken it to the progress he'd made thus far on his latest assignment, a complete and

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utter washout, and wondered whether his impending trip to the small town of Troy in the State of Illinois would prove to be the same. Perhaps in visiting Gwen Roberts he was clutching at the proverbial straw but in the absence of anything more substantial he was reasonably happy to do so. Nevertheless he was desperate for something to help him, like the one answer in a crossword that is essential to solving the whole puzzle. He needed to establish the link between the letters, tapes and photographs. He knew it was there but he just couldn't put his finger on it. With a heavy sigh he pulled into the underground car park, collected his things from the back seat and went to see Alice."Morning gorgeous." He announced as he breezed into her office."You look especially smart this morning." She remarked, noticing the grey flannel trousers and navy blue blazer he wearing, as she wiped the raindrops from her glasses with a pastel coloured tissue taken from the open box on her desk."I thought I would make the effort just for you." He stated sarcastically."Huh! You needn't have bothered." She told him bluntly as she checked the lenses and replaced her glasses. "I'm not into toy boys but having said that I’m delighted to see that you’ve fully recovered from your Saturday night of excess."“Do I detect a slight trace of concern over my well-being in that statement beautiful?”“Not concern over your well-being, concern over this departments reputation. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that certain people in the present administration have their daggers at the ready when it comes to our field of work and particular expertise. And please refrain from calling me beautiful. It may be flattering to some of your lady friends but I’m not in the slightest bit interested or impressed by it.”"Well just remember I'm available if you ever change your mind." He informed her in an equally sarcastic tone."Don't worry, I won't." She assured him. "Now please listen carefully to what I have to say. I have booked you on the fourteen-thirty flight direct from Heathrow to St. Louis International.""St. Louis?” Darwin quizzed in a somewhat bewildered tone. “That's in Missouri. I'm going to Illinois. Wouldn't Chicago be a better destination? At least they’re in the same State.""If you’d bothered to look at a map and check the relative geographical locations of the two places in question you would know that Troy is approximately two hundred and fifty miles from Chicago but only about thirty-five from St. Louis." She informed him casually as she seated herself in front of her typewriter and opened her desk drawer."My apologies, I stand corrected.""Apology accepted. Now here's your ticket and passport and there'll be a hire car waiting for you at the airport.""What about a hotel?”"In view of the fact that I didn't know whether you would be staying in Troy or St. Louis or how long you would be there I didn't bother booking one. If necessary you can check into a cheap motel or bed and breakfast establishment in the area. As long as you remember to keep all your receipts we can reimburse you when you get back.""I can do that easily enough. Thanks Alice.""And don't forget to keep your expenses down to a minimum Darwin." Marshall’s unmistakable voice boomed through the intercom."I won't sir." Darwin assured him."And don't forget that I will need receipts for everything, including your accommodation." Alice reminded him in a surprisingly stern voice."I know the procedure thanks all the same." Darwin said then added sarcastically. "By the way has anyone ever told you that you look irresistible with your glasses off? You make it extremely hard for red blooded men like me to refrain from leaping over the desk and ravishing you.""That is precisely why I endeavour to wear them at all times." She retorted in a flat tone that carried not the slightest hint of emotion or embarrassment at his remarks."And you have far more important things to do than to try and seduce my secretary Darwin." Marshall’s voice interrupted."Yes sir." Stated Darwin with a wry smile, which he followed immediately with a warm one directed at Alice. She returned the compliment."Have a pleasant flight Mr. Darwin." She wished him and discreetly pushed a small piece of paper into his hand."I'll try but in this weather I doubt that I will." He said as he picked up his ticket and passport then turned and, with a smothered chuckle, left the room. He waited until he was well away from Marshall’s office before examining the piece of paper Alice had slipped into his hand. Hopefully she hadn’t decided to call his bluff and give him her telephone number. Just as she had told him that she wasn’t into toy boys he wasn’t into older women. He cautiously unfolded the paper and read the short note Alice had scribbled on it. He breathed a sigh of relief then chuckled quietly to himself. Thankfully it was simply a personal request from her for him to bring back a baseball cap for her nephew, something uniquely American that wouldn’t be easily available in England. By making only the smallest diversion on the way to his own office he called in to see Andy Jarvis for a progress report on the photograph inscriptions. The computer had finished running the programme and Jarvis had just set to work on the long, tedious, process of reducing the list of possibilities as much as possible by removing all the meaningless combinations and endless number of repetitions where the computer had arranged the same words in a different order. He conservatively estimated that he would finish the mammoth task sometime either late on Thursday afternoon or early on Friday morning."Can I bring anything back for you Andy? Or maybe you would prefer it if I were to get something for the computer.""Such as what?" Jarvis responded in a puzzled tone, the heavy frown on his face unmistakable.

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"How about an ornamental barometer? Or perhaps it would prefer something a little bit different such as a depth gauge or an altimeter." Darwin replied with a deadpan face."Very funny." Sniggered Jarvis. "Have a safe trip Oz." After leaving Andy Jarvis to continue with his work without further interruption or delay he collected the now thoroughly examined atlas from Phil Harrington along with the substantial report detailing the extensive battery of sophisticated scientific tests to which it had been subjected and the disappointing negative results each of those tests had achieved. Somewhat surprisingly he was still examining the audio tapes."They should be ready for collection by the time you return from your travels." Harrington advised him. "Is there anything you need for your trip?""No thanks Phil. Not unless you can spare another set of batteries for my shaver.""You know you would do well to invest some of your considerable wealth in a couple of sets of rechargeable ones. Or better still a rechargeable shaver. If you did you'd save the Department a small fortune." Harrington mentioned as he, somewhat reluctantly, reached into a nearby drawer and handed over an unopened packet of four small batteries."I'll try and remember to get one or the other when I get back." Darwin lied convincingly enough to satisfy the man. He left the room with the fresh batteries and Harrington’s wishes for a safe trip ringing in his ears. Suitably updated on all fronts he returned to his office to compile a list of names and phrases for Underhill to try as passwords. By his own admission his efforts were pathetic and after more than an hour the only things he had written on his pad were 'Bill and Jim', 'West Germany', 'Captain Kirk', 'Postal chess' and 'Chess opponent' without a space between the two words. When measured against the countless combinations of twelve characters available Darwin realised it was a minuscule contribution. However, Underhill was desperate and any help was better than none. He telephoned the scientist and gave him the list, apologising for its brevity and promising to provide some more suggestions upon his return. As he fully expected they had not yet managed to gain access to the system. Had they managed to then his trip to The United States would no longer have been necessary and in all probability Marshall would give him another assignment. Unless of course the scientist still wanted him to find the missing subroutine in order to save valuable time. Young Finch had enough on his plate with searching for the Professors alcoholic son and would also have his hands full if and when he found him. With that in mind Darwin decided against giving him any additional tasks to perform during his absence from both the office and the country. Everything was ticking over nicely. Everyone who could be usefully employed on something to do with his assignment was. And everything that could, at that time, be done was being done. Preferring to leave his car in the safety of the guarded underground car park Darwin telephoned for a driver, and vehicle, to take him to the airport. He meticulously checked that he had everything he needed for his trip. Passport, International Driving Licence, credit cards and ticket plus the battery shaver from his desk and the spare batteries Harrington had reluctantly given him. As was customary prior to such trips to friendly countries he removed his pistol and shoulder holster and securely locked them in the bottom drawer of his desk. Satisfied that everything was as it should be he left his office and walked slowly along the corridor to the lift. Casually he pushed the call button and waited. It was still early, almost four hours until his flight but the adverse weather would undoubtedly mean his journey to Heathrow airport would take much longer than normal.o doubt his departure would be delayed due to the bad weather or some air traffic controllers, baggage handlers strike or some other type of industrial dispute. It was, he thought, amazing. Only a few short months ago all types of experts had been predicting all kinds of problems because of global warming and the greenhouse effect. A severe drought had been forecast as far back as February but to Darwin anyway, this year had been one of the coldest, wettest summers he had experienced for many, many years. It was certainly the wettest October he could remember since his childhood. Of course they would be proved right in the end but he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all and prayed that the weather was better across the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, in Illinois especially.

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