The Tightrope Men / The Enemy. Desmond Bagley
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‘But X-rays are different,’ said Denison thoughtfully.
‘Right! It’s theoretically possible to make an X-ray laser, but for one snag. X-rays penetrate and don’t reflect. No one has found a way of doing it except Merikken who did it before the war – and the working of a laser depends entirely upon multiple reflection.’
Denison rubbed his chin, feeling the flabbiness. Already he was becoming used to it. ‘What would be the use of a gadget like that?’
‘Take a missile coming in at umpteen thousand miles an hour and loaded with an atomic warhead. You’ve got to knock it down so you use another missile like the American Sprint. But you don’t shoot your missile directly at the enemy missile – you aim it at where the enemy will be when your missile gets up there. That takes time to work out and a hell of a lot of computing power. With an X-ray laser you aim directly at the enemy missile because it operates with the speed of light – 186,000 miles a second – and you’d drill a hole right through it.’
‘Balls,’ said Carey. ‘You’d cut the damned thing in two.’
‘My God!’ said Denison. That’s a death ray.’ He frowned. ‘Could it be made powerful enough?’
‘Lasers have come a long way since the first one,’ said McCready soberly. ‘They don’t use the flash any more on the big ones – they pour in the power with a rocket engine. Already they’re up to millions of horse power – but it’s still ordinary light. With X-rays you could knock a satellite out of orbit from the ground.’
‘Now do you understand the significance?’ asked Carey. When Denison nodded, he said, ‘So what are you going to do about it?’
There was a long silence while Denison thought. Carey stood up and went to the window where he looked across to the Studenterlunden, his fingers drumming on the window sill. McCready lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head, and inspected the ceiling closely.
Denison stirred and unclasped his fingers. He straightened in his chair and stretched his arms, then he sighed deeply. My name is Harry Meyrick,’ he said.
Three days later Denison, descending for breakfast, bought a newspaper at the kiosk in the lobby and scanned it over coffee. Diana Hansen joined him, and said, ‘What’s new?’
He shrugged. ‘The world is still going to hell in a handcart. Listen to this. Item one. Two more skyjackings, one successful and one not. In the unsuccessful one – God save the mark – two passengers were killed. Item two – pollution. A tanker collision in the Baltic and a fifteen mile oil slick is drifting on to Gotland; the Swedes are understandably acid. Item three. There are strikes in Britain, France and Italy, with consequent riots in London, Paris and Milan. Item four …’ He raised his head. ‘… do you want me to go on?’
She sipped her coffee. ‘You sound a bit acid yourself.’
‘Just how would you feel in my circumstances?’ he asked a little grimly.
Diana shrugged. ‘Where’s Lyn?’
‘The young sleep late.’
‘I have a feeling she’s sharpening her claws, getting ready to scratch my eyes out,’ said Diana meditatively. ‘She’s made one or two odd remarks lately.’ She stretched over and patted Denison’s hand. ‘She thinks her daddy is getting into bad company.’
‘How right the child is.’
‘Child!’ Diana raised her eyebrows. ‘She’s only eight years younger than I am. She’s no child – she’s a healthy young woman with all her wits about her – so watch your step.’
Denison put his head on one side. ‘Of course!’ he said, somewhat surprised. Privately he thought that Diana was drawing the longbow a bit. He put her age at thirty-two which probably meant she was thirty-four; that would give her twelve years on Lyn, not much less than the fourteen years he had himself.
‘Carey wants to see you,’ said Diana. ‘If you leave the hotel, turn left and walk about three hundred yards, you’ll come to a place where they’re building a memorial or something. Be around there at ten o’clock.’
‘All right,’ said Denison.
‘And here’s your darling daughter.’ Diana raised her voice. ‘Good morning, Lyn.’
Denison turned and smiled appreciatively at Lyn’s chic appearance. It’s the money that makes the difference, he thought; the grand ideas of the rulers of the fashion world are apt to look tatty when filtered through the salary of a junior London typist. ‘Did you have a good night?’
‘Fine,’ said Lyn lightly, and sat down. ‘I didn’t expect to see you at breakfast, Mrs Hansen.’ She glanced sideways at Denison. ‘Did you sleep in the hotel last night?’
‘No, darling,’ said Diana sweetly. ‘I brought a message for your father.’
Lyn poured coffee. ‘What are we doing today?’
‘I have a business appointment this morning,’ said Denison. ‘Why don’t you two go shopping?’
A shadow briefly crossed Lyn’s face, but she said, ‘All right.’ Diana’s answering smile was sickly in its sweetness.
Denison found Carey with his rump buttressed by a coping stone and his back to the Royal Palace. He looked up at Denison’s approach and said brusquely, ‘We’re ready to move. Are you fit?’
Carey nodded. ‘How are you getting on with the girl?’
‘I’m tired of being Daddy,’ said Denison bitterly. ‘I’m only getting through by the skin of my teeth. She asks the damnedest questions.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘A nice kid in danger of being spoiled rotten – but for one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Her parents were divorced and it’s messed up her life. I’m beginning to realize what an unmitigated bastard Harry Meyrick is.’ He paused. ‘Or was.’ He looked at Carey. ‘Any news?’
Carey flapped his hand in negation. ‘Tell me more.’
‘Well, the mother is a rich bitch who ignores the girl. I don’t think Lyn would care if she dropped dead tomorrow. But Lyn has always had a respect for her father; she doesn’t like him but she respects him. She looks up to him like a … like a sort of God.’ Denison rubbed his chin and said meditatively, ‘I suppose people respect God, but do they really like him? Anyway, every time she tries to get near Meyrick he slaps her down hard. That’s no way to bring up a daughter and it’s been breaking her up.’
‘I never did like his arrogance myself,’ said Carey. ‘It’s the one thing that would have given you away in the end. You’re not bloody-minded enough to be Meyrick.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Denison.
‘But you get on with her all right? As Meyrick?’
Denison nodded. ‘So far – but no future guarantees.’
‘I’ve been thinking about her,’ said Carey. ‘Suppose we took her to Finland – what would the opposition think?’
‘For God’s sake!’ said Denison disgustedly.
‘Think about it, man,’ Carey urged. ‘They’d check on her, and when they find out who she is they’d be bloody flummoxed. They might think that if you’re good enough to deceive Meyrick’s daughter you’re good enough to deceive me.’
Denison was acid. ‘That’s not far short of the mark. I had to tell you