The Dirty Bomb Affair

By Richard J. Sloane

After some truly worrying intelligence is received at NSA headquarters in the USA, Jack Sanderson is sent over there to find out more about it as it involves Britain as well as America. He discovers that ISIS, the terrorist network, has managed to get hold of the material used to make two `dirty bombs which, when primed, have the power to devastate both London and New York. Now it is a race against time to find and defuse the bombs. However, this is not the end of the story for Jack or his wife, who then have to run for their lives after a contract is put out to kill him in revenge for foiling the plot......

This is the third political thriller in the Jack Sanderson series after The Double Conspiracy and Traitor in our Midst.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546297741

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MONDAY MORNING

It was early April and very warm for the time of year, a fact put down to climate change by the pundits. I had got into work early, hoping to get rid of some of the paperwork which had accumulated over the weekend, and was busy going through the documents on my desk when suddenly my office phone trilled. It was my boss and the head of MI5, Sir Maurice, asking me to come up and see him at once. And, yes, he put those two words into obvious italics. So I dropped everything and ran up to the top floor, arriving slightly out of breath and wondering what the flap was all about. I went past his Gorgon of a secretary but she didn’t say anything, just waving me through into his palatial office overlooking the Thames.

‘Sit down, Jack,’ Sir M. growled so I did.

‘Is there a problem, sir?’ I asked.

‘You could say that,’ he replied, continuing, ‘I’ve just had a rather distressed phone call from Jed Foster in the USA to say that over the weekend they picked up some truly alarming intelligence which he didn’t want to go into on the phone. He wants you and James (my MI6 counterpart) to get over there asap and is prepared to lend you both one of their, or actually now our, stealth fighters to get you there from RAF Marham. That’s how seriously he’s taking it.’

Jed Foster I knew slightly. He was the head of NSA, the vast listening post in Maryland and the equivalent of our GCHQ, and, if he was worried, I knew Sir M. was right to be too.

‘However,’ he finished, ‘I don’t want you to treat it as a jolly. I want you back here and reporting to me instantly, do you hear? I suggest you liaise with James about how you’re getting to Marham.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said. There really wasn’t much more to be said.

So I left his office thoughtfully and went back down to my own where I saw my answer phone light flashing. I presumed it was James and I was right. I dialled him back and said without preamble, ‘I presume you’ve heard about our little trip?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ he said. ‘Just now.’

‘Any thoughts?’

‘No. There’s simply not enough to go on.’

‘Well, I suppose we’d better get a move on. Do you want me to drive?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he replied drolly.

‘OK. I’ll be over to pick you up in about half an hour. Will that be all right?’

‘Yes, I guess so,’ he said and we hung up.

I knew the first thing I had to do was to phone Pamela, my wife, and tell her where I was going. So I did that and, fortunately, she didn’t ask any questions but just said, ‘Hurry back, darling,’ and I promised I would. She knew about my job of course and the odd demands that it made on me at times. After that I got the main switch board number for Marham from my secretary and rang them. I was put through straight to the Base Commander after establishing who I was and he told me they’d got the message from Jed already and were standing by waiting for me and James. I told him we should be there within a couple of hours and he said that would be fine in a clipped upper-class accent.

Then I picked up a spare change of comfortable clothes from the wardrobe in my office, put them in a small overnight bag and went out telling my secretary on the way where I was going, that I had no idea when I’d be back and I’d probably be out of contact for quite a while. But she didn’t bat an eyelid, just saying, ‘Try to keep out of trouble, sir.’

I went down to the underground car park and picked up my car and then I was off speeding down the Thames the short distance to MI6 headquarters.

A bit of background now: My name is Jack Sanderson and I was Director of Operations at MI5 and a member of the COBRA committee, representing my service. So, apart from my boss, I was only really responsible to the newish PM, a seemingly rather ineffectual old geezer who lacked the charisma of his forerunner and who nobody expected to remain in power for long. But at least he was snow-white, unlike his putative predecessor whose downfall I wrote about in the manuscript I entitled Traitor in our Midst and I wondered if this case would merit my writing it down. During the past eighteen months or so I’d kept my nose clean, just keeping up with the daily tasks I was presented with, most of which were highly classified but none of which I reckoned merited being written about at length.

James was waiting for me outside and he jumped in as soon as I arrived and said, ‘Don’t spare the horses, Jack,’ as I sped away. I liked him, especially his sense of humour, although I knew he was a very effective operator too, and was pleased he was coming with me on this little jaunt. He was quite a bit younger than me but I didn’t resent him that. We didn’t talk much on the way, both of us wrapped up in our thoughts, wondering what had prompted Jed to summon us so perfunctorily. He did, however, confirm that he, like me, had never flown in a fighter before and was a little nervous about it.

But it wasn’t long before we were speeding through the Norfolk countryside, approaching Marham. I’d had my siren on the entire way and we’d made good time, relying on my Satnav to get us there safely. When we arrived at its imposing gates, our credentials were gone over with a fine toothcomb but we were finally let through after the guards had made a phone call, probably to the Base Commander. One of the guards got in the back and I was directed straight to the airfield where fighter jets seemed to be taking off and landing every few minutes. It was all very busy and exciting and I could feel my adrenaline levels soaring. We were taken to a large hangar some way distant from the main airfield and stopped outside, waiting in the car while the guard dashed inside. He came out shortly and beckoned us in, telling me he’d take the car back to the main car park where it would be quite safe so I handed him the keys.

When we walked into the hangar, we were confronted with the most amazing sight. Row upon row of futuristic airplanes with swept-back V-shaped wings were lined up, their grey matt paint glowing softly in the near-dark. It looked like the set for a sci-fi film. I had no idea what kind of planes they were but I was soon to find out. We were taken to what was clearly a briefing room inside and left to cool our heels for a short while. Then a senior officer came in and we introduced ourselves and were offered coffee. He asked us a few questions about our experiences of flying but, apart from helicopters, army transports and normal jets, we didn’t have much to offer. He didn’t comment, however, just saying our pilot would give us the drill in a few minutes.

Shortly after we’d finished our coffee, a much younger chap, looking a bit like an astronaut about to take a space walk in his flying gear came in and said he would be the one taking us across the pond. His name was Freddie and I warmed to him at once. He didn’t patronise us, just telling us the facts of the trip we were about to make, including that the plane we were due to travel in was an F-35 Lightning 11, the most modern aircraft the RAF had, then asking us our clothes sizes. He talked into a mobile phone for a few seconds, passing them on, and then said, ‘I usually travel with a navigator and a co-pilot but, as there are two of you, it’ll be just the three of us. But please don’t worry. This is a milk run I’ve done many times and, as we won’t be going anywhere near enemy territory, I’ll make it as smooth as possible for you both.’

‘Thanks, Freddie,’ we chorused. We waited for a short while longer, taking the opportunity to go to the toilet, and then a different chap appeared, carrying two bulky- looking sets of flying gear which we struggled into, first taking off our ties and jackets. We were shown how to switch on the oxygen supply and how the radio system worked and then we waddled over to the plane next to the hangar door which was now open. We climbed up a ladder and I sat behind Freddie, putting my overnight bag in a small empty compartment next to me and leaving the co-pilot’s seat free for James. Then one of the ground crew came over and made sure we were all safely tucked in and hooked up and the canopy properly closed. I looked at my watch and saw wonderingly that it was still only 11.30. With a final admonition from Freddie not to touch any of the switches or buttons in front of us, he waited for the plane to be towed out onto the runway. Once that had been done, he started the engines until the roar became almost intolerable even through our helmets. The ground crew gave a thumbs-up and we started trundling down the runway until very suddenly we were airborne.

Soon we were way above the clouds and the roar of the engines was almost totally muted. James asked Freddie how high we were going but he said, ‘That’s classified, I’m afraid,’ which made us both laugh. Then he added, ‘Switch to oxygen, please,’ and I did so, presuming that James was following suit. Then I asked, ‘And how fast will we be travelling or is that classified too?’ ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is,’ Freddie’s voice came through the intercom loud and clear. After about half an hour with us climbing ever higher, seemingly into outer space, Freddie said, ‘We’re over the Atlantic now. Prepare yourselves for a jolt. We’ll be going supersonic soon.’ So I clung onto the armrest and was very quickly shoved right back in my seat as we accelerated. There was a small pop from outside as we went through the sound barrier and then Freddie’s voice came on again, ‘It’ll be about another hour before we reach American air space so I suggest you just relax now.’

The chair was actually very comfortable and I even managed to doze for a bit but woke up fully when I heard Freddie say, ‘OK, guys, nearly there now,’ and I felt the plane rapidly decelerate, followed by it seeming to fall out of the sky. My ears popped but I could still hear Freddie talking to the control tower. The next thing I knew I could see out of the window the huge shapes of the NSA dishes and then the runway and very quickly we were on the ground, trundling towards a waiting car. The whole journey had, indeed, been incredibly smooth and I looked at my watch. It had only just passed 2.00 English time! ‘That’s definitely the way to travel,’ I murmured to James as we stepped carefully down a ladder which had been put there by one of the ground crew. We heard Freddie behind us say, ‘I’ll be here, guys, whenever you finish your meeting, ready to take you home again,’ and we both thanked him for the ride.

Then it was over to the waiting car and the smiling face of Dick Roper, Jed Foster’s Chief of Staff. There were no passport controls and nobody even checked our identity cards but they knew who we were and that was good enough for them.

CHAPTER 2

MONDAY AFTERNOON

‘Welcome to America, guys,’ Dick said. ‘Follow me.’ We waddled over to the car and immediately sped off. I took off my helmet so I could hear better and at once asked Dick what the flap was all about. ‘I don’t know much about it myself,’ he admitted ruefully, ‘but I do know that Jed is very keen to brief you both personally as soon as we get there.’ And we had to be content with that.

We quickly arrived at the front gates of NSA and were let through immediately after the guards had seen who was inside our car. Then we were taken to a kind of de-robing room where we got rid of our bulky astronaut gear and put our ties and jackets back on. Immediately after this we were taken up in a lift to the top floor of the huge building and into Jed’s Office. He was waiting there for us and immediately said, ‘Thanks for coming over at such short notice but I felt this was important enough to bring you.’ He waved out Dick who’d accompanied us thus far so that it was just the three of us alone together. Then he offered us coffee which we gratefully accepted and after that was done, it was straight down to business.

‘Have either of you ever heard of a Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generator or RTG for short?’ he started by asking us. Both James and I shook our heads, wondering where this was going. ‘Neither had I until this weekend and I wish I never had but I’m really afraid the nuclear genie may be out of the bottle now.’ Here he paused before continuing, ‘RTG’s were used in many fields, especially space, as a good way to generate power, but, unfortunately, Russia had many unmanned lighthouses and radio beacons powered by