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Authors: William F. Buckley

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Attwood: ‘You do not mean to tell me that that is all you have?'

Blackford replied that, yes, he had recited all the evidence he had accumulated, and that he thought it was sufficient to justify a full-scale investigation of Fleetwood including ‘the works'—bugging his phone, examining his mail, night-and-day surveillance.

There was silence.

Blass spoke. ‘You do realise, Mr. Oakes, of course, that Fleetwood is a Nobel laureate—yes, you of all people I need not instruct in Fleetwood's accomplishments. But one simply does not, on the basis of such information as you have given us, treat a British citizen as in effect a—a—'

Blackford endeavoured to help him, ‘—possible traitor.'

‘Possible traitor,' Blass echoed.

Blackford looked at Rufus. Did he wish Blackford to carry the ball or did he wish to do it himself? Rufus caught the signal, and Blackford in turn caught his quiet nod.

‘If I may say so, sir, whatever standards the British are observing are clearly insufficient. There is absolutely no doubt that a hyper-secret operation resulted in an ambush of forty American, British, and Albanian commandos. There is absolutely no doubt that the man who was picked to lead those men is in fact in collusion with the enemy. There is absolutely no doubt that the radio operator at Camp Cromwell, which Winston Churchill would have needed a pass to get into, was in regular radio communication with the enemy, right there at the training camp. There is absolutely no doubt that secrets transmitted from Washington to MI6 via our own embassy were known in detail to the enemy, from which we deduce that that information is being got by
somebody,
by
some
means. And there is no accounting for the mysterious reluctance of Alistair Fleetwood to consent to see people innocently, so far as he knew, interested in Bertram Heath—'

‘I would venture,' Sir Eugene Attwood said, ‘that Sir Alistair Fleetwood would not decline to see me, if I were to ask him.'

‘No, I am sure he would not, Sir Eugene. But that is exactly what I would argue one should not at this point do, namely give him any reason to suppose that he is under suspicion. What we need is evidence, and the way to get it in my opinion is the way I suggest. It is how we would proceed in America—is that correct Rufus?'

Rufus said that that was indeed correct, and reminded his colleagues that a full security investigation had been undertaken in America of someone ‘as eminent in our society as Fleetwood is in yours. I speak of J. Robert Oppenheimer.' The mention of the security investigation of the same American who had headed the Manhattan Project, which produced the atomic bomb, had an effect, though not a decisive one since it was supposed that any security investigation in America was the infamous result of the infamous McCarthy.

It lasted an hour and a half, at the end of which Attwood asked Rufus if he would ‘mind very much' if the two British consulted with one another … privately? Rufus made a gesture to leave the room, but Attwood insisted that the Americans stay, and instead of dislocating his guests, he left the electronic cocoon with Blass.

The Americans engaged quickly in conversation. ‘What are we going to do if they say no, Rufus?'

‘They have problems. For one thing there is their pride. The Brits are first-rate at intelligence, and quite inept at security, paradoxical though that may sound. But remember, they are suffering more than they let on from the suspension of security traffic from the U.S. Their nuclear plant people, through the British Ambassador, have begged for the next scheduled shipment of technical information. They have not got it—Ike's orders. Be patient.'

MI5 and 6 were back in half an hour.

Attwood spoke. ‘Very well. Round-the-clock surveillance we can agree on. And examining his mail. But tapping his telephone—that we could not agree to do unless further evidence is developed.' Attwood paused here, as if to ask, ‘Is that satisfactory?'

Rufus spoke. ‘I think that is a very good beginning, Gene. But we must bear in mind that both parties to this—pursuit—are anxious. It is inconvenient, to say the least, for us to suspend strategic traffic between our country and yours, and presumably it is also inconvenient for Great Britain.'

‘It most certainly is,' Attwood snapped.

Blackford broke in. ‘And it was very inconvenient for our agents to drop by parachute onto Soviet gibbets in Albania.'

The British dubbed it Operation Oxford, which at first struck Blackford as rather a naïve way to seek to conceal, should anyone happen on the operation's name, that in fact it was a member of the Cambridge community that MI5 was interested in. He would not have recommended, as a code name for an investigation of Harvard University, ‘Operation Yale.' But soon the little piquancy amused him.

It was agreed that Blackford would continue to operate in the same safe house in James Street he had been using, and that the surveillance team, under the management of Superintendent Roberts, after reporting to MIS would immediately relay the same findings to Blackford. Meanwhile, all available records on the background of Alistair Fleetwood would be examined, and brought in to Blackford's study-lab.

19

During the ensuing fortnight, Sir Alistair Fleetwood spent much time at the Greenwich Royal Observatory, the great observatory where his Zirca had originally been assembled, the Fleetwood Zirca, now scanning the heavens and bringing in great, detailed deposits of information concerning the surface of the moon, after which it was scheduled to train one by one on the other planets, reaching, in six months or so, to an examination of the stars themselves.

The observatory was a large installation located two hours from Cambridge at Herstmonceux Castle near Hailsham. While supervising the construction of the Zirca, Fleetwood had built and experimented with a miniature of it; this model had since been disassembled. He announced to the technicians in permanent residence at Herstmonceux Castle that he had had a fresh insight into the Zirca, the result of which might permit him to enhance its efficiency, and that for that reason he was going to reconstitute the model with a view to making certain adjustments.

This accounted for the numerous hours he spent at Herstmonceux, and by the end of September any technician who had reason to go into Sir Alistair's laboratory would see there the equivalent of a mini-Zirca, about three feet long, perched as a toy cannon might be perched, aimed at an angle. The cannon was surrounded by wires and circuitry.

On two occasions Fleetwood drove, by himself, from Hailsham to London, both times to 48 Grosvenor Square, a six-storey building. He went to the fifth floor and let himself in, using his own key. The first time, he stayed only half an hour at Grosvenor Square. The second time, it was for very nearly four hours. The building's commercial ledger indicated that the large apartment 516 was rented to one Robert Editta, who gave his profession as ‘photographer.' The rent was always paid on time. ‘A thoroughly satisfactory relationship,' the estate agent said, looking up at Superintendent Roberts and closing the ledger that recorded his transactions with clients.

Later in the month Fleetwood said to a technician at the observatory that he had decided to take the mini-Zirca to his rooms in Cambridge, further to reflect on its potential, as he had not quite solved the problem he had hoped to crack. Accordingly, the following day one of the technicians helped Fleetwood first to crate the mini-Zirca, and then to lift it into the back of a rented Rover station wagon. It was heavy, perhaps eighty pounds, but not, for two men, unmanageable. Fleetwood thanked his helper and drove off, alone.

He stopped for a cup of tea at a café at Robertsbridge. When he had finished, he walked to the corner where he had parked the station wagon.

It was no longer there. But his own Ford sedan was in its place. He got in, reached under the seat, and took the key. He was in his rooms in Cambridge an hour and a half later.

Before retiring, he packed a large suitcase, stuffing it with apparel suitable for sailing at sea: foul-weather gear, rubber boots, thick sweaters, bosun's hat. He had spoken with his colleagues about how much he was looking forward to a week's sailing around the islands east and northeast of Stockholm, a trip to which he had been invited by a friend in Sweden who had chartered a boat perfect for such a trip—a forty-foot yawl, Sir Alistair said happily at dinner on Fellows' Night, ‘without even a radio. If we need help, we'll simply have to fire distress signals. It will be fine to be away from Instant Communicability. Though as a ham radio operator I have no right to say that.' He took another glass of wine and smiled, and his friends, on leaving, wished him a splendid holiday.

In Stockholm, he booked into the Grand Hotel. He went through the identical ritual as before. And it all worked as before. Alice Goodyear Corbett was very excited by the adventure. ‘Everything has been thought of, my dear Alistair, everything.' Fleetwood replied coyly that Alice had certainly thought of everything in bed before dinner. ‘All I ask is that this operation be as successful!' he replied, filling their liqueur glasses.

The following morning, dressed in a heavy sweater and cap and wearing seaboots, Sir Alistair Fleetwood, a green seabag in hand, told the concierge that he would be gone for a week and wished to leave his largest suitcase until his return. The concierge instructed the porter to take the suitcase and give Sir Alistair a claim check. Fleetwood signed the hotel bill. The porter, carrying the seabag, opened the door of the taxi. Sir Alistair tipped the porter and asked him kindly to recite in Swedish the instructions on a card he showed him. The porter read out the number of a wharf and its location, the driver nodded in acknowledgement, and the porter returned the card to Sir Alistair.

Half an hour later, Alistair was greeted by a young, bearded Swede. They spoke in English and boarded the boat. A few minutes later, back in the marina, Fleetwood called his secretary at Trinity, reversing the charges, to remind her to assemble the material he had outlined last August for the Rede lectures, as he would need to get to work on them as soon as he returned from his week's sailing holiday on which he would embark ‘as soon as I put this phone down.' She wished him fine weather and good relaxation.

They boarded the
Fernbrook
and headed out of the prosperous harbour, the last of the summer's cruising boats here and there in evidence. Though it was early October, there were still a few sailing boats responding briskly to the gusty autumn winds. They headed out close-hauled past Lidingö. A southeasterly wind gave them a nice reach past the Djursholm strait, where the skipper turned north toward Österskär. Just after sundown, he manoeuvred into the little harbour.

At seven the dinghy was lowered, the little Seagull motor fastened to its transom. The bearded skipper climbed down into the dinghy with his passenger, now also bearded and wearing a raincoat over a three-piece suit. They were met a few hundred yards from their anchorage at the commercial wharf by a large man and a woman, both wearing raincoats. The bearded passenger climbed the ladder onto the wharf, and the skipper lifted the seabag to the large man. The captain then clambered back into the dinghy, started up the quiet little outboard, and headed back to the
Fernbrook.

Alice Goodyear Corbett did not introduce the large man who drove the car. ‘He does not speak English,' she said. ‘You have your papers?' Alistair responded by patting his left hand against his right jacket pocket. They drove to the airport and at 9:15 checked in on the Finnair 10
P.M
. flight to Helsinki: a contented Finnish couple completing their week-long holiday in Sweden and returning home to Finland.

At midnight the telex in Blackford's study at James Street came to life. Blackford sat up and read:

SUBJECT LEFT HOTEL 10 A.M. BOARDED SAILING YACHT FERNBROOK. DEPARTED HARBOUR 1115, PUT IN AT OSTERSKAR HARBOUR AT 1915. DEPARTED, WEARING BEARD, BY DINGHY TO TOWN WHARF. THEN BY AUTO LICENSE PLATE AA11864 TO BROMMA AIRPORT. BOARDED FINNAIR FLIGHT 221 TO HELSINKI AS BJORN HENNINGSEN MR. AND MRS. HAVE CONTACTED HELSINKI. OP OX
.

20

The preparations to penetrate apartment 516—Rufus had tabled his grander plans to penetrate the Soviet Embassy—consumed two days. They required the cooperation of technicians who acquainted themselves with the electrical morphology of 48 Grosvenor Square. ‘The requirement,' Hallam Spring said, going over the plans with Jimmy Moser, the MI5 electrician, at the safe house, ‘is to blow the juice in 516 without simultaneously doing it in adjacent apartments, and that'—he pointed to the electrical schematics—‘is going to require some recircuitry, with a very brief interruption of power in the entire building. I figure maybe five, ten minutes, outside. That shouldn't get anybody too terribly excited.'

Meanwhile Bruce Pulling had put together the camera apparatus to be used by Moser, whose responsibility it would be to inspect number 516, the mysterious apartment to which Alistair Fleetwood had twice repaired before leaving for Stockholm. It was a relatively simple device: a high-powered lens looking out of the back end of a large, three-battery flashlight of the kind widely associated with electricians. Jimmy Moser's instructions were to handle the flashlight as though it were an extension of an expressive hand, gesturing to accompany his words and thoughts. The flashlight was equipped to take an infrared exposure every time the thumb slid its switch backward. Pushed forward, it caused the light to function as a conventional flashlight.

On Tuesday morning the technicians parked their small van with the electrical equipment at the corner of the basement garage and finished their preparatory work in the bowels of the building's cellar, laying out the wires as required to facilitate a quick reassembly.

At ten in the morning the lights went out in the entire western end of the building. The recircuiting required less than ten minutes, after which the lights went on again.

BOOK: High Jinx
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