The Einstein Code Read online

  The female officer shut the cases and started to zip them up, Kate and Lou finished the job and Lou was about to lift them off the counter and back onto the trolley when the tall thin man said: ‘Could we take a look at your hand luggage please?’

  Kate placed her shoulder bag and a small camera bag on the counter. Lou lifted his briefcase from where it had been resting at his feet.

  The customs officers emptied out the contents of Kate’s bag. A container of make-up, a pen, a purse and a mess of receipts and gum packets spread across the counter. The woman shuffled through the collection and placed each item back into the bag. Next she turned her attention to the camera bag, pulled out a top-end Nikon, felt around inside the bag and then returned the camera.

  The male officer pulled Lou’s briefcase along the shiny metal surface of the counter. ‘Key please, Dr Bates.’ Lou pulled a key from his pocket and handed it over.

  The man removed the items from the case. A laptop, a file of papers, a copy of New Scientist and the padded envelope containing the cylinder from Amelia Earhart’s plane. He went straight for the envelope and felt the shape of the object inside.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It is connected with our work,’ Lou began. ‘A sample we removed from a wreck.’

  The officer held his gaze. ‘Could you open it please, Dr Bates?’

  ‘Sure.’ He peeled back the flap of the envelope and removed the cylinder swathed in bubble wrap.

  ‘Keep going.’

  Lou glanced at Kate. She shrugged and Lou pulled back the wrapping, then laid it on the counter with the cylinder resting in the middle.

  The officer went to pick it up.

  ‘Please,’ Lou said a little louder and more aggressively than he had intended, ‘it’s a delicate item. We are taking it to our lab for analysis.’ The two officers gave him a dark look.

  The man lifted it with exaggerated care. Lou exhaled loudly.

  The officer turned it around end to end and looked closely at its corroded metal skin.

  ‘What is it?’ the woman asked.

  ‘I’m afraid that is confidential,’ Kate replied.

  ‘Could you open it please?’ The man held it out to Lou.

  ‘No!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘Now this has gone far enough. We have done nothing wrong. You have seen our licence and other documentation. We are on a perfectly legal and legitimate expedition. This is a delicate and precious—’

  ‘Dr Wetherall.’

  ‘I insist—’

  ‘You are not in a position to insist upon anything,’ the male customs officer snapped and glared at Kate. He turned back to Lou. ‘Dr Bates, could you open it please?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ Lou answered. ‘It is an artefact from our studies. If I open it, any contents will crumble to nothing.’

  The man looked a little taken aback by that. He glanced at his colleague. ‘Please wait here, I will have to consult my superior.’ He walked away from them quickly.

  Lou spotted a sign over a door that said CUSTOMS INTERVIEW ROOMS 1–4, and marched over to it, pushing it open.

  Finding himself in a small side room, he saw a woman behind a counter and paced over to it, slapping both hands down. ‘What is all this about?’ Lou hissed, leaning forward.

  ‘Could you please remove your hands from the counter, sir,’ the woman said.

  Lou looked down at his hands then back up at the woman. ‘This is outrageous. What is all this about?’

  ‘Unless you remove your hands from the counter I will be forced to place you in custody.’

  Kate came up behind Lou and tapped him on the shoulder. He straightened with a heavy sigh, and they went back to their luggage.

  A door opened and the customs officer entered. Following him was another, older man, and two paces behind them strode an armed guard, machine gun at his waist. The two men walked round behind the counter, the guard stood a few feet to their right eyeing Lou and Kate.

  ‘My name is Mr Manor,’ the older man said. ‘I am the most senior officer here. I’m afraid we will have to confiscate all your luggage, your briefcases and personal items, including this.’ He nodded towards the cylinder resting in the bubble wrap.

  ‘What!’ Kate exploded. ‘What possible reason . . .?’

  ‘Dr Wetherall, Dr Bates, please, we are required to inspect these items. They will be properly cared for, and if they do not transgress regulations, after we have finished with them, they will be returned to you. You will be placed in custody until our investigations have reached a satisfactory conclusion.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Lou said, his face flushed. ‘We are not carrying anything illegal. We have permits and licences. Check the damn paperwork, man.’

  ‘We will, Dr Bates. In the meantime we have to take the precaution of confiscating your luggage so that it may undergo close analysis.’

  Lou lost it and made a grab for the cylinder. The female customs officer was closest to him and looked startled. Kate emitted a small scream. The armed guard stepped forward, lifted the gun and pointed it at Lou.

  ‘Sir,’ he yelped. ‘Step away and raise your hands.’

  Lou did not react.

  The guard took another step forward. ‘Step away and raise your hands.’ They could all hear the guard prime the gun.

  ‘Lou!’ Kate screamed.

  He stepped back and raised his hands.

  13

  Smithsonian Institute, Washington DC. 25 March 1937.

  It was a rare occasion for Amelia Earhart . . . she was wearing a cocktail dress.

  ‘Gosh, I feel so damned awkward in this thing,’ she remarked, accepting a glass of champagne from her husband, George Putnam, who stood at the doorway beside a man holding a tray of drinks.

  ‘Feel happier in the old leather jacket and pants, Amelia?’

  ‘Sure would.’ She surveyed the crowded main hall of the Smithsonian Castle building on the National Mall. ‘I don’t know more than one per cent of these people,’ she added in a low voice.

  ‘The great and the good, darling. And if the truth be told, ninety-nine per cent of them are not worth knowing!’

  Amelia laughed and shook her head. ‘You are pure evil, Georgie.’

  They stepped into the room and heads turned as applause grew. Amelia smiled and felt George squeeze her hand. The band in the far corner struck up with ‘Dixie’. George let go of her hand and walked over to a small group of men. Amelia turned to see the First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, looking stately in a grey silk dress, her brown hair in two whirls at her temples. She was smiling at her and clapping decorously.

  ‘Well you do scrub up nicely, my dear,’ she said.

  ‘I feel ridiculous!’ Amelia kissed her old friend on the cheek and the two women hugged.

  ‘It’s a splendid turn-out.’

  Earhart nodded and took a sip of champagne as she cast her eyes around the gathering. She leaned in to Eleanor’s ear. ‘I just hope they’re all in a generous mood.’

  A tall man in a dinner jacket approached and gave a slight bow to the two women. ‘We are ready when you are, Mrs Roosevelt.’

  Amelia took a deep breath. ‘Well, time and tide and all that.’ She gave Eleanor Roosevelt a nervous look.

  ‘Between us we’ll knock ’em dead.’ The First Lady squeezed Amelia’s elbow.

  Eleanor led the way across the room, parting the throng as she went. The band was still playing, a more modern tune now; Amelia recognized it, one of her current favourites, Benny Goodman’s ‘Stompin’ at the Savoy’. The gathered wealthy of Washington and New York seemed relaxed, lubricated with free-flowing champagne.

  The two women reached a podium at one end of the room and the music faded to nothing. Amelia could hear the hubbub of conversation dwindle to silence. She stood to one side of a wooden lectern and the First Lady walked calmly up to the microphone; it squeaked as she approached. Pausing, she surveyed the hundreds of faces: politicians, business moguls and patrons of the arts and sciences accompa
nied by their bejewelled wives.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ She had a rather frail, high-pitched voice, but years of experience as the wife of the 32nd president had imbued her with confidence. ‘It was with enormous pleasure that I accepted the invitation to be here this evening, in this magnificent setting; and it too is an honour to introduce to you one of the greatest women alive today. This lady is not only a cherished friend of mine and my husband’s, but as you will all know, she is one of this country’s most respected ambassadors, renowned throughout the world for her pioneering achievements as an aviator, a woman dedicated to pushing back the boundaries of what is possible. To me, it seems unimaginable that anyone could climb into a machine and fly across oceans and continents, but my friend here does it before breakfast. She needs no further introduction. I give you Amelia Earhart.’

  Eleanor Roosevelt stepped down as Amelia took the podium to warm applause.

  ‘Well, my goodness!’ she began and turned to the First Lady seated at the side of the dais. ‘Was that really me you were describing?’

  A warm ripple of laughter passed through the gathering and Amelia took a deep breath.

  ‘The reason I’m here tonight is to tell you all about the flight I hope to begin in just a few months from now, in June. And, I must confess, I’m also here to pass around the begging bowl.’

  Another peal of gentle laughter and Amelia gazed around, found her husband George a few rows back and focused on him as she started to speak again.

  ‘You would have all heard of the unfortunate circumstances of my first attempt to circumnavigate the globe, and ending up in Hawaii.’ She produced a good-natured laugh and pulled a face. ‘That was galling to say the least!’ She put a hand on her hip and produced a self-disparaging grimace which solicited another laugh from the crowd.

  ‘But we have regrouped and reworked things and we plan to give it another go starting on June 1st.’

  Two men in overalls shuffled behind Amelia manoeuvring into place an easel holding a five-foot-square map of the world. Across it stretched a zigzagging red line.

  ‘The journey is scheduled to begin in Oakland,’ Amelia explained and tapped the map with a wooden pointer handed to her by one of the men. ‘This time we intend to travel west to east, the opposite way to our last attempt. From Oakland, we fly south-east to Miami and then on to Natal in Brazil.’ She moved the pointer. ‘From there we cross the Atlantic to Dakar, Senegal in West Africa; across Africa, on to Karachi and Calcutta, then Singapore and south to Darwin, Australia. We then take on the Pacific, perhaps the most arduous stage of the journey. We take a break in Hawaii and hope to fly from there to Oakland.’

  The audience was hushed. The ladies looked stunned; some of the men wore sceptical expressions.

  ‘Twenty-nine thousand miles in all,’ Amelia went on. ‘Quite a trek!’ She glanced at the rapt faces. ‘Now, I would like to introduce to you my navigator on this voyage, Mr Fred Noonan.’

  A tall, elegantly dressed man in his mid-forties with slicked-back dark-brown hair started to walk through the applauding crowd to the podium. Looking rather serious, he reached the lectern and pecked Amelia on the cheek. Turning to the audience, he wore a slender smile. ‘Thank you.’

  Amelia saw her husband in the throng. He was clapping, a cigar wedged between his teeth.

  ‘I’m very much second fiddle in all this,’ Noonan commented. ‘Amelia is the star, and rightly so. My job is just to make sure we don’t get lost!’

  The two aviators stepped down to the floor as the crowd whooped and applauded loudly. With Eleanor Roosevelt, they turned. Amelia could see the faces of her audience, expressions of admiration, scepticism, envy, disbelief from some. Noonan was patted on the back, a respectful path was cleared for the First Lady, and in a few moments the band struck up again. George Putnam appeared at his wife’s elbow, an aura of cigar smoke about his face.

  ‘Excellent show, sweetheart,’ he said and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You look like you could do with another glass of bubbly.’ Putnam turned and collared a waiter, plucked up two glasses from a tray and handed one to Amelia.

  ‘Do you really think it went well, Georgie?’

  ‘I do. A triumph.’ He was about to add something when they were interrupted by a man wearing a dark-brown suit and trilby. George gave him a puzzled look.

  The man removed his hat, ignored George Putnam and said to Amelia. ‘Miss Earhart, I’m sorry to interrupt you.’

  ‘What is it?’ Amelia replied, eyes narrowing.

  ‘Could I ask you to come with me?’

  She looked startled and turned to her husband.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to alarm you,’ the stranger added. ‘It’s just for a few minutes. My superior would like to have a brief word with you.’

  ‘Your superior?’

  The man leaned into Amelia’s ear. ‘The president, Miss Earhart. The president wants a word.’

  14

  George went to object. ‘Now look here . . .’

  Amelia silenced him with a glance, then placed a gentle hand on his. ‘Relax, George. It’s OK. I’ll be back in a minute.’ The man in the suit led the way across the hall. No one took much notice. In a moment they had reached the door, crossed a corridor and were soon out in the crisp, cool night, the noise of the gathering in the hall dwindling to nothing.

  The president’s black Lincoln was parked across a small lane close to the rear loading bay of the museum. A man dressed in a black suit and trilby was leaning back against the bonnet smoking a cigarette. Amelia could see the driver at the wheel and hear the purr of the big engine ticking over.

  ‘This way please, Miss Earhart.’ The agent held her elbow gently, and guided her towards the rear of the car. The man leaning on the bonnet stood up, and opened the back door. Amelia peered inside the car, saw President Roosevelt and lowered herself onto the soft leather seat.

  ‘I’m sorry about the cloak and dagger stuff, Amelia,’ the elderly man said. His voice sounded tired. She looked into his dark eyes and thought he appeared especially unwell this evening. His cheeks were carved with deep worry lines and the skin around his mouth sagged a little.

  ‘I’m intrigued, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ He took a deep breath and glanced out of the car window to the darkness laced by a dim glow from a distant street lamp at the junction of a lane and a broader street running beside the main building. He turned back to face Amelia.

  ‘The fact is, we need your help.’

  ‘Well . . . Sure, anything I can do.’

  Roosevelt held her gaze for a moment. ‘It’s an intelligence matter.’

  ‘And I assume you cannot tell me too much about it?’

  ‘No, you’re right, I can’t.’

  ‘OK. What do I have to do?’

  Roosevelt interlaced his long thin fingers on his lap and looked down at them. ‘We need you to pick up a package from one of the stopovers on your planned flight. They tell me you are refuelling at Dakar, Senegal.’

  ‘How did you know that, sir? I only just . . .’

  Roosevelt held up a hand. ‘I told you, Amelia, it’s an intelligence matter.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Dakar would be the best place for you to collect the item. It will be delivered by British Intelligence.’

  ‘What do I have to do with this package?’

  ‘Bring it back home.’

  ‘I see,’ Amelia replied. ‘Sounds simple.’

  ‘I’m not ordering you to do this, my dear. I only want it done if we have your explicit agreement.’

  ‘That makes it sound bad, Franklin.’ Earhart allowed herself the privilege of using the president’s first name. She had known him a long time and thought of him as a family friend. ‘You wouldn’t be saying this if it were straightforward, would you now?’

  Roosevelt considered her seriously. ‘I won’t lie; there is an element of danger. The contents of the package are extremely valuable to us. And of course that means they would also be very va
luable to others.’

  ‘Things really are hotting up in Europe then . . .’

  Roosevelt turned his gaze back to the night. Still looking out of the window he said: ‘They are, but I have absolutely no intention of drawing this country into any damn mess our friends across the Atlantic get sucked into. However, there are some matters of intelligence, some opportunities, let us say, that cannot be ignored.’

  ‘Well, as I said, sir, I’ll do anything I can.’

  Roosevelt turned back and took Amelia’s hands in his. She could see the veins on the back of his gnarled left hand, a cluster of liver spots in the fleshy skin above his knuckles. ‘My Secret Service guys have told me you should remember a code word to use if you ever doubt the veracity of anyone you meet claiming they are ours or from the British. The word is: “Pioneer”.’

  ‘I see,’ said Amelia. ‘I’m flattered, sir.’

  ‘We’ll make the necessary arrangements,’ he said. ‘And, Amelia, thank you.’

  15

  Norfolk International Airport, Virginia. Present day.

  It was stifling in the small room. Lou sat on an uncomfortable metal chair bolted to the floor, his legs under a table that had also been bolted into the concrete. There was no window, and the only light came from a stark bulb dangling from a cord. He had been marched off along a corridor straight to this room, catching a glimpse of Kate as she was escorted to another room on the other side of the main hall. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it had been nearly ninety minutes ago.

  What had happened back there? Sure, he had been tired and he had always had a problem with authority; but why had they been picked on in the first place? And why had the customs people been so interested in the cylinder? They couldn’t possibly know how significant it might be.

  He took a deep breath of stale warm air and wondered if Kate was OK. Had they interrogated her? Was that the reason for the wait? Or had they simply wanted him to stew for a bit, get him really worried?

  Lou got up from the chair and started pacing the tiny room, in tight circles around the table and chair, head down, thinking, thinking, trying to rationalize, work out a way to get things back on track. He had behaved irrationally, he knew that, lost his cool. Over the past hour and a half though he had pulled himself together, begun to think straight, be logical, be practical. Kate would certainly have made a better showing, he was sure of that. She was always more analytical than him, always the ‘sensible, cool one’. She had got him out of many scrapes; maybe she would be able to sweet-talk them. He didn’t mind being considered crazy, just so long as he and Kate could be on their way.