Sullivan had bags under his eyes, as if he hadnt slept. 'Mr President, I want to make you aware of some very unusual movements by Prime Minister Edgeworth over the last day or so. It may be relevant to the other matter which I brought to your attention yesterday evening.

The other matter. Melanie wondered about that.

'Ms Moore here is one of my bright young a.n.a.lysts and I think I should just let her tell the story.

Melanie Moore had never been inside the White House, let alone sat in the Oval Office in the company of such powerful men.

After the embarra.s.sing memory of her tennis outfit, she had dressed in a well-cut, dark-grey suit, touched her eyelashes with mascara, used a little bronze eye-shadow and a muted plum lipstick which went well, she believed, with her black skin. Her hair was straightened and sleek. She finished the effect with small, plain pearl earrings and she was wearing spectacles with the heaviest frames she could find.

But still none of it was quite obliterating that embarra.s.sing memory.

Melanie Moore Should be demure.

The stupid rhyme, having popped into her head in the Lincoln on the way over, would not go away. She opened the folder Sullivan had laid on the coffee-table. 'Mr President, Prime Minister Edgeworth left Chequers on Thursday evening on a domestic flight, having abruptly cancelled his appearance at the Kohl funeral in Germany and a weekend social engagement. Theres no comment on it by the British press. We know, or think we know, he was driven to RAF Northolt which isnt too far from Chequers. Now Edgeworth normally uses a VC-10 on domestic flights and one took off from Northolt soon after his ETA there. This was at twenty-two hundred hours Greenwich Mean Time.

'So far so good, Bull said encouragingly.

'Now we dont monitor Royal Air Force communications.

'Okay.

'But there are people who do that sort of thing for a hobby. Enthusiastic amateurs.

'Like trainspotters? Bull suggested.

'Exactly like trainspotters, except that these people use VHF and UHF scanners, HF radio and so on which are able to pick up military communications. They cover Western Europe and they swap "sightings" on the Net. Its murder on military security, especially if theres, say, a Middle East operation on the boil, but theres nothing any of us can do about it. Anyway, all we had to do was log into their records to find where the Prime Ministers aircraft landed. Heres their record of arrivals at RAF Lossiemouth on the evening in question. Melanie pa.s.sed over a sheet of paper with a shaky hand.

Bulls eyes skimmed over the sheet. 'The VC-10?

'Yes, sir. Its based in Brize Norton as you see, but it stopped off at Northolt. Unquestionably the Prime Minister was picked up there and taken on to Lossiemouth.

'Lossiemouth ... the name rings a bell.

'You landed there last summer, sir. The British have a strong strike/attack Tornado complement up there, and its also where the Royal Family sometimes land when they want to go to Balmoral Castle. Thats the Queens summer house. Youve been there too, at the Queens invitation, thats why you flew to Lossiemouth.

'I remember the d.a.m.ned castle. Nothing but tartan carpets.

'But the Prime Minister didnt go to Balmoral. First off, the Queen is in the Bahamas at present. Secondly, the castle just has a few caretakers in it at this time of year. Melanie pa.s.sed over a couple of DSP photographs. 'No security, as you see.

Bull nodded. 'So? Where did he go?

There was a hint of satisfaction in Melanies voice. 'Lossiemouth also has two Search and Rescue helicopters. She pa.s.sed over another cl.u.s.ter of photographs. 'And this is one of them. This particular reconnaissance satellite works in the infrared, Mr President, and the resolutions not too good. But if you look at the second picture that one youll see one of the two Lossiemouth choppers, a Sea King HAR3.

'Ill take your word for it.

'Weve put it through image enhancement, sir. Its a Sea King, all right. Fifty-six feet long, a hundred and forty miles an hour at sea level, normally a crew of four. This was taken halfway between Scotland and Norway.

'And you say the British Prime Minister was in this helicopter?

'There were no ships or aircraft in distress in the area at that time. There was no recorded radio traffic between the Sea King and Lossiemouth. It was flying late at night, almost at sea level, without navigation lights. Why would it be doing this? It has to be connected with the Prime Ministers arrival at Lossiemouth. My a.n.a.lysis to this point is that Edgeworth was heading for some secret destination.

'Okay, I buy it so far, said Bull. 'You say it was halfway to Norway?

'The Sea Kings radius of action is just under three hundred miles. Thats barely enough to get it to southern Norway and back from north-east Scotland.

'Whats in Norway, Ms Moore?

Melanie pa.s.sed over another batch of satellite reconnaissance pictures, each about a foot square. 'We lost coverage for nearly three hours, but here weve picked it up again. A helicopter, bright in the infrared, was flying over a white background. 'Sir, this is a Sea King. It has to be the same one; there are no others in this part of the world. That being so, its flown beyond its maximum range. It must have stopped to refuel somewhere in Norway.

'Which part of the world are we talking about?

'Finland, sir.

'Finnish radar would have picked it up.

'No, sir. This is flying at treetop level through densely forested country. An operation not without risk.

'The whole d.a.m.n thing sounds perilous to me.

'Finally, Mr President, we got this on a DSP pa.s.s last evening. The blow-ups are image-enhanced. The view had been taken looking directly down. A frozen lake and a little cl.u.s.ter of cabins were plainly visible, surrounded by trees. Two of the cabins were shining brilliantly in the infrared. There were two clearings separated by about two hundred yards. 'This is an almost impenetrably remote part of Finland. There are lots of mosquitos in the summer, and just a few trappers and hunters in the winter. A sharp red-painted nail circled a helicopter in one of the clearings. 'And thats the Sea King.

'And what the h.e.l.ls that? Bull tapped a finger at the image of a much larger machine in the other clearing.

'An Mi-26T from the Moscow Mil helicopter plant. It can incorporate pa.s.senger carriage for VIPs in highly comfortable conditions and it has a range of 1300 kilometres if extra fuel tanks are added.

'VIP carriage?

'Almost certainly President Ogorodnikov, in our view. He was supposed to be in his Moscow dacha at the time. We asked Amba.s.sador Wilson to confirm this but theyve been giving him the runaround.

'He must have had his nuclear suitcase with him, Bull observed. 'Where are the communications?

'We dont know. Maybe in the Mi-26.

The President shook his head sceptically.

'Thats it, Sullivan said.

Bull leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands thoughtfully. 'What are you telling me, people?

McLarty decided it was about time to be heard. 'Mr President, this Finnish place is about halfway on the direct route between London and Moscow. Melanies evidence leads me to believe that the Prime Minister and the Russian President left their respective countries for a clandestine meeting without anyone being aware of their absence.

'Um-huh. And where are they now?

'Visibly back in their respective capitals, as if theyd never gone.

Bull looked at McLarty. 'Any clues?

'None at all, Mr President.

The President sighed. 'John, Ms Moore, thank you both. Good to meet you, Ms Moore.

Melanie glowed. She followed her boss out of the door, the words: Melanie Moore Was quite demure skipping through her head.

The President waited until the door had closed. Then he swivelled his chair round to face the CIA Director.

'So whats going on, Al?

'Two crazy things within a day of each other. First the conversation about an ET signal, then a secret head-to-head between Edgeworth and Ogorodnikov. They have to be connected.

'Where does Edgeworth come into it?

'Go back to that conversation between the Russian scientists, Velikhov and Shtyrkov. This Shtyrkov is part of an Anglo-Russian experiment in a cave a few hours drive from the castle. Its an experiment to detect exotic particles from s.p.a.ce.

'Exotic like signals from extraterrestrials? Is that what youre trying to say? Bulls face was expressionless.

'They could have picked them up by accident.

'This is getting beyond a joke.

Sullivan tried to keep his frustration in check. 'Mr President, with respect, they didnt meet up in Finland to catch salmon. Whatever is going on, its deadly serious and weve been excluded from it. In the interests of national security, its vital that we find out about that signal.

Bull strummed his fingers on the table for some moments. 'Al, use your common sense. Theyre cooking something up over the Iraq crisis.

'Theres no evidence of that, sir.

'There is now. I want to see an a.n.a.lysis of the options if the Brits changed sides on that one. Whats the balance of risks and opportunities for them? What does it mean for us? Thats what I need, Al, not this fantasy stuff about alien signals.

26.

Shangri-La The road was narrow and wet and lined with snow, and the driver took it with care. He glanced in the rear mirror. His pa.s.senger was asleep and he took the opportunity to appraise the man. He was in his seventies, white-haired and white-eyebrowed. His mouth was turned down at the edges, giving him a slightly dogmatic look. The man had dressed for the cold: a grey woollen scarf, hand-knitted, poked up above the fur collar of his winter coat, and a pair of fur gloves rested on his lap.

'Much further to go? the pa.s.senger asked, his eyes still shut.

'Were nearly there, sir. Were past Hagerton, going along Hunting Creek.

The road was climbing steeply, approaching a one-in-ten gradient. The fog was thickening by the yard. The twin halogen beams of the limo lit up a sign for Catoctin Mountain Park, and the driver slowed and turned right. Two deer, startled in the headlights, leaped nimbly into the dark.

Logie Harris gave up on his nap. He sat upright in his seat, pulling at his safety belt.

The road levelled. Lights were piercing the fog and an indeterminate shape resolved itself into a metal gate, like the entrance to a high-security prison. A handsome young Marine took a doc.u.ment from the driver, examined it carefully and peered into the car. 'Welcome to Camp David, sir.

Red Oak, like the other guest cottages, was a simple two-bedroomed wooden cabin with a lounge, all wood panelling and timber beams, and an open fireplace. Someone had lit a fire and he was enveloped by a comfortable warmth. The call from the President had come at midnight and he had frantically scoured his library until the car had come to collect him at 2 a.m. It was now 5 a.m. and he had barely slept. He threw off his clothes and put on pyjamas. He kneeled briefly by the bedside and murmured, 'Lord, forgive my sins. Help the President in his troubles, and give me the wisdom to guide him. Amen. Then he slid between warmed sheets and listened to the silence. His mind drifted back, to the goosepimpling midnight call from the President, to his weird question, and to his closing words: '... above all I need someone I can trust.

Seth Bull, the evangelist deduced, was falling back on his reserves, summoning up the unique bond that half a lifetime of friendship produced. But if the President of the United States couldnt trust the people around him ...

He was wakened by a powerful roar. He jumped out of bed and drew back the curtains just in time to glimpse a large blue and white helicopter sinking amongst the snow-covered trees a few hundred yards away. The early-hours fog was gone and the sky was blue. A chipmunk scurried over some rocks in front of the cottage. The air was pure and scented. He dressed quickly in casuals and sweater and put on the blue windcheater a steward had given him. He was just pulling on his shoes when he heard a tap on the door. 'Logie, glad you could make it. Come over to my place for breakfast.

In the sun lounge of Aspen, at a table with orange juice, Granola and toast, Bull waved his arm towards the window. Beyond the patio was a snow-covered lawn and beyond that a frozen pond. Flurries of snow drifted down from a tree, tracing the route of some creature jumping from branch to branch. Light mist floated up from the Monocacy Valley.

'I can see why Truman called this place Shangri-La, Mr President.

Bulls tone changed; he became businesslike. 'A good place for clearing out the cobwebs. And believe me, I need a clear head for this one. Finish your breakfast while I change, Logie, and then well get down to it.

Harris strolled on the patio, the Presidents Berchtesgaden. This was indeed a wonderful place for rejuvenation. Here a President could go for a solitary walk, listen to the birds and watch his dog chasing the squirrels. The last time hed stood here, the patio steps had been bordered with flowers, courtesy of Nancy Reagan. 'Of all the things Ronald misses about the Presidency, shed told him, 'his Camp David weekends come top. Now the flowers were gone and there was ice in the air: at eighteen hundred feet up it could be rough. He turned up his collar. A pristine blanket of snow covered the roof of the lodge, the lawn and the trees, and thin ice coated the hour-gla.s.s swimming pool over to the right.

The President appeared wearing a navy-blue windcheater and casual trousers to match. White hair protruded under a baseball cap with a badge showing the Presidential yacht. The word t.i.tanic was emblazoned beneath the vessel. The men went down the steps and strolled past the pond and the little artificial stream on the west side of the lodge.

'Logie, I need answers in a hurry. They were in step together, a slow, rhythmic pace. There was n.o.body else in sight. 'What is the theological position on life out there?

'Read up on it as soon as I got your call, Seth. But I already knew that the Scriptures give clear guidance on the issue, as they do in so much else in life. But I also looked into the writings of the great thinkers of the past, to see how they handled the question.

'So what does the Bible say?

'The Bible is silent on the question of extraterrestrials. I believe the silence is significant. G.o.d created Man in His own image. The Bible says nothing about creatures beyond the Earth because theres nothing to say about them. They dont exist.

'Well, thats simple enough. Bulls tone was sceptical. 'Is that it?

'The heavy hitters in this area were the medieval thinkers. n.o.body has surpa.s.sed them for depth of thought, even in modern times.

'I guess if youre a monk with nothing else to do all day but think ... Sometimes I wish I was a monk.

'They were against the idea of life out there on grounds that are still valid today. They were thinking about it before we even knew the Earth is a planet.

'Incredible, said the President.

'Incredible. Saint Augustine opposed the alien concept in his City of G.o.d, likewise Thomas Aquinas in his Summa Theologica. They said that mankind, here on Earth, is the focus of G.o.ds love. Creatures on other worlds wouldnt have the Creators love and there would have been no point in creating them.

Bulls mouth twisted in annoyance. 'Logie, I cant take executive action on the basis of stuff like that. Are medieval monks all youve got?

'I have all I need, namely the Word of G.o.d. If there are people on other worlds, have they sinned as Adam sinned? Would the Saviour have to go from planet to planet, dying again and again? Do we expect this of a G.o.d of Love? The evangelist waved an arm. 'Only a G.o.d of Love could create beauty like this.

'He had a little help from Roosevelt.

The evangelist seemed not to have heard. 'Are we to believe that Jesus is some sort of travelling redeemer? There just cant be men out there in need of salvation. This has been pointed out over the centuries from William Vorilong in the Middle Ages through Melanchthon in the Renaissance to Thomas Paine in the Age of Reason.

'Maybe aliens dont need salvation.

'Mr President, all men need salvation, and it can only be attained through Divine Incarnation. Thats core Christian doctrine.