Monday, April 26, 2010

It's A Bird, It's A Plane, It's....

To London, the Icelandic volcano having subsided. (It's amazing how a 'piece of ash' can sometimes cause havoc -- think about it.) But Sir Harry really wanted my input on something so toxic that he didn't want to use the phone line, no matter how secure. I wouldn't have made the trip save for two things: he offered diplomatic immunity, allowing me to bypass all those customs people afflicted with office, and the Compte de Rienville had agreed to meet me there. The former was nice, the latter was nicer.

I got together with Sir Harry at his headquarters (undisclosed location) and quickly learned what this was all about. Sir Harry had no use for small talk.

"The Americans have launched something into space. What is it?"

"I haven't a clue."

"Rubbish. There's you're CIA contact. What does that Hatt woman have to say?"

"Tilly," I said, "is not in the loop on that one."

Sir Harry shifted his rather rotund bulk in his chair, and stated, "But she has her suspicions. Knowing you, you would also have suspicions. What are they?"

"Well, Sir Harry, I think Tilly is a little off base on this one. She thinks it's a guidance system for the Falcon."

Sir Harry's eyes widened. "You know about the Falcon program?"

"Not difficult to winkle out," I replied. "The Americans are shifting resources from big, fixed armies to smart missiles. In fact, I suspect we may have seen the last of large, pitched battles. That said, the current missiles, those drones so beloved by the Taliban and Al Qaeda in Waziristan, are too slow by half. The Falcon won't be."

Sir Harry settled back. "My thinking exactly."

"Yes", I said, "it's a good theory. But it's wrong."

"Oh. And how so?"

"Because the Falcon isn't even a prototype yet. Why on earth would you test a guidance system for something that hasn't even reached the drawing board? No, in my opinion, that piece of hardware is doing something different entirely."

Sir Harry shifted again, then growled, "I don't think I want to hear this, but I'd guess I'd better. What precisely is your opinion."

"There's nothing up there other than an over-sized tin can."

"Bollocks," sniffed Sir Harry. "The Americans spend God knows how much to put a big tin can into space. Really, Simone."

"Oh, I daresay there are some things being done. From what I hear, Google put up a goodly portion of the finance, and will now have a capability of blasting through any electronic jamming created by the Chinese, North Koreans and who knows who else. But that's about it. Now think for a bit. At the moment, a number of countries are setting aside considerable resources and busting a gut trying to determine just what that thing does. Of course, it doesn't do anything, and that's the beauty of the whole thing. Unlike his predecessor, this President is smart, and can create a diversion that will keep everyone occupied for some time. This will leave the world open for America to bustle in."

"Bustle indeed," said Sir Harry. "That's Shakespeare. Richard III."

"Oh, good on you, Sir Harry. Now I really must be off. I have an appointment for tea at Brown's."

"With that louche Frenchman, I suppose. I didn't think you wore that outfit for me."

"Now Sir Harry, let's not be catty. He did you a huge favour once."

Sir Harry ignored this, and waved me out of his quarters. As for the outfit, it was nothing special. A simple woolen, black dress. Mind you, it was an original Coco Chanel.

Outside, waiting for one of Sir Harry's drivers to pick me up, I pondered a bit. What I had said to Sir Harry was not exactly the truth, but there was enough to put him on the right track. There was a purpose to that mysterious launch, I knew what it was, and as for any further elaboration, well, not on.

After all, that would be telling.

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