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The girl was talking to him: 'Do you wish to collect the
ticket or shall we--'
'Can my son collect it during his school dinner-break
today, please?'
'Yes - that'll be fine if he brings an ID or passport card
with him.'
Luckily Jez focused his mind on the instructions to himself.
'I loathe my first name and would like to frame the
ticket counterfoil. So would it be possible to make out the
ticket to Mr J. Moreton please?'
The girl laughed. T think BA will be issuing every passenger
with a special certificate, but, yes, we've already got a
note of that on our computer.'
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'My son will be along at 1.30.'
'It'll be ready for him, Mr Moreton.'
Jez thanked her and replaced the handset, surprised that
his hand wasn't shaking. He returned to his bedroom and
regarded the model Sabre, deep in thought. It slowly
dawned on him that all his devious scheming and dreaming
had actually borne fruit. His father would receive the credit
card statement showing Je/'s awful crime on 21 December
but the grievous punishment that would surely follow the
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discovery would be inflicted on him in another lifetime . . .
After he had been into space on the Sabre!
He gave a great whoop of triumph and performed an
exultant somersault on his bed, banging his heels on his desk
and sending the scale model of the Sabre crashing to the
floor.
That evening, as Jez sat in his bedroom staring trance-like at
his Sabre ticket, Lesseps started work on the final stage of
his terrible task.
It was 19:00. Shed A was quiet. The calibration team
working on Sabre 006 took no notice of the technical author
as he set up his reflectors under 005's port wing. The large
foil umbrellas made an effective screen. He positioned his
camera and lights so that they were trained through the
open inspection hatch at the fuel control system for the
inboard No.2 engine. He had all the tools to hand needed
for removal of the genuine fuel control block including a
pair of surgical gloves that he pulled on. Over a period of
several weeks he had established a penchant for wearing
gloves when handling his photographic equipment.
The jaws of the compressed-air power wrench were a
snug fit on the four fuel-line coupling nuts. For safety, the
entire fuel system was always purged, therefore no liquid
oxygen or liquid hydrogen escaped when Lesseps unscrewed
all four of the large hoses and eased them clear. His arms
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were aching from reaching up by the time he had finished.
He hid the power wrench because such tampering was
strictly forbidden. Removing the regulator from the airframe
was simply a matter of disconnecting the data-link
and power connectors, unscrewing two self-locking bolts
that passed right through the block and pulling it clear. He
stuffed it into his gadget bag and closed the inspection hatch.
It was unlikely that anyone would open the hatch and discover
that the regulator was missing during his anticipated
thirty-minute absence but as a precaution he put up a warning
notice saying that the lights and camera were set up for
a shoot and were not to be disturbed. The regulator was a
dead, accusing weight in his gadget bag as he returned to his
work station in the deserted documentation office.
He unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out the fake
block, already primed with the volatile magnesium wool in
exactly the same manner that he had used for the test piece.
He opened the Plessey manual for the fuel regulator although
he had studied the exploded drawings over several days and
could probably dismantle it blindfolded. Removing the
solenoid motor and multiple valve mechanism from the
genuine block for transfer to the fake was fairly straightforward:
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it consisted of a single module designed for quick
replacement by ground engineers. The only modification
that Lesseps had to carry out was to solder a short length of
fine wire from the contact on the ignition flashbulb to pin
22 on the controller micro-processor. This was the pin that
went six volts high on throttle-back of the rocket engine that
this regulator block supplied with fuel. To ensure that this
vital link was correct, Lesseps referred to the manual. There
was no mistake. The wire was hidden once the entire
capsule was installed in its new home. The ring of fixing
holes in the original cover plate lined up perfectly with the
matching threaded holes in the fake block.
A door opened at the end of the office. It was Marcel one
of the security officers doing his rounds. Lesseps had
been expecting his appearance.
'Good evening, Mr Lesseps. Saw you on the monitors.
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They work you hard.'
Lesseps casually moved a drawing to hide what he was
doing. 'They certainly do, Marcel.'
'Everything okay?'
'Fine, thank you, Marcel.'
The security officer glanced around the office and withdrew.
Alone again, Lesseps contemplated his handiwork now
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