Penny came into the room holding a tea tray. Then the phone rang.
Penny jumped at the sound. She looked at Kruze for a moment and he could see the anxiety etched on her face.
She put the tray down, lifted the receiver slowly and listened. Kruze saw her features soften.
“It’s for you,” she said. “Somebody called Marlowe.”
Kruze went to the phone. Marlowe was barely recognizable, but the crackle could not hide the urgency in his voice.
“You’d better get your arse back down here fast; Mulvaney’s holding a briefing for all aircrew at eight. You were right; something is up.”
Kruze knew better than to ask for details over an open line.
“I’ll be there in two hours,” he said, and hung up.
Penny had stopped slicing the bread.
“When will I see you?” she asked.
“I don’t know. There’s a flap on at base. It could be days, more…”
“But…”
He reached for his cap and coat, still damp from their walk.
“When there’s a flap on it means that the Old Man wants answers quickly. That can take days or it can go on longer. Now listen, I’m not telling you what today has meant to me. You know all that.”
He moved over to the door. “I’ll call you.”
“But I may not be here, darling. I’m expected back at work. Leave’s almost over.” She felt almost frantic. There had been so much she, too, had wanted to say.
“Then I’ll leave a message for you. You’ll be getting up to London to see Billy, won’t you? Somehow I’ll see to it that word’s left there.” He smiled and winked at her. “Sorry about the bread. Make sure they keep some back for next time.”
And then he was gone.
BOOK TWO
CHAPTER ONE
The eleven pilots on secondment to the EAEU at the Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough were in the briefing room a few minutes before eight o’clock. All were present except Kruze, but only Marlowe noticed he was missing. The others attempted to second-guess Mulvaney’s announcement. After days of bad weather, all the talk was now about getting back into the air.
Marlowe looked up from the second hand of his watch just as Kruze walked in. He was followed almost immediately by Mulvaney. As they rose for the station commander, Kruze took his place next to Marlowe.
“Christ,” Marlowe whispered, “you cut that a bit fine.”
“Got stuck behind a bloody armoured convoy just outside Camberley.” Kruze fought to control his breathing. “What’s up?”
“No idea. Mulvaney’s been looking like the cat that got the cream most of the afternoon. He’s been busting to tell us what this is all about.”
Mulvaney gestured for them to sit down and cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “in just under an hour, two Yorks will land here with a rather special cargo. As you know, up to now we have concentrated on testing aircraft which have more or less fallen into our hands. But the one now on its way to us was packed up into crates and flown here from the enemy’s secret rocket research establishment at Rostock.”
He paused, waiting for the whispering to subside.
“I’m also pleased to tell you that it was the EAEU which masterminded and carried out the entire operation — with a bit of help from the Army.”
There was an outbreak of spontaneous cheering from the back of the room. Mulvaney beamed with pleasure.
“Now I expect you’re all itching to know how and why this operation came about.” Mulvaney scanned the faces before him once again. “Gentlemen, I haven’t even been told all the details myself, such is the high level of classification on this one. Suffice to say this. We managed to snatch a new version of the Me 163, the 163C, while Rostock was still in enemy-occupied territory. A special military operation was mounted to allow an EAEU team in to dismantle the aircraft, pack it up and fly it out.”
Kruze let out a low whistle. Mulvaney held up his hands to silence the burst of voices in the room.
“I don’t think I need to tell you gentlemen that Rostock has, with Peenemunde up the coast, been the home of the Messerschmitt 163 Komet for the past few years. We are now going to take over that research where the Germans left off.”
There was more muttered approval from the pilots.
“That’s all I can tell you, at the moment,” Mulvaney said, winding up his speech. “The Bunker wants answers fast on this one, so testing is due to start early next week. The bad news, gentlemen, is that all leave has been suspended until we get the job done. That’ll be all.”
Chairs scraped across the floor as they all rose to leave. Mulvaney watched over them, something akin to pride in his eyes. The station commander called Kruze over as he made to go.
“Piet, I want to give you first refusal for the 163’s maiden flight. You have had more experience in high speed flight than any other pilot in the unit and it could well be invaluable when it comes to flying the Komet.”
Kruze walked over to the window and looked out over the blacked-out airfield. With uncanny timing, the last vestiges of the mist had cleared, leaving only a light drizzle sweeping across the runway. He thought about Penny for a moment, about their day together, her face, the smell of her body, the colour of her hair. He tried to hang onto the image, but it slipped away from him.
He turned round to face Mulvaney.
“I’m ready to go.”
“Good man,” Mulvaney said, in his stiffest public school voice. “I want you to work up a high speed flight programme before you take the Komet up. Use the Meteor. She’s not as fast as the Komet, but at least she should have some of the same flight characteristics.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent, excellent,” Mulvaney said, rubbing his hands. It was a mannerism that always irritated Kruze. “More details tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d like you to get down to the flight line and take a look at the merchandise when it comes in on the Yorks.” He looked at his watch. “Any moment now and they’ll be here. We’d better get cracking.”
Kruze followed Mulvaney out to his car. The EAEU’s secure hangar, used for all its most sensitive work, was over on the far side of the airfield.
The Yorks’ propellers were windmilling to a halt in front of them, their landing lights cutting a swathe through the darkness and the drizzle that still blew in light squalls across the secure area of the RAE. One of the aircraft was heavily battle scarred and judging by the number of shining metal plates that had been welded over the bigger holes on the brown and green camouflaged body, some poor crew chief and his team must have been up all night patching her up.
As Kruze got out of the car in which he and the station commander had been sheltering from the rain, Mulvaney was already striding over to greet the aircraft. Groundcrew swarmed around the two transports. The freight doors were pulled open and a gantry was wheeled into place. Inside, Kruze could see the large wooden crates that held the 163’s principal components. He was surprised to see four dazed-looking characters in scuffed civilian suits wandering around the tarmac beside the aircraft. They looked incongruous amongst the blue uniforms and frenetic activity of the groundcrew.
“Who are they?” Kruze asked as he walked over to Mulvaney.
“They’re some 163 project scientists who chose to come back on the Yorks rather than get captured by the Russians.”
“Uncle Joe was that close?”
“The Russians were practically breathing down the necks of our paras towards the end of the operation,” Mulvaney said. “I think there’s going to be a hell of a row in diplomatic circles about the way we moved in there.” He coughed. “Keep that to yourself, by the way.”