Perhaps, in their panic, they would forget Ruttgers’ luggage. No, he assured himself, in immediate contradiction. The connection was too important Braley wouldn’t overlook something as vital as that. And he’d certainly appeared in a position of authority at the airport, someone involved in the final planning. No, Braley would think of the luggage; it was that sort of professionalism that made him so good.
Charlie lost the fight against recollection and knuckled his eyes, trying to clear the blur.
‘Shouldn’t have been you, Edith,’ he said. ‘I won’t fail … even if this goes wrong, I won’t fail.’
THIRTY
The improvement in Garson Ruttgers’ condition began almost immediately they left the American embassy and started through the quiet, early dawn streets of London. By the time they had cleared the city, he was lighting his own cigarettes and as they neared the airport, he turned to the doctor and asked, quite rationally, if they were going back to America.
When he nodded, Ruttgers turned to Onslow Smith.
‘You coming?’
The Director shook his head.
‘Then I’ll let them know how well it all went,’ said Ruttgers.
Smith looked sharply at the man but was stopped by the doctor’s warning look.
‘Sure,’ he said, dismissively. ‘You tell them.’
It would take seven hours for the aircraft to reach Washington, calculated Smith. Sufficient time for him to sleep away the fatigue that was gripping his body, before attempting to meet with British officials. It wouldn’t be easy, now Wilberforce was gone. Perhaps, he thought, it would be better to arrange through the American ambassador an appointment with somebody in the government. Perhaps, he thought, the Secretary of State would insist upon taking control. There’d be a lot of anxiety in Washington when he told them.
He swayed at the sudden movement of the car and realised they had turned off the motorway.
‘I hardly think there’s any need for me to go,’ said the doctor, in hopeful protest.
Smith looked at Ruttgers before replying.
‘I think there is,’ he insisted. ‘It’s a long flight.’
The internal injury would be intensive, Smith knew. And he was going to make damned sure that he closed every avenue of criticism that he could, even down to something as minor as having the man accompanied back to Washington by a physician.
‘I really don’t think there’s much wrong with him,’ said the doctor.
‘You can be back here by tomorrow,’ said Smith, closing the conversation. He had more to worry about than the feelings of an embassy doctor, decided Smith. It was his future career he was trying to save.
They looped off before the tunnel, taking the peripheral road to the private section. Soon, thought Onslow Smith It would all be over very soon.
Because of the twenty-four-hour activity at the airport, there were several cars in the staff park and the darkened mini was quite inconspicuous as the limousine swept by.
Despite the growing daylight, lights still held the building in a yellow glow. The driver had already spoken into the radio and as they pulled in front of the embarkation lounge, marines and airport security men moved out into a prearranged position, closing off the area. Others arranged themselves loosely around the aircraft, an inner protection for the people boarding.
‘I missed the announcement,’ said the doctor, uncaring now in his anger. ‘What time did the war start?’
Smith looked at him, shaking his head.
The chauffeur opened the door and Smith got out, leaving the doctor to help Ruttgers.
‘Anything more?’ enquired the driver.
‘Wait for me,’ instructed Smith. ‘We’ll see the plane away.’
The chauffeur re-entered the car, moving it to the designated parking area alongside the buildings and Smith smiled mechanically at the customs and immigration officials who approached.
Smith had arranged the papers in his briefcase during the journey and produced the authorisations as they were requested.
‘Seems a lot of activity,’ suggested the customs officer.
‘Yes,’ agreed Smith.
‘No need for me to see anything, is there?’ asked the man.
‘No,’ agreed Smith. ‘No need at all. Just personal belongings, nothing more.’
They turned at the hurried arrival of the second car. Braley misjudged the last corner, actually scuffing stones and dust against the barrier wall.
Braley took the vehicle almost to where his superior was talking to the officials.
‘The baggage,’ Smith identified it, as Braley got out of the car.
‘Fine,’ said the customs man.
‘No need for me to delay you either,’ said the immigration official. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you,’ responded Smith, politely.
The men who had gone with Braley were already unloading the luggage, he saw, turning to the car.
He waited until the British officials were sufficiently far away, then demanded urgently: ‘Well?’
‘Absolutely no trouble,’ Braley assured him.
‘The police hadn’t got there then?’
‘No.’
Breath was rasping into the man. He’d made a complete recovery, decided Braley.
The Director turned to where Ruttgers and the doctor were waiting.
‘Let’s get him away,’ he said. It was still going to be all right, he thought, in a sudden burst of euphoria.
Ruttgers followed a military steward up the steps, taking without question the wide, double seat that the man indicated to the left side of the aisle. The doctor belted himself into the seat immediately to the right and then looked up at Onslow Smith.
‘Call me at the embassy, from Washington,’ ordered the Director.
‘There’ll be nothing to report,’ said the doctor, truculently. Behaving like a lot of kids, he thought, irritably.
‘Call me anyway. I want to know he got theresafely.’
‘O.K.’
Smith turned back to where Braley and his men were coming aboard, stacking the luggage they had collected from the Crawley hotel into seats at the rear and then spreading themselves around the aircraft.
‘Thank you,’ said Smith to Braley. ‘You did very well.’
The man smiled at the praise. His breathing was easier.
‘Want me to stay with him all the way?’ he enquired, nodding towards Ruttgers.
‘All the way,’ confirmed the Director. ‘You’re being routed through to the Andrews Air Base. There’ll be an ambulance waiting when you arrive, to take over from the doctor.’
The man nodded.
‘And Braley?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ve been impressed with the way you work. Very impressed. I think we can establish a working relationship when all this is over.’
‘Thank you,’ said Braley.
There was movement from the front of the aircraft and Smith looked up to see the co-pilot nodding.
‘I’ll see you in a few days,’ said Smith, automatically.
‘Good luck,’ responded Braley.
‘I’ll need it,’ said Smith, caught by the expression.
Men were standing by the ramp as he descended, to wheel it away. He hurried to the doorway of the building, where the chauffeur was waiting with a coat. Smith pulled it on and they both turned to watch the aircraft start its take-off manoeuvre, taxiing out on to the slip runway.
Inside the plane, the steward ensured that Ruttgers had his seat-belt secured and then sat down for take-off in the seat immediately in front.
‘I’m hungry,’ Ruttgers announced.
The steward turned, smiling politely at the man he’d been told was a government official of high rank who was suffering a mental collapse.
‘There’s food on board,’ he said. ‘I’ll be serving it once we’ve taken off.’