"No, thanks, I'll walk," Dillon said and he lit a cigarette and strode away. • • • The house was in a quiet backwater not far from Hampstead Heath. It was just nine-thirty the following morning when Dillon and Hannah arrived in Ferguson's Daimler. The chauffeur parked it in the street and they went in through a small gate in a high wall and walked through a small garden to the front door of a Victorian cottage. It was raining slightly.
"This is nice," Hannah said as she rang the bell.
After a while it was opened by a middle-aged black woman. "Yes, what can I do for you?" she asked in a West Indian accent.
"We're from the Ministry of Defence," Hannah told her. "I know it's early, but we'd very much like to see Sir Keith if that's possible."
"Not too early for him." She smiled. "He's been in the garden an hour already."
"In this rain?" Dillon asked.
"Nothing keeps him out of that garden. Here, I'll show you." She took them along a flagged path and round the corner to the back garden. "Sir Keith, you've got visitors."
She left them there and Hannah and Dillon walked to a small terrace with open French windows to the house. On the other side of the lawn they saw a small man in a rainproof anorak and an old Panama hat. He was pruning roses. He turned to look at them, his eyes sharp and blue in a tanned face that was still handsome.
He came forward. "Good morning, what can I do for you?"
Hannah got her ID out and showed it to him. "I'm Detective Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein, assistant to Brigadier Charles Ferguson of the Ministry of Defence."
"And my name is Dillon, Sean Dillon." The Irishman held out his hand. "I work for the same department."
"I see." The Air Marshal nodded. "I'm familiar with Brigadier Ferguson's work. I served on the three services joint security committee for five years after I retired. Am I to assume this is a security matter?"
"It is indeed, Sir Keith," she said.
"But it goes back a long way," Dillon told him. "To when you crashed a Lysander into Loch Dhu in the Scottish Highlands back in nineteen forty-six."
The old man said in astonishment, "That is going back a bit. You'd better come inside and I'll get Mary to make some tea and we can talk about it," and he led the way in through the French windows.
"That was so long ago," Sir Keith said. His housekeeper brought tea in on a tray. "That's all right, Mary," he told her. "We'll manage."
"I'll pour, if I may," Hannah said.
"Of course, my dear. Now what is it you want exactly?"
"You met a Major Ian Campbell at the East Grinstead burns unit," Dillon said.
"I certainly did." Sir Keith held up his hands. The skin was light and shiny and the middle finger was missing on the left one. "That was from a run-in with an ME262, that was the jet fighter the Germans did so well with at the end of things. February, nineteen forty-five. Blew me out of the sky over Northern France. I was in a Lysander you see, no contest."
"Yes, we checked your records at the Ministry of Defence," Dillon said. "Found out about your work for SOE. We had to pull strings for that. You're still classified."
"Am I, by God." He took the cup of tea Hannah offered and laughed.
"We got onto you through Ian Campbell's sister," Hannah said. "Lady Katherine Rose."
"Good Lord, is she still alive? Was an ATA pilot in the war. Wonderful woman."
"Yes, she still lives up there on the Loch Dhu estate," Dillon said. "It was she who told us about you coming down in the loch in a Lysander."
"That's right, March of forty-six, I was on my way to a new command at Stornaway, tried to land in damn bad weather at Ardmurchan and lost my engine on the approach. I was lucky to get out. The plane sank almost at once." He spooned sugar into his tea. "But why are you interested in that?"
"Do you remember calling in at East Grinstead and finding Ian Campbell on the point of death?" Hannah asked.
"That's right, though I heard he recovered later."
"You told his batman you were flying to Stornaway and offered to take his Laird's belongings and drop in at Ardmurchan."
"That's right, two suitcases, that was the reason I was going to land there anyway." He looked slightly bewildered. "But what's that got to do with it?"
"There was something of vital importance in one of those suitcases," she said. "Something of national importance."
"Good heavens, what on earth could it be?"
She hesitated. "Well actually, Sir Keith, the matter is classified. We're acting on the Prime Minister's instructions."
"Well you would be if Ferguson's involved."
Dillon turned to her. "Jesus, girl, he was decorated from here to Christmas, knighted by the Queen, and ended up an Air Marshal. If he can't keep a secret, who can?"
"Yes, you're right," she said. "Of course you are." She turned back to Sir Keith. "Strictly in confidence."
"My word on it."
So she told him about the Chungking Covenant, everything.
Sir Keith searched in the bottom drawer of a bureau, found an old cardboard file and a folded map which he brought across to the dining table.
"The file is a copy of the original accident report. There had to be a hearing, always is, but I was completely exonerated." He held up his hands. "The state of these never stopped me flying."
"And the map?" Dillon asked.
"See for yourself, Ordnance Survey map of the area. Large scale as you can see." He unfolded it. There was Loch Dhu, the castle, and Ardmurchan Lodge. "I was meticulous in noting my exact position when the Lysander went down. See the red line from the little jetty at Ardmurchan Lodge? That's where I landed."
Dillon ran a finger along the line. "That seems clear enough."
"One hundred and twenty yards south from the jetty. X marks the spot and I know I'm right because the boys from the base dragged for her with a grappling hook on a line and brought up a piece of fuselage."
"How deep?" Dillon asked.
"About ninety feet. The Air Ministry decided it wasn't worth trying to recover her. It would have meant sending up special equipment, and the war, after all, was over. They were scrapping aircraft, so why bother? Different thing if there had been something of value down there."
"Which there was, only nobody knew about it," Hannah said.
"Yes, there's irony for you." He turned to Dillon. "You intend some sort of recovery, I presume?"
"Yes, I'm an experienced diver. I'll go down and see what I can find."
"I shouldn't expect too much, not after all these years. Would you like the map?"
"I certainly would. I'll see you get it back."
Hannah said, "We've taken up enough of your time. You've really been more than helpful."
"I certainly hope I have. I'll see you out." He took them to the front door and opened it. "Forgive an old buffer like me, my dear, but I must say the police have improved since my day."
On impulse, she kissed him on the cheek. "It's been an honor to meet you."
"Good luck, the both of you, with this Morgan fellow. Make sure he goes down, Dillon, and give Ferguson my regards."
"I will," Dillon said and they went down the path.
"Oh, and Dillon?" Sir Keith called as they reached the gate.
They turned and Dillon said, "What is it?"
"If they're still there, you won't find two suitcases down there, there should be three and one of them's mine. Can't expect much after forty-seven years, but it would be fun to have it back."
"I'll see that you do," Dillon said and they went out.
They got in the back of the Daimler and Hannah said, "What an absolutely smashing man."
"Yes, they don't make them like that anymore," Dillon said. "Now what?"
"A place called Underseas Supplies located in Lambeth. They've got the order for those things you wanted. The manager said he'd have them ready by noon. He'd like you to check them out before he rushes them to Gatwick."
"And the two Sterlings I asked for?"
"In the boot. I got them from the armourer at the Ministry before I picked you up this morning."