‘They’re probably bitter that the FB-X isn’t ready yet, and we’re ahead of them with our new warplane,’ quipped Lewis.
Barnett shook the drivers hand and left the canteen. As he closed the door, he thought again of Maitland and his men by the trailer and suddenly the last comment that Lewis had made, didn’t seem too far-fetched.
Swan and Higgins sat at the table ready for lunch. The Air Commodore was still in great spirits from his shoot and picked up the menu. After a few minutes, he had decided to start with the crab and for the main course, chose the Dover Sole. Swan also went for the crab and then instead of the sole, decided on the venison. To go with the meal, they chose a chilled bottle of Leibfraumilch.
Small talk followed until the crab arrived, then the conversation turned to the McGregor incident.
Higgins shook his head. ‘Nasty business if you ask me. It seems the poor lad slipped and fell from the gantry next to the aircraft; looks as though the whole project is jinxed in some way.’
Swan picked up on the last comment. ‘How so, old boy?’
Higgins chewed on his crab. ‘Well, first there’s the delay in the maiden flight, then that business with the Yanks wanting to try out some secret spy drone using our aircraft. So, they set up headquarters at Brinton’s. Last time I was up there, they’d had all their areas restricted. Top level clearance only.’
Swan interrupted. ‘Must be quite a piece of kit for them to be so secretive.’
Higgins agreed. ‘You know the Yanks, and the way they act over here. Just look at what they’ve done to our station in Suffolk. It’s like being in New York, with their dammed burger bars and bowling alleys.’
Swan smiled, amused at the way Higgins showed frustration with the situation of American military personnel being based in England.
Higgins continued. ‘If you ask me, they’re all bloody sore that we are not buying their new piece of junk, instead of having the BR-101.’
Swan just nodded in appreciation and listened. ‘You see Alex, the FB-X practically rivals our kite in every way, and the thing’s being built by an unknown company called GK Systems Inc.’
‘I have to say, I’ve never heard of them,’ remarked Swan.
The big Air Commodore continued. ‘Neither had we. They seem to be some big outfit in Sacramento, just set up. They don’t just have orders for the FB-X, they’re also working on some lightweight, nimble little fighter-bomber, that they reckon will sell around the world.’
‘All very peculiar that some unknown firm wins the contract to supply the US with the latest military aircraft technology.’
‘Quite so. This stumped us all at the AM as well, until the other week when I came across a document in the office. It all added up then. This new company was being financed by none other than the US Government itself. The whole set up is a front if you ask me.’
Swan probed further. ‘How did information, obviously so clandestine, end up in a document at the Ministry?’
‘Big mystery, my boy. Apparently, they want to test a production FB-X over here at Pembridge in August. Most probably for use with the USAFE here in Blighty and over in Germany.’
Swan thought to himself for a few moments as Higgins stared at him. ‘I know that look, Alex. What’s on your mind?’
Swan slowly shook his head. ‘Not sure as yet. I will need to check out a few things first, before putting this piece of my puzzle in. Are the Yanks still up at Brinton’s?
‘Yes. They are to be there to see through the testing of this Python Hawk of theirs, which strikes me as odd because why test it on the BR-101, when they could have easily waited and put it on the FB-X? After all, it is being specifically designed to fit the thing, and in order to fit the Rapier, the name that has been chosen for the BR-101, there has had to a be a few modifications.
Swan was intrigued. ‘That is strange, considering their kite is already in the pre-production phase. Maybe I will be able to get more on this when I’m up there next week.’
‘Quite so, my boy.’ Higgins turned his head to glance around at the other diners, then leant over the table and whispered to Swan. ‘The passes are in the car. Remind me to give them to you later.’
After lunch they retired to the billiard room. Swan had won a quick toss and set up the balls to break off.
‘Fancy a dram as we play, Alex?’ Higgins asked, raising his fingers to beckon a waiter. Then, on Swan’s approval, he ordered two fine malt whiskeys, and then played his shot.
Swan watched the balls scatter, giving him an advantage. ‘Nice shot, old boy,’ he commended.
The waiter returned with the drinks, then turned to Higgins. ‘Sir, there is an urgent telephone call for you from the Ministry,’ he said, addressing the Air Commodore.
‘Won’t be a minute, Alex. I better go and make sure that World War Three hasn’t kicked off on this fine weekend.’
He left through the highly polished walnut doors of the billiard room to take the call.
Swan picked up his glass and eyed the play of the balls on the table, thinking how he could counteract Higgins’ break. He formed a mental plan for the next few shots, then picked up his glass and, through the transparent amber contents, saw Higgins return to the room.
The big man had his head down when he reached for his cue, and Swan judged his friend, noticing his pale face.
‘Is everything alright, old boy?’
Higgins acknowledged. ‘Was until that call from Danvers, my number two. It seems our talk about the Rapier has put more jinx on the bloody project. Turns out the Queen Mary transporting the second prototype down to Pembridge had a prang this morning. Bloody thing’s overturned and damaged the aircraft. Quite badly by the sound of things. She won’t be flying for a while, that’s for sure.’
Swan stood in disbelief. ‘How did it happen?’
Higgins eyed the three balls on the table. ‘From what I can gather, the driver took the turn through the village too sharply and burst two rear tyres. The weight of the cargo then went to one side, flipping the whole lot over. A startled outrider seems to be the only one hurt, but not seriously, thank God. There’s pandemonium at Pembridge of course. The Chief Designer Howard Barnett is there overseeing all the chaos. Nice chap, likes his beer. Although I can guess that he’s obviously not in a very celebratory mood right now.’
Chapter 7
Frank Maitland casually lent on his desk, perusing the list of inspectors due next week for the evaluation of the Rapier. ‘Our biggest worry is this evaluation team. We don’t want anyone snooping around now we’re this close to seeing the Spectre project through.’
Sitting at his desk, Jake Brannigan acknowledged him. ‘Have you gone over the specs on this inspection team?’
Maitland nodded. ‘Yeah, got it right here. There are these two new guys that have been added, but it says on their files that they’re technical analysts from the Air Ministry, so I don’t think we need to worry about a couple of techies added so late to the schedule.’
Brannigan stood up and stared out of the window, watching a technician on the boarding ladder beside the cockpit of the Rapier prototype. ‘So when do these Limeys get the big news then?’ he asked, not taking his eyes off the big silver aircraft outside.
‘We are to wait until the evaluation team have left, and then there’s going to be a big joint government meeting at Whitehall when the British Defence Secretary will be signing the contract.