Gable stared in awe as Swan glided the pen to each point across the blackboard, captivated by the enthusiasm his boss was showing. He then sat down in front of the blackboard again. ‘Would I be right in saying that you think there may be a link with them all, sir?’
‘Precisely that, Arthur,’ replied a determined Swan.
Gable nodded his head and remained staring at the board, then suddenly moved toward it. ‘Of course! Look, it all fits.’ He stood up and pointed at the areas on the board and took a piece of chalk and added some more arrows. ‘See, here we have the arrival of the Americans and the news of the FB-X, and now we have the accident of the second plane.’ He turned to Swan. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ He took the chalk and drew a loop around the points on the board. ‘All these events lead right back here.’ Gable tapped the chalk on the point labelled: Americans arrive at Brinton.
Swan gave Gable a pat on the back. ‘They do indeed, my old friend. But why? Let’s hope that our little undercover excursion up to Brinton Aviation tomorrow will provide us with that answer.’
Howard Barnett resembled a sport walker as he marched across to The Magic Box. The only thing on his mind during the drive back to Brinton’s was this moment. He entered the huge green steel structure through the door at the side and slammed it shut behind him. A technician cleaning a fire extinguisher greeted him. ‘Morning HB,’ Barnett grunted a friendly reply as he walked passed him, toward the small office to the rear of the hangar. The usual procedure was to knock and wait to be invited to enter, but this time he just opened the door and burst in to find Maitland with his feet up on his desk, reading a specially delivered edition of the Washington Post.
Brannigan got up and looked across at the suddenly startled Maitland. The big Texan greeted the Chief Designer at the door.
‘Morning, Howard. Don’t think we quite followed the rules about entering this office, did we?’ Brannigan said, sarcastically.
Barnett ignored him, staring at Maitland. ‘I would like a word with you alone Frank, if you please.’
Maitland glanced at Brannigan, then gave him a quick nod. Brannigan walked up to the Yorkshireman, meeting his eyes. ‘I’m off for a smoke,’ he said, brushing Barnett as he left the office.
Maitland pointed to th chair in front of his desk. ‘Sit down, Howard. What seems to be the problem?’
HB stared coldly at the man opposite him, holding out his hand that contained the report of the incident. ‘You have no doubt heard of what happened down at Pembridge?’
Maitland leant back in his chair. ‘Sure, real sorry to hear about it. All the guys here are all shocked at the news.’
HB felt himself losing his patience with the casual reaction of the American. ‘Let’s not play bloody games, Frank! One of the Pembridge lads found traces of cordite in the tyre. Your man put a bloody explosive device in there, didn’t he? So, who was it Frank? Was it Jake Brannigan?’
Maitland raised himself from his chair and held up his hands. ‘Whoa, just hold it right there Howard! That’s one hell of an accusation. You’re upset, that I can understand, and I really feel for you buddy. But to accuse us of sabotage, that’s a whole new ball game and one where you’re way out of line, man.’
Barnett raged on. ‘Oh come on Frank, it’s bloody obvious. You want us to fail with the Rapier so you can sell Britain your bloody plane. It doesn’t take a bloody genius to work that out. That’s why you Yanks are really here, isn’t it?’
Maitland walked over to a filing cabinet and pulled out a half empty bottle of Kentucky Bourbon.
‘You gotta calm yourself down, pal. Can I offer you a drink?’
He waved a glass at the Yorkshireman.
‘I don’t want a bloody drink Frank, I want to know why you are really here at Brinton’s.’
‘You know why we’re here Howard, and that’s to work on the Python Hawk.’
Barnett shook his head. ‘That’s a bunch of crap Frank, and you know it. Prove it! Let’s see this bloody thing then.’
The American put down his glass on the desk. ‘I can’t let you do that, Howard. My chiefs would bust my ass if I was to disclose information on the Python Hawk to any unauthorised personnel.’
Barnett suddenly realised that he wasn’t getting anywhere with this conversation, and rose from his seat and leant across the desk to stare Maitland full in the face. ‘If I find out your lying Frank, you will be picking every newspaper reporter in Britain out of your great big Texan backside!’
Maitland took on a serious tone, his eyes boring into those of Barnett. ‘I’m from Kentucky, Howard.’ He held up his glass of bourbon in the face of the Yorkshireman. ‘In fact, just down the road from where this fine liquid is made. Mr Brannigan’s the Texan. So you have a nice day now and no more foolish accusations. Do you hear me Howard?’ He smiled as he watched Barnett turn and walk over to the door and slam it behind him. Outside, the Chief Designer bumped into Brannigan, banging his shoulder without an apology.
Brannigan turned his head and studied Barnett, then walking into the office, shot a look at his colleague. ‘What the hell was that all about?’ he asked, in his heavy, deep southern accent.
Maitland moved forward in his chair putting his hands on the desk. ‘Looks like we may have a problem, Jake. The old man is onto us. If he carries on, he could know everything. This could even expose the Spectres.’
Brannigan picked up a small pewter model of the Rapier, which every office had been given as a promotional gift, and played with it in his hands. ‘Do we need to do something about him?’
Maitland looked across at him and shook his head. ‘Not for now. He don’t know diddly squat yet, he’s just fishing. We just need to keep a close eye on him and keep him the hell away from the Spectres. I’ll put Riley and Zemke on him. He doesn’t know them, so should not suspect that he has a tail, especially with their double act as a young couple on vacation.’
As night fell in the Cumbrian sky, Barnett rose from his desk and removed the gold leafed pencil from behind his ear, packing it away into the presentation box. He then removed his work coat and hung it on the hook behind the door, and went out onto the mezzanine, locking the door behind him.
He walked out of the The Magic Box and into the main reception area, where security night guard Bill Wright sat reading the evening paper. He looked up and smiled as Barnett handed him his office keys.
Barnett referred to his newspaper. ‘Anything good in paper tonight then Bill?’
‘Not really, HB. The cricket’s going well though, we seem to be off to a good start in the First Test.’
Barnett shrugged. ‘That’s something, I suppose. Goodnight then, Bill. See you in the morning. We’ve got a big day tomorrow with those chaps coming up from London.’
Barnett allowed Wright to guide him to the main doors. He opened one, touching the shiny peak of his cap. ‘Goodnight then, HB.’
Barnett walked out to his car and unlocked it. Noticing it was a pleasant Monday evening, he removed his coat and placed it on the front passenger seat then started the car and reversed out of his parking space. At the entrance barrier, he slowed as it was lifted by another guard, who acknowledged him with a mock salute as he drove by. Barnett waved at him and then turned left out of the plant onto the A594.
As he drove towards Ellenborough, his thoughts were of the day’s events and how Maitland had reacted. He glanced in the mirror and thought nothing of the headlights that could be faintly seen a few hundred yards behind him.