The taller man started to talk again. ‘It seems that you may be going along the wrong railroad, Howard. We’ve been sent to see that doesn’t happen, buddy.’
Barnett began to shake with anger. ‘How dare Maitland think I can be scared off by a couple of his thugs! Get lost, Yanks! I’ve got nothing to say to you. You can tell your boss this, when MI5 come up to see me tomorrow, he can be rest assured that I’m going to be telling them about all of your bloody shenanigans, right enough.’
‘I wouldn’t go doing that Howard, remember you have a nice kid, studying hard at that school. What’s the place called? Oh yeah, Stowe, in Buckinghamshire, just like the palace where your queen lives? I sure hope he’s safe there, wouldn’t want him to have any accidents, would we, Howard?’
The tall man sniggered at his colleague, and the small stocky man responded with a menacing grin in approval.
Barnett suddenly felt a rising rage inside him. ‘You bastards!
You threaten me with my family. What the hell are you lot hiding in that basement?’ He could no longer control his actions and in temper, lashed out a clenched fist, hitting the tall man square on his jaw.
The man fell back and hit the ground, and in seeing this sudden action, the smaller man grabbed hold of Barnett, tugging at his shirt. ‘That aint nice man,’ he said angrily.
Barnett took hold of the man’s hands, trying to take them off him and automatically initiating his US Ranger unarmed combat training, Will Hart took hold of his opponent’s wrists and sidestepped, thrusting a heavy punch into the Yorkshireman’s stomach.
Barnett doubled up, winded by the blow, but the Ranger did not stop there. He followed the move with a grip around the neck of the Chief Engineer, pulling him over from behind. Barnett was now held in a lock by the Ranger as he struggled for breath.
The taller man stood up again, angrily wiping blood from his lip, and stared at Barnett. He then noticed that the old man’s face was almost a pale, purple colour. ‘For Jesus sake, Will. What the hell have you done? Quick let’s get the hell outta here.’
The Ranger released his prey, leaving a semiconscious Barnett to fall to the ground on his knees. The two Americans then jumped the stile and ran back down the gravel path into their car.
Barnett fell on his face into the grass of the heath, and rolled over onto his back, clutching at his chest. He then brought his left hand up to grip at his right arm. He was finding it hard to get a breath, noticing that his vision had also become blurred. He thought he could see a shape moving across him and his thoughts turned to reality, as he felt the wet tongue of Jerry. The dog started to whimper at this pathetic sight of his master.
Howard Barnett allowed the dog to continue licking his face, now feeling too weak and powerless to prevent it. He looked up at the sky; thoughts were suddenly full of his wife Heidi, and his son David, and then, out of the clouds in his mind, came the sleek silver shape of the Rapier. It silently swooped across the sky, then moved into a steep climb to high altitude. The flames of the two reheated engines could easily be seen inside the exhaust nozzles, and then, in a flash the plane disappeared. ‘Sorted those bloody engines at last,’ he murmured, smiling to himself. Strangely, the beating pain in his chest began not to concern him anymore.
As the sky began to grow dark above him, Barnett closed his eyes to embrace it and beside him, a confused Springer Spaniel lay next to his master’s now motionless body.
Chapter 12
Around the grey buildings of Whitehall, it was one of those rare occasions when the sun was trying its best to penetrate through the early morning summer smog, and the street lamps had just dissolved their brilliant artificial light, paving the way for the new day.
Alex Swan liked to be into the office early. That way he could navigate the roads from his Bayswater flat in his Triumph TR-4 without the onslaught of the rush hour hindering his path.
The newspaper vendor stood in his kiosk, rubbing his hands, and had the two dailies ready and waiting as the car pulled to a stop. ‘Morning, Mr Swan, bit of a chilly one to start, but I do reckon that this fog is actually going to lift today.
Swan acknowledged, looking up to the sky. ‘Certainly looks that way, Fred,’ he commented. He then climbed back into theTR-4 and drove the short distance to Wellesley Mews. As he pulled up to park, he noticed that the Sapphire was parked outside the office building. He thought it strange, as his colleague was never usually there before him in the morning.
Inside the office he greeted him. ‘Morning Arthur, everything alright old chap?’ Swan took off his driving gloves and placed them on the side table inside the doorway. Gable was in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘Have you had a look at the paper this morning, sir?’
‘No, I’ve just picked them up. Why?’
Gable held out his newspaper. ‘I think you better see this.’
Curious, Swan took the paper and with both hands, opened it out. The front page headline said it alclass="underline" Silver Angel Designer in Critical Condition
‘What?’ Swan cried out, then read the article: ‘ Howard Barnett 56, Chief Designer of the top secret warplane the BR-101 ‘Silver Angel’ lies in Intensive Care at the Carlisle City General Hospital today after a fall while walking his dog. It appears that Mr Barnett suffered a heart attack following the fall and is now in critical condition. His wife Heidi is with him, and their son David will be collected from his school in Buckinghamshire by the Brinton Aviation company helicopter and taken to the hospital later this morning. Fortunately, Miss Katherine Hodge, while walking her own dog, had seen Mr Barnett fall down and immediately went to his aid. Being a trained nurse, she administered First Aid and then shouted for help.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Mr Barnett went into cardiac arrest and remains in a critical condition in a coma.
This joins the string of incidents that has shrouded the BR-101 Rapier project which began with the tragic accident of apprentice designer Mr James McGregor at Brinton in January this year.
The soaring costs of the aircraft are to be reviewed in the Government’s Defence White Paper next month, and with already a smear campaign by anti-war protesters debating whether Britain should be spending so much on the project, the future of this highly advanced military strike aircraft is held severely in the balance.
Gable looked over the paper. ‘I can’t believe it sir, we only said goodbye to him yesterday,’ he choked.
‘I know Arthur. I’m also in disbelief,’ replied Swan, shaking his head.
‘You don’t suppose that the Yanks are involved do you? Especially with that tail we had?’ Gable asked.
‘Not sure, Arthur. But, you could have something there. I think we better lie low for a while and we’ll do some looking into what we have. I don’t want us to be in the frontline while Stratton and his A Section bloodhounds are up at Brinton’s. I have a lunch meeting with Clinton Sanger today, I want to look into the symbol on Maitland’s ring. It may mean something and if we find that out, I’m certain that we have something that can help us there. If Maitland is behind what happened to HB and the second Rapier accident, then we have to stop him from sabotaging the project.’
At Leconfield House, the headquarters of the British Home Security Service known more famously as MI5, Head of A Section John Stratton sat drinking a cup of coffee at his desk. He was reading the headline, but glanced up as his secretary Hayley Thomas, came towards him from the open office door. ‘Good Morning sir, your appointments.’ She had the black-bound desk diary in her hands.