Stratton nodded. ‘Okay. Maybe your theory is correct.’ He rose from his chair and leant across the desk. ‘Thank you for your time Sir Alistair, I’ll be off now, got to catch my train.’
‘Nice to see you again too, John. Sorry I can’t be of any more help,’ smiled Higgins as he watched the MI5 man leave the office. He then picked up the phone. ‘Get me Whitehall 9921,’ he requested, speaking into the receiver.
Swan was sitting reading the case notes for the McGregor incident when the phone on his desk rang. Realising it was Higgins, he asked how his meeting went.
‘Well Alex, he certainly hasn’t changed much. Still the same old Secret Service Stratton.’
Swan laughed. ‘So what did he have to say for himself then?’
‘Not a lot really, still quite an odd chap. Never can really tell if he is just having some light conversation or secretly analysing you.
‘That sounds just like old John, doesn’t change. He’ll be after his knighthood next.’
‘Well, it looks like he may be closer to it if he unravels this sabotage scandal with the Rapier. He’s going up to Brinton’s this afternoon to grill the transport driver. As if the poor chap hasn’t had enough of that already.’
Swan agreed. ‘I see what you mean — damn and blast it!’ He suddenly went quiet on the phone.
‘Everything all right Alex?’ Higgins asked.
‘Just realised if Stratton signs in the Brinton visitor’s book, he’s bound to see my name and oh, will that give him some pleasure.’
Higgins laughed. ‘We’ll have to hope that he doesn’t, otherwise I can see our spooky friend having a field day with that one. I’m afraid that the meeting I had about the White Paper was as I predicted. The Rapier has been reprieved for now, but the joint service VSTOL fighter and the RAF transport have been cancelled. It looks like we’re buying the American stuff instead to replace them. Let’s just hope and pray that the Rapier doesn’t end up going the same way. A decision will be made by the House on Tuesday, regarding its fate,’ Higgins finished off. ‘Anyway, must dash Alex, having lunch at the club with some old squadron pals.’
Swan closed the conversation by asking his friend to keep him posted if he should hear from Stratton.
In the Brinton office nicknamed The Pentagram, Frank Maitland screwed up the newspaper and threw it across the room.
‘Jesus H Christ Jake, what the hell we gonna do now?’
Jake Brannigan held his hand up. ‘Cool it, Frank. As far as we know, no one saw our guys, so it just looks like the old man just collapsed while walking his dog.’
Maitland shook his head. ‘I sure hope ya right Jake. ‘Cos if someone did see them, then we’re in for one hell of a ride, buddy.’
‘Look, if it will make you feel better, I will put someone on this Hodge woman, and see if she saw something. You gotta prepare yourself for this MI5 guy this afternoon.’
‘That’s not a worry, I have his file right here in front of me, faxed through from Langley this morning. Says here that this guy is one hell of a spy. I think we better leave this Hodge woman for now, it doesn’t say in the paper that she saw anything suspicious.’
Maitland moved over to the window and stared out at the hangars. ‘So have we got our little mole in the hole ready for MI5?’
Brannigan grinned. ‘He’s sitting pretty in Hangar Two, completely unaware, poor bastard. How the security checks on the staff here didn’t pick this up, I’ll never know. Thanks to some tampering with the Polish resistance records that we’ve given to the Limeys, I’ve made it easy for this guy Stratton to fish him out. So, he will go away happy with his captured Russki saboteur, and we can then continue with the operation.’
Maitland smiled. ‘I had a communique from Hillier this morning. The Spectre sheds must be ready by next Wednesday, in time for the Defence Budget speech on Thursday. The British Government has already been given their brief on the FB-X deal and the Secretary of State is due to visit the UK this week, so we can sure expect some fireworks here after that speech.’
‘So when do the workforce arrive?’
‘They’re down at Stansfield doing their Spectre drill training, and get shipped in at the end of next week. The Spectre sheds will be off limits to the Brinton personnel who will be led to believe that these will house the Python Hawks, and then the transports will arrive from Jameson next Wednesday. We go operational as the first Spectre base at the end of the month, beating the South Korean base by two weeks.’ Maitland gave a sneer. ‘With our base in Turkey operational at the end of the month, the Russkies will have no clue that short range supersonic cruise nukes surround them on all sides. If just one Commie ICBM leaves its launch bay, then the whole of the Soviet Union will look like a marshmallow held over a campfire.’
Chapter 13
In the late afternoon, after a pleasant express train journey, John Stratton stood in the reception hall at Brinton Aviation with his five colleagues and signed into the visitor’s book. He took some time to scrutinise the page, then handed it back to the security guard Bill Wright, who then passed him I.D badges. ‘Please make sure you and your colleagues wear these at all times while here sir, as we are on Alert Status Amber at the moment.’
Stratton nodded to the request. ‘Where may I find Mr James Lewis?’
Wright looked on the wall behind him at a colourful chart. ‘You’ll find him in the vehicle depot, which is in Hangar Number Three.
Stratton gave an appreciated nod, then, gesturing to his entourage to follow him, they glided through the main doors to walk in the direction of the hangars.
Jim Lewis was fitting a hose pipe to a dark blue and yellow ex-RAF Bedford QM refuelling lorry, and looked around to notice five immaculately dressed men in dark suits enter through the front of the hangar. The first to approach him stopped and looked at the ID badge of the blue overall clad transport driver.
‘Can I help you chaps? Lewis asked, looking at them all.
Stratton acknowledged in an authoritarian manner: ‘Ah, Mr Lewis, John Stratton. We’re here on a governmental matter. Might I have a chat with you regarding the BR-101 transport accident at Shobdon?’
Lewis looked at Stratton and called over to another man in a blue overall. ‘Jeff, could you take over please mate? I have to go and have a chat with these gentlemen. I have changed the oil and just need to replace this split coolant hose.’
Lewis handed the new hose to his colleague and gestured to the MI5 agents. ‘Right gentlemen, if we go over to the far office, it will be less noisy.’ He led the men across the concrete floor of the hangar and into a small office at the back of the workshops. He showed Stratton a seat and apologised for the lack of seats for the other agents.
Stratton motioned to his colleagues. ‘I should be fine talking to Mr Lewis alone. I did notice a canteen as we crossed over, so why don’t you chaps go and get a cup of tea, and I will meet up with you later.’
He waited in the doorway until his agents exited the hangar, then shut the door to the office and sat down opposite Lewis.
‘Mr Lewis, I would like to ask you some questions regarding the accident if you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind at all Mr Stratton, anything to help. Do you mind if I have a cigarette?’
Stratton waved his hand. ‘Not at all Mr Lewis, please go ahead.’
Lewis placed a Woodbine cigarette in his mouth and lit it, as Stratton reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a brown, leather covered notebook, which he placed on the table. Then from his left breast pocket, he extracted a silver ink pen. He took off the lid and put it on the bottom of the pen, ready to write.