Stratton closed the Chief Test Pilot’s file in front of him. ‘I think we better bring Mister Kostowyz in for some questioning. Well done, Alan. Damn good work.’ Stratton turned to Dennis Martin, sitting to the right of him. ‘Dennis, what time am I to see these American chaps?’
Martin checked his watch. ‘In about an hour, sir. Unfortunately you won’t be seeing the head honcho, as he has been called down to the US European Tactical Group HQ at RAF Stansfield for a urgent meeting. The guy you’re going to speak with is his deputy, a Mr Brannigan.’
Stratton rose disappointedly from his chair. ‘That will have to do I suppose. Thank you, Dennis.’ He addressed them all. ‘Well Gentlemen, I think that it’s now time for a spot of lunch.’
Later in the day at RAF Stansfield, Frank Maitland spoke into the receiver and praised his Texan colleague. He had listened to how the meeting with the MI5 agents had gone and was pleased that Brannigan had managed to pacify them enough to send them away happy. ‘That’s good work Jake. That should keep MI5 off of our backs. I guess that we can now move to Phase Two. See to it buddy, and I’ll see ya this evening.’ Maitland put down the phone and stared at the man sitting opposite him, dressed in an expensive two piece grey suit wearing a pair of highly polished loafers. ‘Bingo, that was Brannigan, he did well with this Stratton guy in his meeting, and it seems that MI5 have taken the bait.
The man brushed hair out of his eyes and smiled. ‘That’s good news, Frank. What about Howard Barnett? Do you think we still have a problem there?’
Maitland stood up and looked out the window onto the parade square. ‘As far as I know, he’s still in a coma. Hopefully he stays that way until the Rapier is cancelled. Then, if he does wake up, any accusations he makes will just look like he’s bitter that our bird has replaced his.’
The man rose from his chair. ‘Okay Frank, I better be getting back to London. The Secretary is due to land this afternoon. Good work so far Frank, and it looks like you’ve given The Lance a great victory on this my friend. Your ancestors would have been proud of you. You truly are a great patriot.’ The man shook Maitland’s hand and they placed their knuckles together, allowing their matching rings to touch. ‘Allegiance to the end Frank,’ he chanted.
‘Allegiance to the end,’ Maitland replied.
Chapter 14
Howard Barnett sat up in the hospital bed, his wife holding his hand. His son David was sitting on a chair next to his mother. ‘You have been asleep for nearly nineteen hours, my darling,’ said Heidi, squeezing Barnett’s hand and then bringing it up to her face to kiss it.
Barnett sighed. ‘Is that so, pet. The last thing I remember was looking up at the clouds and seeing the Rapier streaking out of them.’
David held up the model and simulated what his father had just told them. ‘Like this father?’
‘Aye lad, just like that.’ Barnett reached out a hand, gesturing to his son to hand him the model and David placed it in the palm of his father’s hand. Barnett held it in front of his face and smiled.
Heidi also smiled, then took on a more serious posture. ‘Howard, the police are here. I saw them get out of their car earlier. The doctor has found a mark on your neck. Do you remember how it came to be there?’
Barnett put down the model and felt across his neck with his fingers. ‘Aye, I know right enough lass, but I won’t be talking to police about it though. There’s only one man I need to get in contact with about this.’ He began to swing his legs out of the hospital bed and as he did this, the door opened and Dr Westerham walked in, followed by Inspector Lake. Bringing up the rear was PC Moon. ‘And where does Mr Barnett think he is going?’ Westerham enquired.
Barnett grinned at him. ‘Oh hello Doctor, I feel fine now, thank you. I was just off to make a phone call.’
Westerham shook his head, displaying his authority. ‘I do not think so, Mr Barnett. Besides, these gentlemen would like a word with you. I told them that would be okay, as long as I was also present. Should you start to show signs of medical change, I will call an end to them being here.’
Heidi rose and signaled to her son to leave the room with her.
Lake watched them leave, then moved around to the far side of the bed and sat in the chair recently vacated by Barnett’s wife. ‘Mr Barnett, good afternoon. My name is Inspector George Lake from Carlisle Police Station, and this is Constable Moon. I’m very pleased to see that you have made a good recovery.’
‘Inspector, Constable. What can I do for you gentlemen?’
Lake took in a breath. ‘It seems from your examinations that you have some bruises on your neck. Tell me, would you happen to know how they got there?’
Barnett looked Lake in the eyes. ‘I’m afraid that I haven’t the slightest clue Inspector.’
Lake glanced at Westerham. ‘You’re quite sure on that Mr Barnett?’
Barnett lied. ‘Got them when I fell down on the heath maybe?’
Lake decided to end his enquiry. He knew that Barnett was hiding something, but what he didn’t know was why. ‘Okay, perhaps you did. Or perhaps you didn’t.’ He rose from his chair, indicating a nod of his head to PC Moon, who picked up the sign that they were leaving. Lake stopped and turned around to face Barnett. ‘If by any chance you actually recall how you got those injuries, please could you let the doctor know, so he can contact me?’
Barnett gave a wave of his hand. ‘No problem, Inspector.’
Westerham watched the policemen leave the room then turned to his patient. ‘Mr Barnett, I have examined those lesions on your neck, and there is no way that you got them from a fall. In fact, it looks more like you have been strangled! And to add to that, I think you also punched someone.’ Agitated with his patient, Westerham turned on his heel and left the room.
Barnett reached over for the telephone, dialed the exchange and spoke to the female operator. ‘Oh ‘ello lass. Could you connect me with Whitehall 9921 please, love.’
The following morning Alex Swan turned his little Triumph sports car into Wellesley Mews and noticed a figure standing outside the door of his offices.
As he approached and parked beside them, he saw that it was Air Commodore Sir Alistair Higgins. ‘Morning, Sir Alistair. This is all a bit of a surprise to see you here.’ He locked the door of the car.
Higgins stepped forward. ‘Sorry to look like Orson Wells with this charade, but I couldn’t speak to you on the phone, and since the Rapier incident, another telegram would be a bit risky.’
Swan unlocked the black door to the office. ‘Come to the office and I’ll put the kettle on.’ As they went inside and closed the door, a black Ford Zephyr sat parked across the road with two men inside it.
The passenger wrote down some notes on a pad. ‘Swan arrived 08.35 am, met with a man in his sixties, looks like a military man,’ said Nick Riley to his colleague sitting in the driver seat.
‘I got to agree with ya Nick,’ said the driver. Something’s going down. Best report this to Maitland. There’s a phone booth over there, so go and give him a call.’ Riley climbed out of the car and walked towards the red telephone box.
Inside the SID office, Swan invited his unexpected guest to sit.
‘So, Sir Alistair. What is with the Harry Lime impression so early in the morning?’
Higgins shrugged. ‘It’s Stratton, Alex. As you know, he was up at Brinton Aviation investigating the sabotage of the second Rapier.’