The Polish aircraft mechanic looked up at him. ‘Please,’ he said in his broken English accent. ‘I do not know what you are talking about. I am not a Russian spy, and my father was killed at Peenemunde during the war. I like England and working at Brinton.’
Martin interrupted. ‘Yes, so you have already told my colleague, but we know that you Soviet infiltrators have been trained to act the innocent, haven’t you?’
Kostowyz begged. ‘No, you do not understand. I don’t like the Soviets. I see myself as a British citizen now. You have to believe me, please.’
Martin gave Kostowyz a sly smile. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I won’t bring Mr Morrison in here anymore.’ He leaned over the restrained man, speaking softly over his shoulder, and sneered menacingly. ‘Providing of course, you tell me who your contact is, and where I might find them.’
Kostowyz dropped his head and stared at his bare knees. Psychologically, he felt defeated in his attempt to end this nightmare.
Martin continued with his questions, ignoring the pleas from his captive. ‘Perhaps you can tell me why you sabotaged the BR-101 Rapier.’
‘Please, I work on the BR-101, I enjoy being part of it, why would I sabotage it?’
Martin made a quick lunge at the Polish immigrant, but instead of grabbing him, took hold of the arms of the chair and stared him full in the face. ‘Because you are a Soviet spy and your superiors in Moscow want to see the programme cancelled! They don’t want our little bird flying under their radar and posting a stand-off nuclear missile through the door of the Kremlin!’
Kostowyz pleaded again, looking Martin directly in the eyes. ‘Please, I am not a spy, you have to believe me.’
Martin smiled. ‘Okay, you’re going to be a hard one to crack Mr Kostowyz, but you will crack, and then you’ll hang for murdering James McGregor.’
Kostowyz shouted at Martin then started to cry. ‘I did not murder him, James was my friend!’
‘You lying murdering commie bastard! You tried to sabotage the aircraft and McGregor caught you, so you killed him didn’t you?’
Kostowyz bowed his head sobbing. ‘No, I swear, I did not.’
The MI5 man continued. ‘You’ll be taken to Wormwood Scrubs until it’s time for your drop. And they like to have traitors in there. Oh, yes. You’ll be right at home amongst all your communist colleagues that we’ve caught in the past. But do not think it is all nice and cozy there. Oh no, my friend, being here is a Sunday picnic in the park, compared to what you will face in your short stay in prison.’
Martin walked out of the room and shut the door. Kostowyz stopped crying and put his head up, instantly closing his eyes to avoid the glare of the lamp. He was desperate, but what could he do to convince these thugs that he had nothing to do with the sabotage? He felt exhausted and useless and decided that he just now wanted to be allowed to die.
A few hours later, the phone on Stratton’s desk rung twice before he answered it to discover his Number 2 on the other end of the line.
‘Sir, we have a confession from the bastard. He’s told us everything. Well, we sort have had to help him a bit with that, but in the end, he’s seen that he can’t hide anymore.’
Stratton smiled. ‘I suppose we also have to thank Ammo for his assistance in this as well, don’t we?’
Martin agreed.
‘Okay, Dennis. Let’s hold him for a while until I decide what to do with him next. He may know some other useful things, so we won’t hand him over to the Special Branch boys just yet.’
Gable walked into the office with two cups of tea in his hands. Swan sat, thinking, in his chair.
‘Still deep in thought I see, sir.’
Swan smiled. ‘Sorry, Arthur. I was just thinking about that poor chap that Stratton has down The Well. I think I need to let him know that he has an innocent man, but not sure as to what I should say and not say to him about it.’
Gable nodded in agreement. ‘You can’t really say anything about the Yanks at this time, as the only proof we have is HB’s incident. Which leaves us in a bit of a pickle. If we let the authorities confront Maitland, he will just deny all involvement and we’ll get absolutely nowhere.’
Swan rose from the chair and looked at the blackboard. ‘Indeed, Arthur. What we need is something else, as we still don’t know the motives behind the sabotage. I still can’t believe the Yanks would play dirty, just so that we take their plane.’
Gable turned his head and also looked at the board. ‘So where do we go from here then, sir?’
Swan walked over to the board, picked up a piece of chalk and drew a circle around the words Maitland’s Ring.
‘I’m hoping that my meeting with my old CIA friend Clinton Sanger may throw some fresh light on all this.’
Chapter 16
Swan stepped out of the taxi into Grosvenor Square. Looking at the building in front of him, he gazed upwards to the large bronze eagle on the roof and for a few moments stood studying it, before walking up the small flight of steps and through the swing doors of the American Embassy.
At the reception desk, he was greeted with a broad North American tone by an immaculately uniformed guard. ‘Good morning, sir. How can I help you today?’
‘I have an appointment with Mr Sanger.’
The guard had recognised the name. ‘One moment, sir.’ He picked up the telephone receiver and spoke into it briefly, then replaced it. ‘Mr Sanger is on his way up now, sir.’
Swan politely thanked him and waited a few moments, taking in the interior decoration of the reception lobby, then turned around when he suddenly heard his name.
‘Alex Swan!’ A small man with a thin moustache put out his hand and Swan took it, giving it a firm shake.
‘Clinton. It was good of you to see me.’
‘Not a problem Alex. How’s your new job doing?’
‘Fine, thank you Clinton. And yours?’
‘Swell, just swell.’ Sanger looked at his watch. ‘Say, how are you fixed for lunch? I know an excellent little place around the block that does the most delicious hot salt beef sandwich, served by the cutest little waitress in London’s West End.’
Swan smiled. ‘That sounds great, Clinton. Please lead the way.’
The two men left the embassy and walked out of the square into Brook Street.
I don’t know about you Alex, but I find it better to talk out of the office now, especially to ex-agents of the British MI5. So what’s on your mind, buddy?’
Swan thought that he would begin at the beginning. ‘I was wondering if in your new capacity as head of the Archive Library, you would know of any patriotic symbols involving an eagle and a spear.’
Suddenly, as if he had been struck by a baseball, Sanger stopped on the pavement and glanced at Swan. ‘How do you know of this symbol, Alex?’
‘I saw it on the ring of an American chap up at Brinton Aviation. He is heading up the Python Hawk project. I thought that his ring symbolized something, like the masonic rings worn by some businessman, or maybe some military connection.’
Sanger asked another question. ‘You say the eagle is carrying a spear in its talons?’
‘Yes, well that’s what it looked like anyway. Do you have an idea then?’
Sanger looked down the street ahead of him. ‘As a matter of fact, I do. The spear is actually a lance. The symbol is that of The Eagle’s Lance. This was a secret society set up during the War of Independence. A breakaway outfit from Samuel Adams’ Sons of Liberty. There was a book written about them a few years ago called The Secret Path, I forget who wrote it. Anyway, this faction was led by a guy named Henry Sanderson. He made a deal with a Mohawk Indian chief by the name of Kee-Haw. The Mohawks would help Sanderson in terrorist activities against the British, and disrupt communications in exchange for being promised some land of their own, should the British grant independence to the United States.’