London Stormbird

by Martin J Cobb

  It was time to put a team on site in Austria and to get his research team to eavesdrop on mobile phones, radio and email communications to and from the numerous people involved in the project to open the Gusen-Mauthausen factory complex.

  Having completed the calls to galvanise the necessary people into action to carry out his instructions he sank back into his leather armchair and contemplated his next move. Only a minute later, his decision made, he grabbed his mobile phone from the desk. Scanning through the contacts list he dialled an International number.

  "¿Bueno?" A female voice answered.

  "Buenos dias, habla Vassili Urosov. "

  Vassili heard the receiver obviously being placed down, then a long pause and the sound of it being picked up again.

  “Señor Urosov, how can I help you?” The obviously educated male voice, with just the slightest accent, demanded.

  “Good Morning Peter, it has been a long time since we last spoke hasn’t it? I trust our arrangement is still working well for you, my people tell me that the oil continues to flow as we agreed.”

  Vassili was a major purchaser of oil and gas from Peter’s country. Peter’s father had negotiated the government contract with him at rates generally below those of the prevailing Global prices in exchange for a substantial share of the profits finding their way into his private account. Peter’s now long departed Father had risen to prominence in his adopted country’s government through careful manipulation of the then-President whose daughter he had married. The family had changed their name before Peter was born to distance themselves from his Father’s German, and somewhat inglorious past.

  “It has indeed been a long time. What has prompted this call, is there some problem?”

  “No problem, just some information I require concerning your Father. Do you know any of the details of his escape from Austria in 1945, did he ever discuss this with you?”

  “He was rather reticent about discussing his war and subsequent arrival in Paraguay. In his last couple of years though he did write a lot of things down in a large notebook, he often joked that it would make a good film one day.”

  Urosov snapped back, “Do you still have this notebook?”

  “Yes, it’s in his roll-top desk in the study with a few other mementos from that time.”

  “Would you send it to me, I’m researching something for which I believe your Father had important information?”

  “If you promise not to publish any part of the contents and to send it back when you’ve read it I'll gladly send it by Fedex today, I’ll need your address.”

  Having provided the necessary promise to return it, and the address of his mansion in Bucharest, Vassili closed the connection with a distinct smile on his face. Brigadefuhrer Klaus von Rechtmann had escaped his Nazi past on a ship from Italy and arrived in Paraguay with almost nothing to his noble name. Urosov knew that he had commanded a secret facility near Mauthausen and had flown out of Austria with everything of value he could carry in the aircraft. What he didn’t know was what happened to everything he took as he certainly didn’t appear to have it with him when he boarded the ship. Vassili called in his valet and chief of staff and issued orders to prepare to pack up the house and prepare for the move to Bucharest in Romania. It was time to remove himself from the clutches of the Russian State, and possibly the unwelcome attention of a disappointed Arab customer.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gusen - Tuesday

  Tom awoke feeling totally refreshed and, unusually, without too much of a thick head from a slight over-indulgence of red wine the night before. Meeting Freida last night had finally put a full stop to a certain part of his life, it had surprised him to find he was not only thankful but relieved.

  Having clipped on his radiation monitor as the final part of his morning dressing routine he ambled down to the restaurant for breakfast.

  Tom helped himself to a plateful of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages from the buffet which he then took to a table near the window where he could watch for Heinrich’s car to arrive. Returning to the buffet bar he collected a coffee and the toast he’d run through the conveyor-belt toaster and turned to return to his table. Even though the restaurant was only half full somebody had sat at his table despite the fact that there was a plate of hot food already there testifying to the fact that the table was obviously already taken. Readying himself for a potentially awkward conversation if the interloper didn’t speak English, Tom walked towards the table when he spotted that the interloper was a woman. Getting nearer recognition dawned as her dress and the bag sitting on the floor alongside became very familiar. He walked around the table and carefully placed the coffee down and the toast on his plate.

  “Morning Gorgeous! What on Earth are you doing here?”

  Claire Owens looked up from the text message she was reading on her phone, smiled hugely and proffered her lips demanding a kiss which Tom gladly supplied.

  "Things were quiet at the office and I was considering getting a bucket flight out here anyway when I got a slightly anxious call from Downing Street. It appears that a certain Russian of our recent acquaintance is showing more than a slight interest in the excavations at the underground factory. GCHQ apparently intercepted a call he made yesterday arranging for a team of his 'employees’ to be sent here to keep a watch on what’s going on. It also appears that he has customers ready and waiting for certain radioactive materials of the type that are rumoured to have been in the factory during World War 2. You don’t have to be an analytical genius to work out that there could be a correlation between these two facts. End result, my masters decided that we needed a presence on site and I should be it for the moment, with further resources if required from either my team or MI6."

  “Well, I’m really pleased you’re here but I wish it was because things were still quiet rather than having just got more complicated. Do you want some breakfast?”

  “Just coffee thanks, I had a disgusting semi-hot, soggy microwaved egg and bacon roll on the plane, I think it’s put me off food forever.”

  “Good Morning Tom, and who is this lovely lady?”

  Tom had been so preoccupied with Claire’s arrival he’d failed to spot Heinrich’s car now parked illegally in the hotel entrance.

  “Heinrich, this is Claire Owens. A Detective Inspector in a specialist division of the Metropolitan Police London and, more importantly, my partner in life. Claire, this is Heinrich Schröder, museum curator and an old friend who's in charge of the operation to open the old factory.”

  Claire got up from her seat to receive a kiss on the cheek from Heinrich “Are you staying for a while?”

  Claire pointed to the small pile of bags she’d left in the reception, “For as long as Tom would like me to, I promise not to get in the way.”

  “I’m parked outside where I shouldn’t be, I have to return to the car or they will tow me away. Will you be ready soon?”

  “Can you give me five minutes and I’ll be there?”

  “No problem.” And with that Heinrich left the restaurant to hold an argument outside with the doorman who obviously was none too happy about having his forecourt blocked by an unauthorised vehicle. Tom attacked his breakfast with vigour and, through a mouthful of toast, asked Claire “Why didn’t you tell him you were here on official business?”

  “I think it’s probably best that we down-play the possibility that there could be radioactive material down there as much as possible. It would also be hard to explain why the British Government was particularly interested in a load of World War 2 relics.”

  Having settled Claire into their room and quickly unpacked her bag, they rejoined Heinrich outside who was still arguing with the doorman. Within 10 minutes they were all seated in the command truck awaiting the captain's arrival with the results of the air toxicity tests. There was a hubbub of conversation outside and he strode through the door waving a sheaf of papers with a large grin on his face.

  “Good morning everybody. I have rec
eived the air test results which show that the air, although stale, appears quite breathable and should be harmless. There are low levels of a certain group of chemicals which the chemists believe are probably the by-products of evaporated fuels. There are also very low levels of asbestos and they have advised us not to disturb any area which may have been fitted with asbestos products originally. There are low levels of gamma radiation also present although only what should be expected from a factory of this era where radium would have been regularly used, for example, in the luminous paint on the dials of aircraft instruments. In short, We are cleared to open up the factory and further investigate the contents although warned to take care.”

  Tom and Heinrich looked at each with broad grins on their faces. “So what’s the next step?” Tom asked

  “We have started clearing the rest of the soil and rubble blocking the hangar doors, I anticipate we should be in a position to try to gain entrance later this morning or early afternoon.”

  The captain addressed Heinrich specifically.

  “If you are in agreement, we would also like to send a small team down the ventilation pipe with Mr Stroud here. It would be advantageous to have the whole area checked for booby traps or any other issues to save time once the door is ready to be opened. Once confirmed clear you can then check the hangar door from the inside and hopefully we can then between us formulate a plan for opening it up.”

  “I’ll just get my kit from the car, be ready in 5 minutes.” Heinrich threw his car keys across to Tom who departed to get his work clothes, a camera and a tablet computer. True to his word, within five minutes he was sitting in the bosun’s chair contraption again waiting to be winched down.

  “Remember, stay in the machine room until the other three have been winched down and follow the lieutenant’s instructions, don’t just wander off.” instructed Heinrich. Down the pipe again and Tom unstrapped himself at the bottom and signalled for the chair to be winched back up. It was a much easier process this time without the cumbersome isolation suit on. Tom now had a good look around the room full of wrecked and mangled heavy machinery and noticed, with a grimace, the recently cleared area of the floor in one spot and the freshly cleaned patches of wall behind. Tom checked his camera and spare batteries and fired up his tablet computer. The chair re-appeared carrying the first of the bomb disposal team who assembled and checked his equipment as he waited to be joined by his colleagues. Once all four of them were down and ready the lieutenant led the way out of the doors and into the main tunnel. They walked slowly towards the Me262 with the team minutely checking the floor, walls and even the roof as they went. Reaching the aircraft Tom was told not to touch anything until the bomb disposal team had verified the aircraft hadn’t been booby trapped or just left in a very unsafe condition. A very frustrated Tom tried unsuccessfully to hide his impatience and busied himself taking pictures and video around the aircraft and of the bomb disposal team at work. He thought the footage he took might well interest a TV company such as Discovery or the History Channel. It wouldn’t do any harm to consider the potential financial benefit from this either. He would need some serious additional cash once he took possession of the Me262 to facilitate its dis-assembly and transportation back to the UK, and its subsequent storage and conservation until he decided how best to market it.

  The lieutenant interrupted his thoughts by calling Tom to join him near the nose of the Messerschmitt.

  “Herr Stroud, we are having a problem accessing the gun breeches, do you know how the latches work on these access panels?”

  Tom opened the file manager on his tablet computer and bought up the drawing of the Me262 nose access panels which he showed to the Lieutenant who flicked the catches and opened up the panel on one side of the nose which hinged downwards exposing the bottom of the cannon. They could see that neither of them had the ammunition drums installed, and the lieutenant verified that the breeches were also clear. Moving around to the other side he repeated the exercise with the same result.

  “All clear Herr Stroud but please be careful. We believe that the fuel tanks may have been left full originally. Whilst we have to assume that after 70 odd years the flammable elements and vapours will have dissipated, we cannot be sure how stable it would be after all this time. We have also put blocks into the undercarriage legs down locks to prevent them accidentally retracting and disconnected the cannons’ firing mechanism but have left everything in situ as it will be safer and easier to remove once the aircraft is outside.”

  Tom could barely contain himself any longer and he went straight over to the wheeled steps alongside the open cockpit. This time, without the confines of the suit, he could really investigate the cockpit and its contents. The papers left on the seat were on top of a bound book which was obviously the aircraft’s log. Tom gingerly picked it up and opened it to the first page which proudly proclaimed 'WERKNUMMERN 170010'. Turning over the page there was just a single entry dated March 28th 1945 with several lines of text which Tom’s schoolboy German was totally inadequate to translate. He reached in and gently waggled the control column which rewarded him with a corresponding gentle flapping of the ailerons on each wing. Climbing down the ladder Tom ducked under the wing and walked over to the wooden trolleys along the side wall with the Jumo engines on. They looked in such good condition, albeit with a fine coating of reddish dust over everything. Tom reached into the intake of one and got his fingers sufficiently past the nosecone to touch the front compressor blades. The gentle push he gave one blade was rewarded by the compressor disc slowly rotating. Tom marvelled at the state of preservation undoubtedly due to the dry, static air and the stable temperature in the tunnels. Tom shivered, it really was cold down here, he doubted whether it was much above freezing point.It must have been an absolute nightmare for those poor souls who had been forced to work long hours in this environment.

  Looking further down the tunnel he could see that the bomb disposal team looked like they’d finished checking the other Messerschmitt up ahead. Tom called out, and the lieutenant gave him the thumbs up sign as he closed one of the nose panels. He could hardly wait, this would be his aeroplane. He was like a kid who’d just been given Christmas and birthday all rolled into one. He almost ran down the tunnel to the second Me262 and headed straight for the cockpit which also had steps alongside although the cockpit hood was still shut. Opening the hood he was presented with a similarly dusty but otherwise pristine cockpit with the logbook on the seat as before but proclaiming this aircraft to be 'WERKNUMMERN 170078'. Tom fired off pictures of just about everything inside the cockpit and then a detailed survey of the whole exterior of the airframe. Once his camera bleeped to signify that the battery was exhausted he stowed it in his backpack and carefully removed the wooden cover from one of the engine intakes. The engine installed looked as though he could actually start it, it was so clean. He gently pulled the cord with the small wooden toggle hanging from the nosecone. They had used this to hand-start the tiny two-stroke engine installed there which in turn started the main jet itself. He felt the compression resistance as the motor turned over.

  The lieutenant walked over to Tom, his immediate job now complete. “We need to survey the hangar doors over there” he said pointing off ahead and slightly left of the aircraft’s nose to where the tunnel faced what ostensibly looked like a blank wall some 40 metres away.

  "I have a few more things to do here and then I’ll join you," Tom said as he climbed back up the steps to the cockpit.

  The army engineers walked off towards the hangar doors leaving Tom on his own. Tom considered himself fairly level headed but what he did next was more akin to an excited boy than the aviation professional he actually considered himself to be. Very carefully he climbed over the cockpit side and settled into the pilot’s seat with the control column between his legs and his feet on the pedals. He idly flipped the battery switch in some vain hope that the aircraft’s battery could somehow still hold a charge, although he knew this not to be p
ossible. It not proved him wrong, nothing happened. Climbing back down he reluctantly left what he now considered to be 'his’ aircraft and walked off towards the hangar door where he could see the army team beavering away presumably preparing the way for the team outside to break through. As he was about to exit the relatively narrow tunnel into the enlarged space by the doors, he noticed a metal door set into the tunnel side. Trying the handle it surprised him that it turned easily however the door itself needed a solid push with his shoulder to overcome the dry hinges. The door opened into a smaller tunnel, just a corridor really and only a little wider than a person. It also had an arched ceiling only 2 metres high at the top. He shone his torch down the tunnel which was long enough to defeat the beam’s rather feeble range. What it did show though were several doorways on the left side of the tunnel at varying distances from each other. Ignoring his instructions not to touch anything until cleared by the army, he tentatively opened the first door and poked his head through. He cast his torch around what was obviously a guard or supervisors room of some kind as there were two desks and chairs, various charts and a blackboard on the wall and a tall shelf unit containing steel helmets, goggles and what looked like fireproof head and shoulder hoods with little round glass eye holes in. The desks had papers and personal effects strewn all over them, it was pretty obvious the occupants had departed in a hurry. Closing the door Tom continued down the corridor, past several more doors until he could see the end of the tunnel ahead. Turning to his left he randomly opened the nearest door which, when he shone his torch around, appeared to be the private office of somebody senior. It contained a single, large polished wooden desk, with a leather upholstered chair behind. There was a coat rack with a leather full-length coat still hanging, a framed picture of Adolf Hitler on the wall accompanied by a map of Southern Europe. There was a large wooden sideboard with a tray of decanters and glasses on it and several framed pictures of, presumably, family members. The desk looked as if the occupant had departed rapidly as the pedestal drawers were open and papers had spilt out onto the floor. The top was a litter of papers and they had left one of the two wooden filing cabinets with a drawer open. Tom opened up the top drawer of the other cabinet and was amazed to find rows of dividers with a sequence of numbers on each. Inside each file were several carefully folded detail drawings for the Me262. Checking each of the eight drawers Tom confirmed that the cabinet obviously held the entire library of drawings for the aircraft. The second filing cabinet bottom right drawer had obviously been hurriedly emptied. Tom shut it and opened the next one up. Again there were neatly indexed dividers obviously for aspects of the operation of the facility. Tom recognised `Feuerwehrübung’ as being fire drill and `Luftangriff’ which was air raid. As for the rest, he could only guess. The next few drawers didn’t look particularly exciting either although undoubtedly of great historic interest. The top left drawer though was definitely more interesting. It held what appeared to be more personal items. There was a hip flask and ceremonial dagger in a silver-embellished scabbard, both with the swastika emblem engraved on. There was a sheaf of documents with a home address near Cologne printed on the top and a box containing shirt buttons, cufflinks and a cigarette case. There was also a large brown leather document wallet bulging and obviously quite full of something. Tom removed this and was trying to work out how the securing catch worked when he heard the lieutenant shouting his name from the tunnel entrance door at the end of the corridor.