Wings of Death

by David Holman

  Swan took a discreet glance behind him out of the smoked glass back window and stared at the black taxi which was now following. He smiled to himself, then leant forward and tapped on the partition screen. ‘Excuse me Driver. I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but could you turn and take the most direct route to Euston Station?’

  Now even more puzzled, the driver nodded. ‘No problem, guv.’ Curious of the request, the driver glanced at his passenger in the rear view mirror. Who the hell was this bloke? He then checked the road and executed a perfect U turn to head back up Ludgate Hill.

  Swan watched the other taxi closely and as the two passed each other, could clearly see his pursuer sitting in the back. For a few seconds their eyes locked. The man gave him a cold stare, and then opened his mouth to talk to his driver.

  The other taxi then abruptly stopped and the driver waited for a doubled decked Routemaster bus and two cars to pass, before he swung the taxi around to face the same direction.

  Swan knew that this cool customer meant business, and began to wonder if maybe this had anything to do with Frank Maitland.

  His taxi continued, entering High Holborn, and then turned right into the Grays Inn Road where Swan spied the The Yorkshire Grey, one of his favourite public houses. He turned to glance behind him at the traffic, predicting that any second, the other taxi would appear. It did, staying tightly behind the bus.

  A few minutes had passed and Swan had arrived at the taxi rank of Euston Station. He paid the driver and thanked him, then walked inside to the platform concourse. Glancing at the destination board, he checked the time of his train to Carlisle against his watch, then walked down the ramp along to Platform 4, where the train was already at the platform. The pursuing American agent followed and then halted to watch his target, as he sat on a bench in front of the platform gate. Swan was aware that he was still being watched, and opened the brown paper bag to retrieve the book while The American kept his prey in sight and walked over to a booth of telephones. Still watching Swan, he lifted the receiver and dialed, making two calls. After a short wait on the second call, he spoke.

  ‘Hi, it’s Anderson here, Swan is about to board a Carlisle train leaving at five eighteen. I think he made me. Gave me a runaround in a taxi. I’ve called Hallum and Lyle, and they will board the train and keep an eye on him. I guess he’s heading your way.’

  After making the calls, Anderson sat on the other side of the concourse to watch Swan closely for the next forty five minutes.

  Swan looked again at his watch, stood up and walked through the platform gate and after walking for a few moments, opened a door and stepped onto the train.

  Back on the platform, Anderson acknowledged the arrival of two men, then walked over to them, as they looked at postcards on a stand. ‘He’s all yours now, boys. Watch him, he’s a pro.’

  The two men nodded their heads and turned, heading down to Platform 4, walked through the barrier and opened a door of the first carriage.

  Further along, Swan walked down through the carriages and, finding his compartment, nestled into a seat and made himself comfortable.

  *

  At 5.15 pm, train driver Robin Waters climbed the fixed ladder of the green and white English Electric Class 55 diesel locomotive, more commonly known as The Deltic, and walked along the footplate to his cab. He placed his thermos flask of steaming hot coffee down on the small table, switched on the engine and then put his head out of the window, at the same time as the guard had blown his whistle and raised his arm to signal the departure of the 17:25 Inter-City express to Carlisle.

  Robin checked his watch and pulled on the control leaver, then released the brake. The train departed directly on time, and jerking forward, it moved slowly out of the station, pulling its load.

  Four carriages behind him, Alex Swan sat reading The Secret Path, the book that he had purchased back at Foyles. Two compartments down from him, in the same carriage, opposite each other, sat Joe Hallam and Harry Lyle. Hallam leant across to his colleague. ‘The Limey will probably be going all the way to Carlisle. Looks like he may have something, and he’s going for Maitland. I think we should go to the restaurant car and get a bite to eat. The first stop is Rugby so we got plenty of time to fill our stomachs, before he gets a chance to give us the slip.’

  Lyle nodded in agreement, and both men got up and moved their way down the train.

  Swan was on page 18 of his book when he heard a door slide back and footsteps walk down past his compartment. He raised his head from the book to acknowledge the passengers, noticing that they did not look in his direction.

  Swan quickly took their descriptions mentally. One wore a black rain mac over a grey pinstriped suit. The other wore a brown lightweight beige mac overcoat over a black suit. He noticed that neither man had any luggage, not even a briefcase, and thought this strange. His instinct began to make him wonder if he had picked up another tail, but he returned to his book deciding to see what may develop. With the train barely past Watford Junction, there was plenty of time to test his theory.

  *

  In The Pentagram office at Brinton Aviation, Frank Maitland poured two bourbons and handed one to Brannigan.

  ‘I got two other guys on the train watching him, Hallum and Lyle,’ Brannigan assured him. ‘Hallum’s a good man Frank, an ol’ friend of mine from the war.’

  Maitland looked at his watch. ‘What time’s your train to London, buddy?’

  Brannigan took a sip. ‘I am on the seven twenty and pick up my connection to Carlisle at eight zero-five. I’ll be leaving for Maryport in a few minutes. Do you think you can handle Swan by yourself?’

  Maitland leant on the back of his desk. ‘Don’t worry about that Limey son of a bitch, I’ll take care of him okay. Don’t forget your heading to Company Safe House 23 in Battersea Church Road. SW11. Get ya head down for some sleep, and tomorrow you’ll be taken to Farnborough. When you get there, show ya GK card to security, and they will guide you to our display stand. You have a package addressed to you waitin for ya. There’s a cute broad of a secretary named Ava Gorman, who will give it to you. It is a camera and built into it is the remote unit for the detonator. There are three switches on it. All three must light up before the thing can be armed. That indicates that the target is in range. It’s a new toy the Black Op boys have worked on, avoids any suspicious SOBs seeing you hold a box in ya hand. Now are ya sure that the device is in place on the airplane?’

  Brannigan nodded. ‘Yippee, sittin pretty in the cockpit. Ready to be activated by the pilot, when she starts up tomorrow.’

  Brannigan put on his jacket.

  Maitland shook his hand. ‘Good luck, buddy.’

  Brannigan smiled and walked out of the office and Maitland sat back down, raising his bourbon filled glass. ‘God bless America,’ he exclaimed, and drank it down in one.

  *

  Swan put down his book. The train was just approaching Rugby. He stood up, slid back the door, walked out of the compartment and headed for the restaurant car.

  Hallam and Lyle sat at a table in the Pullman carriage. Orange lamps were suspended on stands at intervals on the walls of the immaculate interior.

  Swan walked in and was met by a waiter. ‘Table for one, please,’ he requested.

  Swan followed the waiter and sat down at the allocated table. He glanced out of the window noticing that the evening lights of Rugby were just coming into view. He gazed for a few moments then lifted the menu book from the table and sifted through the pages, holding it so that he could use it to conduct a typical counter-surveillance maneuver known as corner-eyeing.

  As Swan glanced at the menu, he used the top of his eye to view the two gentlemen that he had seen go past his compartment. The technique meant that he never directly stared at them. He noticed that they were in conversation. Travelling businessman? he thought. He decided to monitor the situation, as the waiter returned with a notepad and pen.After taking the order, the waiter turned and walked down the carriage
to the kitchen area. Swan opened his book and resumed reading, while waiting for his meal.

  Hallum stared past Lyle to watch Swan, who was three tables down directly in front of him. He weighed up his target. He was from the farmlands of Kansas, and knew how to fight. He had become amateur boxing champion at the age of 13, and was set to turn pro at 16, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour. Within a year, he found himself in a little hamlet outside Woodbridge in Suffolk, knee deep in Fenland mud, training for combat in Europe.

  It was here that he met Jake Brannigan, a young intelligence officer attached to the US Rangers. They became good friends and Brannigan saw that Hallum could be more useful to the US Army as an interrogator. He was later assigned to a special unit of the American OSS, who specialised in interrogation of downed German airmen. Hallum loved his job. It was never known how many prisoners he had gathered important information from, but his methods were brutal and sometimes even fatal. This was of course never known to Allied Command. Only Brannigan had knowledge of the tactics used, and received most of the credit for his accomplishments.

  As Hallum discretely eyed Swan from their vantage point, he was hoping that he would get the chance to work on him.

  Chapter 19

  At Carlisle Station, Brannigan opened the carriage door to the 8.05 to London Euston and climbed aboard. He was one of four passengers in that particular carriage, and sat down at a window seat. He retrieved a copy of the Evening News from his briefcase and read the headlines:

  Government in Arms Dilemma

  In Primeminister’s question time today, it was revealed that the results of the forthcoming White Paper on defence spending means that most of the ordered equipment will now be sourced from abroad. The cancellation of the Dragoon Battle Tank, the vertical take-off and landing jet fighter and the new military transport aircraft has caused Britain to look elsewhere, culminating in the loss of hundreds of jobs for manufacturers at home.

  Some of these companies have had to amalgamate with others to avoid complete closure. The opposition scorned the government for ‘selling this country down the river’. A government back-bencher, later quipped that ‘in this case, as most of the new equipment is coming from the United States, it is rather a case of selling us across the pond.’ The only remaining home-grown project at the moment, and not to directly face the axe, is the Rapier strike aircraft. Although due to rising costs, it is still very much under scrutiny as to whether the project should be cancelled in favour of the American FB- X. The White Paper will officially be published in the house on Thursday this week.

  After reading the article, Brannigan gave a satisfied smile. He knew that he was very close to completing his mission and felt pleased that he could serve his country in this way. He recalled Maitland saying to him that there could even be a commendation for him, the highly secret Intelligence Medal of Merit. He sat back and stared out the window, watching the fading evening light silhouette the passing countryside.

  *

  Approaching Crewe Station, Waters drove the Deltic through the interlinking tracks, where on either side, different coloured diesel locomotives sat idle on the sidings, some with their connected hordes of empty carriages.

  Swan looked out the window of his cabin and viewed the station platform as it appeared. As the train slowed, he watched a porter pushing a blue trolley crate full of postage sacks along the platform. The slight jolt of the carriages indicated that the train had now stopped. This station was where a new locomotive would replace the Deltic, an operation that would take some time, before the train could continue on its journey.

  Swan looked at his watch. It was 8.45 pm. He wondered where the two American agents could be lurking at this moment, and decided to have a bit of fun with them. He got up from his seat and pulled back the compartment door, then turned right and walked down the train to the carriage exit. Now, standing in the doorway, he suddenly heard the sound of another door opening a few compartments back from where his was. He waited a few seconds, and then stepped down to the platform.

  On the platform, he caught up the porter, who was still pushing the trolley. ‘Excuse me sir, how long before we depart again?’

  ‘Should be off in about twenty minutes, sir,’ replied the porter.

  Swan thanked him, then walked around the trolley to the other side of the platform.

  Hallam and Lyle stood at the doorway of the same carriage, realising that their surveillance target had disappeared from sight. They panicked. ‘Where the hell is he? Lyle asked angrily. They climbed down from the train and walked along the platform. Searching the other platforms and looking into the windows of the carriages, they approached the porter, splitting up to go either side of the trolley crate.

  Hallum started to become agitated, as he still could not see Swan. The porter stopped at the luggage carriage, and started to unload the trolley. Hallum moved in front of it and looked down the platform along the stationary engineless train. Lyle watched the Deltic, having been uncoupled, pull away from the buffers of the luggage car. He then looked at his partner, a puzzled expression on his face.

  The Deltic moved off alone down the track and into a siding. The replacement locomotive was an older diesel. This had a deep red livery with a yellow front. The crest on the side was that of the London Midland and Scottish Railway. It reversed in from another siding and moved along to meet the train.

  Swan watched from his discrete vantage point at the end of a small closed kiosk, almost at the end of the train and observed the two men standing by the trolley, as he casually smoked a cigarette. His earlier maneuver had enabled him to use the trolley as a perfect shield. He had walked along the side of it, and when in line with the toilet block, had quickly moved around it, standing next to it, until he was sure of the agents passing him. He had then walked quickly in the opposite direction and up to his present location.

  The LMS engine was now in place and the new driver leant out of his cab and gave a thumbs up sign to the awaiting guard, further down the train. The guard blew his whistle. Hallum and Lyle started to panic again. They moved down the platform and frantically began to look inside the carriages.

  The guard blew again, only to hurry up the two men as they quickened their steps along the platform. ‘Come on, get aboard gents, for God’s sake,’ he muttered under his breath, watching the two agents break into a run as they looked in the compartment windows.

  The driver looked out of his cab window, making an Are we ready gesture to the guard. The guard had had enough, and shouted at the two men. ‘Are you boarding gentlemen? We need to go now.’

  Hallum stopped and turned to Lyle. ‘Whadda we do?’

  ‘I didn’t see him get back on board, we’ll let it go, then search the station.’ The two men backed away from the train and the guard waved to the driver. Then with a hiss of escaping air, the train started to move forward.

  As the carriages trundled past them, Hallum shouted over the sound of the revolving bogies. ‘I sure hope we made the right choice.’

  Lyle looked up and gave only one reply. ‘We didn’t.’

  The last carriage passed and half way along, a window was open, and a smiling Alex Swan popped his head through into the slipstream of rushing air, then waved at the two bemused looking men on the platform.

  Hallum stared at him in disbelief. ‘How the hell did the son of a bitch do that?’

  Swan pulled his head back inside the train and shut the window. He was pleased that his evasive maneuver had worked well. Using the postage trolley as the main tool in this tactic, Swan had only moved within the blind spot of the two agents. He had moved quickly, managing to board the last carriage, just as the guard had blown the whistle for departure. Timing was everything, and it had been executed to perfection.

  *

  Howard Barnett was just about to leave his house when a stern faced Heidi Barnett stood in the kitchen doorway. ‘And where do you think you are going, Howard?’

  Barnett looked sheepishly at his
wife. ‘I was going to pick up Mr Swan from Maryport Station, dear.’

  Heidi gave her husband a cold stare. ‘May I just remind you, that you have only just come out of hospital this afternoon? I certainly do not think that you are well enough to drive your car.’

  Barnett smiled doggedly. ‘Oh, I’m as fit as a fiddle, lass. No need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

  Heidi put her hands on her hips. ‘Oh, but I do Howard, more than you know. Where is Mr Swan staying?’

  ‘He’ll be staying at The Waverley, my love.’

  Heidi shook her head. ‘Nein, why don’t you bring him back here? I will cook us a nice lamb hot pot, and perhaps a strudel as well, and he can stay here in the spare room.’

  Barnett smiled in acknowledgement. ‘That’s a good idea lass, I won’t be long. He’s arriving at 9:30, so we’ll be back by ten at most.’

  Heidi then cut in, ‘Providing you do not stop off at The Pheasant on the way back, I will find out if you have. Irene tells me everything at the WI meetings,’ she added.

  Barnett was suddenly submissive. ‘I promise, lass. Cheerio for now.’ He gave a peck on her cheek and walked out of the front door to climb into his car.

  As he started it, he thought that if the landlord’s wife is informing on him, he would have to be a bit more cautious when sneaking in for a quick one in The Pheasant in future.

  *

  Maitland was furious, shouting down the phone at a very embarrassed Joe Hallum. ‘Say what? I can’t believe it. What a couple of imbeciles!’

  In a phone box outside Crewe Railway Station, Hallum was sheepish with his boss. ‘He’s good, boss. He knew exactly what he was doing.’

  Maitland continued shouting. ‘Of course he did, you idiot. He’s ex British Secret Service!

  He calmed himself. ‘So tell me Joe, where are you two bozos now?’

  ‘We’re in a place called Crewe, waiting for a night train back to London.’

  Maitland shook his head. ‘Tell ya what fellas. Why don’t you stay there and get a job herding sheep or something? Or maybe you’ll just lose them as well.’