by David Holman
Swan bent down and checked the neck of US Ranger Will Hart for a pulse. ‘No, but when he wakes up, he’s going to have one hell of a headache.’
A relieved Lewis picked up Hart’s M-14 assault rifle from the floor.
Swan sighed. ‘That was bloody close.’
Lewis then looked at the black cylinders. ‘What the ‘ell are those things?’
‘These, Jim, are cases for nuclear missiles,’ said Swan casually.
Lewis suddenly went pale. ‘Good God Almighty,’ is all he could manage to say, as he stared in awe at the objects in front of him.
Swan looked around the room. He saw a blue covered file on a table and picked it up. On the front was a label in black print.
ALCM Type 78421-A1 Spectre
Maintenance Manual
GK Systems Inc.
Another label was positioned in the top left hand corner.
CLASSIFIED
Lewis was staring at the black cases. ‘So have those things got nuclear missiles in then?’
Swan walked back to him and knocked one of the casings with a clenched fist. The sound that emitted indicated that the case was empty. ‘Doesn’t much look like it.’ Swan was intrigued. Why would empty Spectre cases be brought here?
He mumbled to himself and Lewis asked him to repeat what said.
‘I was just wondering why these would be brought here, to a civilian establishment.’
He looked at the missile cases and tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Staring at the light reflected on the polished black exterior, he could clearly see in his mind how it all fitted. Piece by piece he formed the arrows, mirroring those on the blackboard back in his office. He followed the earlier connections that he and Gable had plotted, then joined the last line to solve the mystery. The arrows were forming a pattern, and that pattern was now complete. Suddenly like a thunderbolt, the solution hit him.
‘My word, Frank Maitland, you clever bastard,’ he exclaimed admiringly. He glanced at the Spectre cases, then at Lewis, and then gave an appreciative smile.
Lewis was nervous. ‘I am gonna go back up now sir, check it’s still clear,’ he suggested, looking at his watch. ‘We got about five minutes before everyone is dismissed from the fire drill,’ he added, then turned and walked towards the stairs, quickly picking up a pace in his steps.
Swan had seen enough now to realize that the Spectres were a double bluff. This had been some ingenious scheme to thwart the American crew at Brinton to thinking that they were doing their country a great service. Swan parted his lips to form a smile of realization, and then nodded in appreciation of the scam. He touched the black empty shell casing, admiring the detail that had gone into making these pods look authentic. He knew that he would not have much time. The diversion would not last long, and the American personnel would be back on station soon.
Suddenly, as he moved slightly for a closer look, he noticed a thin cylinder shining in the reflection of the strip lights. Something was lodged between two of the missile casings. Swan placed his hand down and stretched out his fingers. Finally, he managed to roll whatever it was up the side of the casing and gripped a hold of it. He held it up to his face and turned it around in his fingers, and his eyes lit up in instant recognition of the object. He read the scribed inscription along the side, nodding in approval. He examined it closely, noticing the red splatters at the top of it. Then reaching into the inside pocket of his overall, he pulled out a folded polythene bag. He placed the item carefully in the bag, rolled it up and placed it back into the overall pocket.
Taking out the small camera from the other pocket, he took the photographs of the black casings and the pages of the manual. The photos and his find were all he needed to confront Maitland. After he was finished, he placed the camera back in his pocket, then walked up the stairs and back into the hangar.
In the main office building he approached the security guard on reception and showed the guard his credentials. ‘I’ve taken some photographs, and I was wondering if there is anywhere on site that I can get them developed.
Jack Hollingsworth took the film roll and held it to his face.
‘As a matter of fact there is, sir. I will phone the studio and arrange it for you.’
As Swan waited by the reception desk, Howard Barnett came through the double green doors.
‘There you are, Alex. Fire Drill’s just finishing. Did you find what you’re looking for?’
‘Yes, and more HB, much more.’
Barnett turned to Hollingsworth. ‘This is Jack Hollingsworth, he found James under the Rapier that night. Mr Swan is on government business, investigating the death of James and looking into the Shobdon incident.’
Hollingsworth turned to Swan. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Swan. If I can be of any help to your inquiry, please let me know.’
‘How about a coffee, Alex?’ Barnett suggested.
‘Lead the way, HB,’ he replied.
He was about to step off and follow Barnett when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned to Hollingsworth.
‘Actually Jack, you may be able to help me on something. In your report, you mentioned that McGregor’s clipboard was lying next to him.’
Hollingsworth easily recalled the event. ‘Yes, that’s right, it was.’
‘So was there also a pen with this clipboard?’
Hollingsworth went into deep thought for a moment. ‘Do you know, I don’t remember seeing one to be honest,’ he replied.
Swan nodded. ‘McGregor’s fiancé mentioned he was given a special pen by his colleagues, with a personalized inscription,’ Barnett smiled.
‘Aye, that would be his Move over HB pen, you are talking about.’
Swan reached into his inside pocket and placed the item wrapped in the polythene bag on the reception counter.
‘Would it by any chance, be this one?’
*
A few cups of coffee later, while sitting in the canteen with Barnett, Swan was handed an envelope from a studio technician. He opened it and looked at the photographs. ‘That’s perfect. Thank you for these.’ He passed them to the Chief Designer, and Barnett’s eyes widened in surprise. He pointed to the black cylinders in the photograph. ‘So what the hell are those things?’
‘These HB, are duds,’ replied Swan.
Barnett looked up at Swan. ‘Come again?’
‘They are supposed to be portable launching silos for Spectre Air Launched Cruise Missiles, or ALCMs, the technical term. They are in fact realistic mock ups, which have been made to look like the real thing.’
Barnett gasped. ‘So what the bloody ‘ell are they doing ‘ere at Brinton’s?’
Swan rose from his chair. ‘I think it is time to find out. I have a theory, I have the pictures, and I have McGregor’s pen splattered with his blood, which I found lodged at the back of one of the Spectres. I need to make a call first, then I’ll take that short walk over to The Magic Box. ’
Barnett stood up. ‘I’m afraid I’m not going to be here much longer today. I’m travelling down by helicopter to London to meet up with my boss. All the workers have been given the rest of the day off, as we have been told to halt production of the other Rapier airframes. We have an emergency meeting with the Minister of Supply. It also means that I will miss the fly-past at Farnborough as well this afternoon.’ He stared Swan directly in the eyes and shook his hand.
‘Give ‘em hell from me, Alex, but be careful. Believe me, I know what these chaps are capable of.’
Swan nodded. ‘I will, HB. You can be sure about that.’
Chapter 21
Maitland was at his desk, oblivious to being watched from outside the door. Swan decided to go straight in. ‘Good morning, Frank. You may remember me, Alex Swan. I came with the inspection team.’
Maitland raised his head and gave a false friendly smile. Even though he was aware that Swan was due, he had not expected him to burst through his door. ‘Alex, what a surprise. Please, come in and take a seat. It’
s good to see ya pal. Is your buddy with you? What was his name, Arthur?’
Swan shook his head. ‘No, Frank. I’ve come here on my own today. Thought you might like to have a look at these.’ He sat down facing the American, and placed the envelope on the desk. Maitland looked at it. ‘What’s this Alex?’
‘Evidence as to what has really been going on here, and why James McGregor was murdered.’
Maitland leant forward, took the envelope and examined the contents.
‘Whoa, just wait a goddam minute.’
Swan raised his hand to stop the American. ‘McGregor’s last call to his fiancé mentioned The Spectres. Of course, I had no idea until this morning what that could have meant. But I do now. They are ALCMs, which I believe that the US plans to base here secretly?’
Maitland bristled. ‘Well what of it?’
‘Well the thing is, they are not real, are they Frank?’
Swan leant over the chair.
‘No, you see after I discovered them, I made a quick telephone call to a friend of mine in London. He informed me that these Spectres are to be de-commissioned. They seem to have a lot of faults, so the US Government has decided to wait until the Tomahawk is ready in a few years’ time, and deploy it instead. It will probably be based here, but at least our Government will be aware of it, and I’m sure so will the CND. So, good luck with that one. No, what really has been going on is something a lot more sinister. I am almost amazed as to how you managed to pull it all off. I take my hat off to you, Frank. You’ve had us all fooled. Even your own men, including Mr Brannigan.’
Maitland looked at the photographs again. ‘I don’t follow ya, Alex.’
‘You know exactly what I mean, Frank, so why don’t you tell me all about The Eagle’s Lance.’
Maitland gulped. He looked straight into the eyes of Swan.
‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me Alex, I’ve never heard of this Eagle’s Lance.’
Swan beckoned to the chair in front of Maitland’s desk. ‘May I?’
Maitland held out his hand, inviting the SID investigator to take a seat. He pulled it out and sat down.
‘I’ve just read the most interesting book, Frank. It was called The Secret Path. It’s all about the War of Independence, and the secret societies that operated in favour of Washington’s forces. Mostly the book focusses on Samuel Adams and The Sons of Liberty, which instigated a few terrorist outrages during the war, the Boston Tea Party for instance, but one of the other societies it mentions, was one called The Eagle’s Lance.
Maitland smiled. ‘Interesting history lesson there, Alex. I cannot see what that has to do with anything here, though.’
‘Actually Frank, it has everything to do with why you’re here. You see, The Eagle’s Lance still exists, and is still operable today, as we speak, isn’t it Frank?’ Swan trained his eyes on Maitland’s hand. ‘By the way, that is a nice ring you are wearing.’
Maitland gave Swan a cold stare, then took a quick glance at his ring. ‘You’re fightin’ against a secret society that has been around for nearly two hundred years.’
Swan leant forward, his face a few inches from the American.
‘Yes, I am Frank. The breakaway faction from the Sons of Liberty. A terrorist faction that George Washington himself had no knowledge of and which Adams denounced. It is The Eagle’s Lance who have been calling the shots on this little escapade of yours Frank. And you are part of them.’
Maitland smiled and leant back in his chair. ‘You seem to know quite a lot about them, Alex. But be careful; I don’t think you really know how powerful they are.’
Swan nodded. ‘At our first meeting, I noticed your ring as you were pouring the drinks. I knew that I had seen the symbol before but could not remember where, until I happened to pass your embassy in Grosvenor Square and suddenly, there it was, that same eagle on the front of the building, minus the lance off course. I also picked up the book and read it on the train on the way up from London, in between evading the surveillance from your little team. The Eagle’s Lance was set up by a group of rebels who followed Samuel Adams. A Mohawk Indian called Kee-Haw was be-friended by the faction’s leader Henry Sanderson to recruit the services of his people, in return for land, and so a special alliance between the two nations, The Eagle’s Lance was born. As I have already said, Adams did not approve of this break-away faction and their violent terrorist acts, especially as it involved the Indians. But he was happy to use the services of its members effectively in the Boston Tea Party. Kee-Haw was said to be the technical advisor, so to speak, on the authentic native disguises used in the raid.’
Maitland nodded appreciatively. ‘You have certainly done your homework, Alex, and also managed to knock out a US Ranger. You are correct about The Eagle’s Lance.’
Maitland rose out of his chair and walked over to his filing cabinet. ‘So, how about a drink to toast your discovery of our secret past?’
Swan watched the American attentively as he rose from his chair. ‘I’ll think I’ll pass on the drink Frank, I better be going now and inform the Ministry of your plan to sabotage our Rapier project. Oh, and phone the police to inform them of who murdered James McGregor. Just think of the embarrassment to your nation and the distrust in our so called special relationship, that this will create.’
Maitland moved in front of the cabinet, using his back to shield his movements inside the open drawer.
Intuition caused Swan to rise from his chair and then grip the back of it. Maitland then turned around, pointing a Beretta .38 automatic pistol with an attached silencer in the direction of where he last left the Englishman.
In seeing the flash of the gun’s black muzzle, Swan moved to one side of the desk. Maitland fired, sending a muffled bullet into the wooden desktop, and Swan responded by picking up the chair and throwing it into the path of the oncoming American agent, causing him to lose grip of the pistol. Swan then ran out of the office and Maitland picked up the gun that had fallen onto the desk, and left in pursuit.
*
Arthur Gable parked the Sapphire in Wellesley Mews, locked it, opened the front door and walked upstairs to the office. He put on the kettle to make himself a cup of tea, checked the diary on the desk, and sat down to read his newspaper.
He had only got up to pour out his tea when the phone on Swan’s desk rang. ‘Whitehall 9921, Morning HB, this is Arthur, how are you, is Mr Swan with you?’
HB informed him of what Swan had discovered and his intended next action.
Gable was flabbergasted, ‘Okay, I will wait here until I hear from him. Goodbye HB, thank you for calling.’
Gable replaced the receiver. ‘Good grief,’ he sighed, then leant over and grabbed the desk diary, opened it to the day’s date and wrote:
HB 11. 33
Maitland is a member of the Eagle’s Lance - secret faction set up in 1776 against the British. They are trying to stop the BR-101 project, so that British Government buys the FB-X instead. The Americans tried to threaten him and were heavy handed. He is sure that they also murdered McGregor.
Gable closed the diary, and sat forward on the chair, tapping his fingers on Swan’s desk. He glanced at the blackboard noticing that more labels and arrows had been added. He knew at this point he was powerless to help his colleague. All he could do was sit and wait for him to call.
*
Howard Barnett sat studying the results of the latest Rapier engine tests as the Brinton Aviation pilot flew the Sycamore helicopter to their destination, the Westland Heliport at Battersea, South West London.
As he scrutinized the documents, his thoughts were of how Swan was going to confront the Americans with his findings.
They then landed at the small heliport next the River Thames, where he was to be collected by car to meet with his boss, Henry Brinton, at his London residence near Regent’s Park, before the afternoon meeting with the Aviation Minister and the Chief of Defence Staff at Whitehall. He was slightly irritated that he would not be present at th
e fly-past at Farnborough this afternoon, but knew that he had to do all he could to make that last final plunge to save the project from cancellation.
Chapter 22
Inside the assembly hangar known as ‘The Magic Box,’ Swan carefully moved among the half-assembled production Rapier airframes, knowing that Maitland could be watching his every move. He stopped and listened for the slightest sound that would alert him of where the man could be at this moment in time. If it was the other way around, then he would be covering the exit, making sure that his assailant did not escape.
Maitland was watching, waiting for Swan to pass under him as he stood on the work platform directly above him. With his legs apart in typical combat stance, and at arm’s length in a two handed grip, he pointed his Colt automatic pistol down through the gap between the steel planks and tracked his prey. The half-light of the assembly hangar prevented any revealing shadows, and Maitland took advantage of this, maintaining a stealthy approach. All Swan needed to do was keep walking slowly below him, and he would be able to take an accurate and definite shot.
Swan stopped to check his surroundings, carrying Gable’s Webley revolver at his hip, pointing ahead of him. He thought for a second that he heard a slight creaking sound, and this was soon confirmed as a further creak, this time a decibel higher than the first, entered his inner ear. Swan suddenly realised that Maitland was above him and decided to continue, as if he was oblivious to this fact. With a quick glance upwards, he noticed that he was walking directly under the gap in the work platform, offering a perfect target for the Kentuckian. Slowly, he moved across to the left and checked that he was away from it. Then, with a quick move, he ducked quickly under the fuselage of the third Rapier and shielded himself from Maitland’s Colt.
The American saw him move, firing a shot that hit the support gantry. It ricocheted off, sending the bullet spinning somewhere inside the hangar. ‘Almost got you there, Alex,’ Maitland exclaimed smugly.
