by David Holman
Swan used this moment to move across to the other side of the hangar. Another shot rang out, and zapped into the fuselage of another Rapier. Maitland shouted at him again. ‘You can’t run, Alex. I can’t let you screw up three years of work.’
Swan was behind another half assembled airframe, and leaned on a support beam taking in the situation. ‘I can’t let you do this, Frank. Your country will put us in a direct conflict with the Soviets, which could lead to a horrible war,’ he shouted to him from behind his safety point. Then, he decided this was the perfect time to play his ace card. ‘It’s not just our Government that doesn’t know you used the Python Hawk as a cover for the Spectres, which was cover from your own for The Eagle’s Lance.’
‘That’s just about it, Alex. The Eagle’s Lance are just making sure that the US get the FB-X deal. Anybody who gets in the way of this will be dealt with accordingly.’
‘Like you did with James McGregor, and tried to do with Howard Barnett, and I suppose you took care of the office cleaner as well?’
‘That stupid senile old lady forgot that her supplies had been shifted from the basement and stumbled right into the guys working on the Spectres. She apologized and quickly left, but we couldn’t take a chance. I did the background on her myself, and noticed that her daughter had married a GI. So, we set up a little story and sent her over to Montana, where she had an unfortunate accident with a truck.’
‘It seems The Eagle’s Lance stops at nothing to complete their mission.’
‘You got it right there Alex, and right now, our sweep team is on their way to take care of your dead body. Once I’ve killed you, that is. You’ll be found under the railway viaduct on the Dearham Road with a single bullet to the skull from the Webley your carrying, and a photo and Dear John letter from some good looking dame in your wallet.’
Swan was unsure where Maitland was and needed him to shout some more to get a fix on his location. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Frank. You do seem to have every angle covered, but you are forgetting one thing: I already know your little game here with the Spectres, and that you killed James, but what I haven’t told you is that I spoke to John Stratton of MI5 before I came to see you.’
Maitland was suddenly alert.
‘What are ya tryin’ to say, Alex?’
‘Can you take a chance in killing me, without knowing if I told Stratton all about your plans?
Maitland smirked. ‘Stratton is a fool. He easily fell for the Polish guy we set up as a patsy. We’ll just send him to another dead end.’
Swan thought for a minute. ‘There’s one thing that you have overlooked in your little plan, Frank.’
‘And what’s that, Alex?’
‘I have left instructions with someone out of your reach, to pass a package on to the press, should I fail to return from our little meeting.’
Maitland smiled. ‘You’re bluffing, Alex. Remember, you said when we met this morning you had come alone, and no-one knows you’re here. Those were your words, pal.’
‘Come on Frank, you and I are from the same stable. Spying is in our blood. We both lie for a living, don’t we?’
Maitland checked his pistol and moved forward to the front of his shield.
Swan suddenly had a thought. ‘By the way, Frank, where is Brannigan?’
‘He’s on a little insurance mission for our government. Let’s just say, he’s seeing through the FB-X deal for keeps.’
From behind his protective position, Swan thought this over.
‘It was Brannigan who planted the bomb in the trailer, wasn’t it?’
‘Yup, it sure was,’ replied the American, gleefully. ‘Jake’s our expert with the plastic, knows just how to make the right kind of bang.’
The insurance comment got Swan thinking. What did Maitland mean by this, and what did it have to do with the FB-X?
He decided to probe further. ‘So how will Brannigan insure the FB-X deal then, Frank?’
‘Too many questions, Alex. Always too many questions; let’s just say that this will bring your whole country rooting for our airplane.’
The last comment from the Eagle’s Lance operative didn’t take Swan long to realise what he had meant by this.
‘My God! You bloody madmen are going to bring down the Rapier at the SBAC show this afternoon.’
There was silence from the other side of the fuselage, then Maitland chuckled. ‘You’re a clever guy, Alex. You may as well know that not only will it come down, but it will crash into the crowd. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking pal, another accident at the SBAC will be big news, especially with people killed.’
Swan interrupted, ‘And public opinion will be that the aircraft is a death trap. Our government will then certainly scrap it for the FB-X.’
‘Bingo!’ Maitland exclaimed.
‘How are you going to bring her down into the crowd, unless…Brannigan will be at the show, won’t he?’
‘He sure will be, and ready and waiting for that baby to fly over at just the right moment, and then boom! Bye-bye to the Silver Angel, and then, one by one these babies…,’ Maitland hit his shield with his fist, ‘will be cut up to become ice boxes or some other domestic machine.’
Swan knew he had to do something, and fast. He had to get himself away from this maniac and warn the authorities at Farnborough. He needed to stall his opponent for time to think.
‘The cancellation of the contract will bankrupt Brinton, and the plant will close.’
‘That’s right, Alex. Brinton will be forced to sell the site which will then become the GK maintenance base for the FB-X.’
Swan glanced around him and noticed a staircase leading up to an upper gantry. He called out to Maitland. ‘I can’t let you do this, Frank. You know this is just madness. Who the hell in your government would veto this act? This is just plain mass murder, and you know it. One thing that I did discover from my research into The Eagle’s Lance, was that Sanderson had some highly influential men on his side, and also an enforcer by the name of Forest Maitland, your great, great grandfather I believe? Turns out that murdering is in your blood, Frank. Forest Maitland killed Kee-Haw after the declaration was signed; the Mohawks had been betrayed.’ Swan was hit with another thought. ‘Jake Brannigan thinks he’s doing his country a great service. He has no idea that it is the Eagle’s Lance calling the shots here.’
Maitland shook his head at the smartness of this man; a look of disbelief all over his face. ‘Boy, you’re smart Alex. No, Jake is just a patriot to his country. He takes his orders from me. He is just doing his job for his nation.’
While Maitland had been talking, Swan had moved over to the staircase and was now silently climbing the stairs to the top gantry platform.
His opponent had not noticed this and from this position, Swan could clearly see him crouched at the front side of an airframe looking over to where he thought Swan might be, his gun trained on the spot. He still thinks I’m behind the other one! Swan realised. But Swan had used this time to move to the gantry above the American. Maitland had been distracted by Swan’s revelations, with his opponent discovering a long kept family secret, and that Brannigan was not a member of The Eagle’s Lance, and he failed to notice that Swan was now directly above him.
Swan paused and assessed the current situation. He put down the Webley, placing it on the platform, then took one silent breath and leaped on Maitland. The impact pushed the man to the ground; his automatic thrown out of his hand, sliding under a Rapier airframe. Swan was half on top of the man and, pinning him down, punched the side of his face.
Half dazed, the American retaliated, bringing his knee up to give Swan a whack on the back of his head. Swan fell forward, giving Maitland opportunity to roll to the side and push himself up from the floor. Quickly he climbed the structure of the high overhead service platform, and Swan clambered after him.
The two men fought furiously on the side of the gantry, Maitland thrusting a foot downwards, trying to hit the target of Swan�
��s head. Swan grabbed the suit trousers of the American and pulled downwards. Maitland shook his leg to free himself, managing to climb further up the structure.
Swan followed in hot pursuit and gained on his assailant. The two men were now almost on the top platform, which stood thirty feet from the ground. This had been specially constructed for the construction of the horizontal stabilizer of the R-55 Rochester flying boat, back in the 1930s.
‘Give it up Alex, you can’t win.’ Blood welled in Maitland’s mouth. He spat some out and it shot passed Swan, who ensured a firm footing before reaching up to grasp the American again, holding him firmly, as the American struggled to get free.
Maitland held onto the pole that fixed into the ceiling of the hangar, securing the structure. Managing to get a leg free, he swung out his foot again, just missing the head of Swan.
The SID man noticed that the move had left the American slightly off balance, the momentum causing him to lean awkwardly with his back slightly twisted and his neck exposed.
Swan saw his chance and he grabbed at the neck, hooking his arm around it in a firm, tight grip. This caused Maitland to take a hand off the pole and use it to try to free himself from the Englishman. Swan held on, and using his full bodyweight pulled on the American so that his back began to arch in a way that the human anatomy would normally not allow.
Maitland screamed out in pain as the vertebrae in his spine began to twist agonizingly out of shape. The pain was intense as he tried to lash out with his free arm, and his leg came away from the pole. Now, both legs were dangling beneath him in mid-air. Swan held firmly as Maitland tried to reach up for him. Like a demented crab, the American flicked up his arms, trying to grip the Englishman.
Swan needed to do something before it was too late. Even in sheer agony, Maitland fought like a madman, scrabbling for bits of Swan’s jacket. Then he caught his arm and Swan was forced to release Maitland to grip the girder. The rogue CIA agent was now at the mercy of gravity, and tried to reach out for the girder, but failed. With nothing now to support him, Maitland dropped like a stone down the side of the structure. On the way down his leg caught another girder, flipping him over. Maitland plummeted, head first and screaming, to the concrete floor. Swan looked down, wincing at the thud of Maitland’s head as it hit the ground, erupting blood and tissue, some of which sprayed against the side of the Rapier.
Swan moved his hands along the support beam and reached a leg across to the safety of the platform. Climbing down from the gantry, he wiped his blooded mouth with his sleeve. He did not have to check the lifeless body staring up at him with empty eyes. The blood stained, caved-in section to the side of Maitland’s head was all it took to confirm that the man was dead.
Swan turned and looked at the splashes of blood that had marred the natural metal finish of the plane. He did not need reminding that this affair was still not over, and staggered to the side exit of the hangar, determined to prevent an impending catastrophe.
Security guard Jack Hollingsworth, while doing his patrol, saw Swan step out of the hangar and rushed over to him. ‘Jesus! Are you okay sir? Mr Swan, can you hear me?’
Swan could barely see the man in the black uniform before him; dried blood had hardened over his eyes, limiting his vision. The early mid-afternoon sun-lit sky dazzled him after the dark hangar.
Swan was almost breathless as he garbled a statement. ‘Got to warn the pilot, Jack. The Silver Angel is going to crash.’
Now completely exhausted, the ex-MI5 man fell to the ground unconscious, his head narrowly missing the polished boot of the security guard, as Hollingsworth had just caught him in time.
Chapter 23
The Society of British Aircraft Companies annual show was now in its thirty third year. Since 1948, it had been held in the Hampshire town of Farnborough. The airfield had a long association with British aviation, and each year the show introduced new aircraft and systems prototypes to officials from other countries, and to the general public. This particular year there was great excitement, as the first public appearance of the Rapier would be the highlight of the two public days of the show. The aircraft was due to appear on both afternoons, giving a series of fly pasts over the display line chaperoned by two chase jet fighter aircraft. Due to its shroud of secrecy, the visitors were made aware that it would not be landing and would fly in from RAF Pembridge, and then return there after each display.
By mid-morning, the public had begun to gather and the static display of international aircraft of all types were parked for viewing. The public also frequented the exhibition halls that displayed the latest systems and equipment that would be future features in later designs.
In Hall 1, the GK display showed a full size mock-up of the Python Hawk tactical reconnaissance system, which stood in front of blown up wall diagrams of both the Rapier and the FB-X, showing the compatibility of how the drone can operate on both airframes. Suited representatives of GK were also on hand to provide information on all their products.
An announcement that GK would be setting up a subsidiary company in Britain to be known as GKUK Ltd, had been revealed in a press conference earlier in the week on the show’s official press day. The location of this establishment was still yet to be finalised, but the news that it would create new jobs for British workers had been very well received.
On the display stand, a young female assistant, immaculately dressed in a white blouse and light brown skirt with black patent crocodile court shoes, handed a paper cup of black coffee to a suited, stocky, shaven-headed man.
Jake Brannigan took the cup from her perfectly manicured hand, took a few sips, and gazed out of the big windows of the exhibition hall to the crowd as they moved along the fins of the aircraft. ‘I also believe that you have a package for me?’
Ava Cordener kneeled down and retrieved a green box with Brannigan’s name on it, handing it to him. ‘There ya go.’
He took it from her, then walked towards the viewing area. Outside, he watched as a family of four stood beside the test aircraft for a new Anglo-French supersonic airliner project. The dark blue delta-shaped machine had caused quite a stir at this year’s show, and would feature later on in the flying display.
Brannigan stared at the family’s father, as he leant down and spoke to his two young sons, pointing to various parts of the aircraft.
Ava re-appeared, pulling him away from his distraction. ‘Excuse me, Mr Brannigan. You have a call. You can take it in the Exhibition Office.’
‘Thanks, Ava. I’ll do that.’ Brannigan smiled at the assistant and walked in the direction of the office, opened the door, and was greeted by a uniformed security guard. He showed his GK staff pass to him. ‘Name’s Brannigan, from GK. You have a call for me?’
The security guard smiled. ‘Yes indeed sir, just over here.’
With the package in his hands, he walked over to the green phone on the desk and picked up the receiver. ‘Brannigan here.’
Four minutes later, he walked dejectedly out of the office. His face was pale, and he felt a lump in his throat as he walked back to the GK stand. Ava noticed him as he approached. His head was down and he seemed to be staring at the floor. ‘Is everything okay, Mr Brannigan sir?’ Ava asked.
Brannigan turned quickly and looked at her. ‘Eh, oh sorry Ava, I just need some fresh air that’s all.’ He forced a friendly smile and walked through the entrance doors out to the display ground. Ava stood watching him until he vanished through the doors, then she picked up a pile of corporation brochures and laid them out neatly on the desk at the front of the stand.
*
Swan opened his eyes and saw that he was on a bed in a white walled room. He sat up and looked around, noticing some medical charts on the wall next to a large heavy framed painting of a Brinton R-55 Rochester flying boat, taking off from a breakwater.
A man in a white doctor’s jacket called out to him. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Swan.’
Swan acknowledged him. ‘Where am I?’
> The man picked up a clipboard and moved over to him. ‘You are in the Medical Room. You collapsed outside and you were brought in here.’
Swan started to recall the previous events. ‘My God, I’ve got to get to a phone. What time is it?’
The medical officer placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Not so fast, sir, you’re in no fit state to do anything at the moment, you have concussion from your fall, and need to rest a while. The police are outside and they want to ask you some questions.’
Swan swung his legs to the side of the bed. ‘You don’t understand, I have to warn the pilot of the Silver Angel. There’s a bomb on board the plane, hundreds could be killed if it crashes.’
The medical officer stared at him, looking puzzled. ‘A bomb? Are you sure, sir?’
‘Yes, dammit man, where’s the bloody phone?’
The medical officer suddenly sprang into a panic and helped Swan up from the bed and they walked together out of the door.
On seeing the door open, Inspector George Lake stood up and put the Brinton product brochure down on the coffee table. He was about to say something when Swan held up his hand. ‘Not just now, officer,’ he said and moved with the doctor into another office, where a chair was pulled out allowing Swan to sit down to use the phone.
Lake stood bewildered, staring at the closed door. He shrugged his shoulders and sat back down again.
Swan picked up the receiver. ‘Hello Operator, Whitehall 9921 please.’ He listened as the receiving phone started to ring. On the fourth ring it was answered. ‘Whitehall 9921,’ said the familiar voice of Arthur Gable.
‘Arthur, its Alex! I need you to go to the Farnborough Airshow. You need to find Maitland’s deputy, Jake Brannigan, remember him?’
Gable confirmed that he did.
‘All hell’s broken loose up here Arthur, Maitland’s dead. I’ll explain when I see you. I’m going to try to get down there as soon as I can. There’s a bomb on board the Silver Angel and Brannigan will set it off during the Farnborough display.’