Debut for a Spy (29 page)

As I put down the phone I heard a car's brakes squeak outside. Bill, I thought, looking at my Rolex. Well, so much for lunch. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and then he appeared.

“I assumed you were stuck on the phone. Here's a roast beef sandwich for you, and a Tizer.”

“
Thanks.”

“
You didn't miss much. Most of the talk was about last night's break-in. Did you get anything more?” he asked, gesturing toward the phone.

“
Not really, Bill,” I said through my munching, “The Paras are hanging on for a few days, just in case.”

“
I shouldn't think they'll try again so soon, especially since they know we're on to them. Now, about this afternoon. You'll take 972 up off the main runway. When you reach 150 knots, which will give you some margin, rotate the nozzles down 50 degrees. You'll be immediately airborne. Stay straight and level. Advance the throttle and climb to 200 feet, then undercarriage up, and ease the nozzle lever forward. I'll be flying chase in a Hunter, so once you're in the air you'll have company.”

“
How do we coordinate?”

“
I'll take off first, then circle at cruising speed about a mile from the flight line. When I hear the tower clear you for take-off, I fly in over the field and tuck in behind you as you get airborne. We rarely send an experimental aircraft up without a chase plane. Merewether is with Stavic today, for instance. This way I can guide you through some maneuvers, if we're both happy the way things are going.”

My nerves returned with a vengeance.

The two aircraft were on the apron in front of the hangar. By comparison to the stubby little P1127, the Hunter looked sleek and fast. It was a two-seater T Mark 7, XL564, in grey aluminum finish.

“
We'll start up here, David, and taxi to the flight line. I'll lead. Oh, here's an ordnance survey map of the area in case you should need it. It's unlikely, but clip it on for safety.”

We did our pre-flight checks, climbing in at about the same time. Bill started up and the trolley was wheeled over to me. I ran through the sequence from the list clipped on my knee, and the big Pegasus whined and rumbled. I had wondered at the odor in the P1127, and now I recognized it as similar to that of some older piston-engine aircraft – oil and hot metal.

Bill cleared with the tower to taxi on the perimeter, and I did the same, nudging the rudder pedals to steer and hanging on to the brake in case I overshot. We were at the north-east end of the airfield, taking off in a slightly south-westerly direction. As I listened to Bill on the radio I checked my altimeter and compass. His streamlined craft lifted gracefully into the air, banked left and commenced a turn around the airfield. He began another wide turn at the extreme end of his circuit, then his voice crackled on the radio.

“
Hawker X-ray, this is Hawker Alpha. Start your roll.”

“
Roger, Hawker Alpha. Dunsfold tower, this is Hawker X-ray requesting clearance to take-off on runway 25.”

“
Hawker X-ray, you are cleared for take-off.”

I pushed the throttle, turned onto the runway with a couple of well-place nudges, applied the brakes to stop, then had a last-minute look at the gauges. Everything looked normal. Nozzle lever fully forward, throttle back.

“Hawker Alpha, this is Hawker X-ray. Rolling now.”

I advanced the throttle to maximum, released the brake, and virtually leapt forward. I nudged the left rudder pedal to correct my track, and realized I had passed 150 knots. Gently I eased the nozzle control back to the 50 degree pre-set, and I was airborne. I didn't want yaw, so I held carefully straight as I increased height. Reaching 200 feet I retracted the undercarriage and eased the nozzle control fully forward. Still flying straight, the altimeter was racing upward, reaching 2000 feet before I noticed the Hunter to my port side and slightly behind me.

“Hawker X-ray, this is Hawker Alpha. I'm going to ask for clearance to 20,000 feet. Is your oxygen plugged in?”

“
Roger.”

“
Dunsfold tower, this is Hawker Alpha requesting clearance to angels 20, two aircraft in flight.”

“
Hawker Alpha, Hawker flight cleared for angels 20.”

“
Hawker X-ray, switch to alternate frequency.”

“
Roger. Switching now.”

“
That's better. Now we don't have to do all the procedural brouhaha. How was the take-off?”

“
Felt fine. I was over the 150 knot line, though. Got there faster than expected.”

“
No matter. There's a wide margin. Have you done any formation flying, David?”

“
No, and I don't think I want to start right now. That's all I'd need – brush wingtips with you and bring down both aircraft. I don't think Sir Sydney would be too happy.”

“
Message understood. I'll keep my distance. Start increasing altitude. You can take her up at a climb rate of 3000 feet per minute at a speed of 400 knots. She'll climb much faster, but we'll take it easy.”

“
Roger, Bill.”

I adjusted the throttle, pulled back on the stick, and watched the altimeter wind. Bill was about 30 yards off my port wing in the Hunter.

“I don't want to get too far inland, so turn 90 degrees to port.”

“
Roger. Turning to port.”

I watched the compass as I brought it around, straightening out as we touched south south-east. Still climbing, we were now above 11,000 feet.

“Now do that again, and we'll start the next leg. Oxygen switched on.”

“
Roger. Oxygen on. Turning to port.”

I repeated the sequence, and 90 degrees later we were flying east north-east. I looked at the altimeter.

“Angels 20, Bill. Leveling out.”

“
How's your jet-pipe temperature?”

“
About 350 degrees centigrade.”

“
That's fine. How fast have you flown, David?”

“
This is it. Nearly 420 knots. Why?”

“
You're going for a new record. Advance the throttle, hold her steady, and watch her fly.”

Lord. What next?

“Throttle advanced to maximum stop… Jesus!”

I was pushed back into the seat hard. The acceleration of this aircraft was incredible. I looked to my left. No Hunter. Air speed indicator. 580 knots. Still accelerating.

“Bill? Where are you?”

He laughed in my headset.
“A mile behind you. I can't match that acceleration. What's your airspeed?”

“
Just over 600 knots.”

“
Jet-pipe temperature?”

“
450 degrees.”

“
Throttle back to 500 knots and I'll catch up.”

“
Roger.”

I eased it back, and in 15 seconds the Hunter was on my port wing again.

“Well, how was the ride?”

“
Incredible! Does she ever move!”

“
If you look down, there's the English Channel. We're just south of Southampton. Now, advance the throttle all the way, put her into a shallow dive, then level out in 30 seconds. Got it?”

“
Roger.”

Throttle ahead full. Nose down slightly, about 30 degrees. Jammed hard back into the seat! Hold her steady! I weighed a ton! Must be 7 G's! Slight judder. Controls feel easier. Speed 680 knots! I glanced at the Mach indicator. Mach 1.2! I was flying above the speed of sound!

“Holy shit!”

“
Ease her nose up and throttle back.” Bill was laughing.

“
Roger.”

BANG! An explosion! I nearly crapped my pants!

“What the fuck was that?” I yelled.

“
Just the sound barrier, my dear chap,” said a calm voice. “Such vulgarity.”

“
You bugger! You set me up, didn't you?” I started to laugh.

“
The drinks are on you, old chap! Can you handle one more?”

“
Why not? I'm sitting in something warm and squishy anyway.”

“
Did you ever roll a Harvard?”

“
Nope.”

“
Probably just as well. Now, this one rolls like a top. One flick of the wrist, she'll go right 'round. Watch your artificial horizon to bring her out. When you're ready.”

I pushed the stick hard to port. It rolled over like a puppy-dog. I lost my sense of balance, focused on the artificial horizon and centered the stick. I was through!

“Okay. Let's go home. How did you like it?”

“
Fantastic, Bill. Nothing short of fantastic.”

“
Good. You handled it well. Now, 180 degrees to port.”

“
Roger. 180 degrees to port, turning now.”

I followed the compass through its swing, then straightened.

“Ease throttle, commence descent about 4000 feet per minute. Should set us up for Dunsfold.”

“
Roger. Starting descent now.”

“
We're crossing the coast. There's Worthing.”

I looked down, but couldn't recognize anything. We were almost to 9000 feet. At 400 knots the 24 miles to Dunsfold would take about 3 minutes.

“Hawker X-ray, switch to tower frequency.”

“
Roger. Switching.”

“
Dunsfold tower, this is Hawker Alpha.

“
Pass your message Hawker Alpha.”

“
Request clearance to hover and land for Hawker X-ray. Hawker Alpha requests permission for circuits until Hawker X-ray has landed and cleared the runway. ETA one minute.”

“
Hawker Alpha cleared for circuits. Hawker X-ray cleared for hover landing.”

“
Hawker X-ray turning on final,” I said.

I had a terrible feeling of let-down.

It was all over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Moscow
,
U
.
S
.
S
.
R
. –
the
same
day

General Dmitrienko leaned back in his chair.

“
I think they've done it this time, Bren.”

“
Sir?”

“
They botched an attempt to sabotage an experimental aircraft in England and steal the plans. It's a total disaster, and you know what the Chairman thinks of failure. We may be rid of Rastvorov sooner than I had hoped.”

*

Dunsfold
,
Surrey
–
the
same
day

The landing had been uneventful, for which I was grateful. I didn't need everything to become a drama – there was enough of that in the rest of my life these days.

Bill had walked to my car with me, and we faced that unpleasant task of saying goodbyes with the promises to keep in touch which most people are too busy to honor.

We exchanged phone numbers, shook hands, and I was genuinely sorry that the two days had come to an end. It was hard to put into words.

“
Bill, thank you for your patience and tolerance. I'll never forget the experience. I know I had no honest right to be here. I just hope it all pays off somehow.”

“
We shall see when we get to the end of the road, shan't we? Good luck, David. It's been… well… different.”

He gave me a smile and a wave as I drove off, and it felt like a door closing on a brief chapter of my life.

What to do first? Get out of the uniform. So, straight home.

*

Moscow
,
U
.
S
.
S
.
R
. –
the
same
day

He snatched the phone as it rang. He had been waiting impatiently.

“
Yes?” he barked.

“
Scramble.”

“
Yes, yes.” He turned the switch. “Well?”

“
Exactly as planned, Comrade General. It was perfect.”

“
A success?”

“
Absolutely.”

Rastvorov smiled smugly.

Dmitrienko's days were numbered.

*

London
,
England
–
the
same
day

Traffic had been light, still it was after 08:30 when I pulled up to the flat. I ran a bath, and was just about to step in when the phone rang. It was Tony Cippola.

“
Hi David. I got those books you asked me about. You can have 'em for a few days. Why don't we get together same as last time?”

“
Fine. About 09:30 okay?”

“
See ya.”

I threw on some dark casuals and left just in time to get to the Cumberland. Tony had beaten me to it.

“I'm glad you called. I was going to try to get hold of you. No trouble getting the stuff?”

“
Naw. I played it cool, said it was a routine security check. Nobody asked questions. Wanna tell me why you really want this?”

“
I'm playing a hunch, Tony. A little bit of cross-checking. I told you – If I turn up anything dirty, it's yours.”

“
Yeah. Well, I did a little cross-checkin' o' my own. I'm not sure where you're comin' from. On the surface I see a singer. Underneath I find an army officer.”

“
In music, Tony.”

“
Yeah, yeah, I know about the band stuff. I couldn't help wonder what would happen if I scratch a little deeper and see what pops out. I know you can fly – you learned in the army. I know a Major David Baird has been down in Dunsfold for a couple of days flyin' a new jet. I figure it must be two different David Bairds, right? No possible connection.”

I had to tell him something, so I used the story I had used in Dunsfold. At least it would check with the Americans pilots.

“So why are ya sniffin' around our guys?”

He knew a bit about the supposed IRA raid on Dunsfold. I told him the rest, and that it wasn't IRA.

“The trouble is, I don't think it's over. They're determined to get the technology of that plane one way or another. I just wanted to check the wild cards in the deck – the three Yanks – and do it without ruffling any feathers. If I'd asked officially, then backs would have been up from here to Pennsylvania Avenue. I don't expect to find anything. I just didn't want to leave a loose end lying around.”

“
Why you and not one of the MI5 guys?”

“
You heard about their leaks? Even if they found something the Soviets would know about it in an hour. I figured it was safer for me to check it out, that's all.”

“
I don't get the army connection.”

“
Look, it's like in the States. I'm just a National Guard officer doing my two weeks in the summer. I drew that job because I'm part of a reserve unit that flies planes for army co-operation and communications. It's no big deal, Tony. It's routine.”

“
Yeah, okay, I got it now. I didn't know it was National Guard stuff. That makes sense. I just didn't want to be gettin' our guys inta some kinda shit, ya know what I mean?”

He handed me an envelope.

“It's all there. On all three of them. Just career stuff. I couldn't get any psych profiles or fitness reports or that crap. Woulda caused too much trouble. I got enough as it is. Okay?”

“
That's all I need. Thanks.”

“
See ya. Keep in touch, okay?”

“
Count on it, Tony.”

After he had gone I waited a few minutes and phoned Nicki at home. She was there, and House was with her. Yes, she had the bio on Dwight Vandenberg. I was on my way.

*

Twenty minutes later I knocked on the door of the former almshouse. It was in a row of such houses which bordered the green on three sides. Strange how what was suitable for the poor in the 16th century was now only affordable by the affluent.

Nicki answered the door. “Hi, David. Come in.”

I stepped into a delightful little house, tastefully decorated and furnished. A lot of care had been taken.

“Nicki, this is beautiful.”

“
Well, thanks, but I'm only the tenant.”

“
You've got good taste just to want to live here.”

She took me through to the living room. House was sitting in a large comfortable chair with the ever-present sherry.

“As I live and breathe, it's Sir Dancelot – or is it Sir Singalot? I'm always getting you two mixed up. Have you had a busy day rescuing damsels in distress?”

“
Slaying a 'Dragon' seems more my style these days.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“
I'll explain it some other time, old fruit.”

Nicki handed me an envelope.
“This is what you wanted.”

“No difficulty?”

“
None at all.”

“
What do I owe you for the copy?”

“
David, really.”

“
Exactly, my dear,” said House. “When these colonials offer, grab it. You never know when they're going to dump your tea into the harbor, for God's sake. Makes for a dreadfully soggy cuppa.”

“
Just ignore his ravings, David.”

“
I usually do.”

“
Why do you need the bio on Vandenberg?”

Another evasion.
“Just some loose ends around Kate's parents. Their paths have crossed over the years. Kate can't recall – she was either too young or not taking any notice.”

“
When is Kate coming back?” asked House.

“
I don't know. I haven't heard from her, and I hate to bother her with details at a time like this. She'll let me know when the time comes. Look, you two, I hate to dash, but I'm off on a sea voyage tomorrow, and I haven't packed anything yet.”

“
How long are you away with the Russkies?” asked House.

“
I'll be back within a week. I'll see you both then.”

“
Have a lovely time, David,” said Nicki.

“
Remember what they told Marco Polo as he left for Siberia?”

“
No, House, what did they tell Marco Polo?”

“
Watch your 'steppes', old son. Maybe there's a lesson in there for you. Good luck.”

“
You be careful, too, House. I'm sorry I got you into it.”

I left them on a serious note. Why were they worried for me? I was going on a cruise for a holiday, and I was going to be with Marijke. Anything else was happenstance.

Marijke. I started thinking about her as I was driving through Admiralty Arch and down the Mall toward Buckingham Palace. I often came home this way. The Mall was quiet at night, and the vista of the palace a reassuring one, like saying goodnight to Mom on the way to bed. The Royal Standard was flying. She was home. 'Night, Mom.' I wished Marijke were with me.

Maybe her meeting was over! On one of those irrational impulses I decided to drive to her flat. Telephone first? I should. No, that would spoil the surprise. The truth was that I had made up my mind to go and nothing could stop me.

I was close, and arrived at Kensington Square in less than ten minutes. I decided to park the car on the square and walk in.

As I entered the mews I heard music again. It was a balmy evening, and most people had their windows open. The music came from Marijke's flat. She must be home.

Then I heard the laughter. Not one voice laughing, but several voices. Some of them were male. I hesitated. Perhaps the meeting was at her flat and was still going on.

Next I saw the car. The Facel Vega. Herr Kurt Werner of the West German Embassy. I was uncertain of what to do, yet drawn forward as metal to a magnet.

I was perhaps ten feet from the door when a stray gust of wind caught the drawn curtain of the main living room window, holding it out in the night and displaying the interior like a freeze-frame in a film.

In that instant my world stopped moving, the image seared into my brain.

There were five people in the room, all naked. A pale-skinned woman with dark hair was lying on her back on a coffee table, copulating with a short black man. The other woman was on her knees, bent over the table, caressing both of them orally. One man lay under this woman, another was astride her from the rear. They each had an orifice to penetrate. This woman had long, blonde hair.

She was the only one I recognized.