‘In that case, why would an important rocket engineer, be targeted for assassination, and who could be behind it?’
Gable held the chalk and wrote the word: Assassinated with a question mark, and then drew a line and wrote: By who? / Why?
In the Firing Officer’s office at Highdown, Swan picked up the receiver. ‘Hello, Miss Wilkins, Alex Swan here, the cake was delicious. Thank you, so much.’ Morris raised his hand, to also show his appreciation. ‘Mr Morris agrees. Now, I wonder if you could be so kind and locate Mr Gruber, for us.’
In the work canteen, Gruber sat with his colleagues: Paul Baxter, Ronald Patterson and Tom Hampton. Earlier, he had listened carefully, as they had discussed their experiences of the interviews, and now after reflecting on the recent events, they all sat in complete silence.
Baxter pulled a newspaper to him to return to a half-completed crossword puzzle, as the familiar sound of Loretta Wilkins’s stiletto heels, penetrated through the door that was ajar, some of the men turning their heads to anticipate the approach of Hallett’s secretary, as she pushed the door and popped her head inside finding the German. ‘Mr Gruber? Mr Swan has sent for you.’
Gruber gazed at her. ‘Thank you, Loretta. I will come now.’ He rose from the table and walked out of the room following the secretary. Having learned that the interviews were a normal procedure in events like this, he had prepared himself for the questions, which most likely would be asked by the officers. All he had to do, was keep calm enough for anyone not to suspect anything.
Wilkins approached the door of the office, and Gruber was directly behind her when she knocked on the office door. ‘Mr Gruber for you, Mr Swan,’ she announced.
Swan roses from his chair. ‘Thank you, Miss Wilkins. Mr Gruber, please come in and take a seat.’
Morris cleared away the coffee cups, then sat back down and reached for his notepad, as Gruber sat in front of the two men.
Swan began with his interview. ‘Mr Gruber, as you are aware, we are here to investigate the tragic incident, involving Mr Powell, and as a matter of routine are interviewing everyone who was last in contact with him. Now, you are also aware of the death of your close colleague, Mr Ruger in London last Thursday?’
Gruber sat upright on the chair, holding his head high. Morris stared at him, thinking how arrogant he looked. ‘I am still shocked by the murder of my close friend, Mr Swan, and what has happened to poor Mr Powell, has only pained me more.’
Swan nodded. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Gruber, but you understand we must investigate this.’
‘Of course, Mr Swan. Please ask whatever questions that you must.’
Swan displayed a gesture of appreciation. ‘Thank you. Now, can I ask you to tell me of the events, leading up to the last Black Arrow test?’
The German fidgeted in his chair then began. ‘Of course. I recall that I walked down with the team to the Blockhouse, to carry out the observations. Mr Powell and I, were talking about Karl. At the rocket gantry, Mr Powell walked down to the efflux chamber, and I walked up the stairs to check the vents in the booster section. I have to check the vapours are ejecting freely, so that there is no build up in the exhaust valves. If they are blocked, then the rocket’s engines could easily overload and explode, you understand?’
Swan nodded. ‘Yes, of course. So, what did you do, after checking this?’
‘I leant over the rail, and called to Mr Powell, telling him, the exhaust ducts were okay.’
Swan cut in. ‘And did he acknowledge you?’
Gruber paused to think. ‘I did not think to check, as normally, he just hears me shouting anyway, and then writes this on the checking document.’
Swan nodded. ‘So, what did you do next?’
‘I walked down the steps, and over to the Blockhouse for the observation.’
Did you see Mr Powell, as you passed by the stairs, leading down to the efflux chamber?’
‘No, but I did not look out for him, and just made my way to the Blockhouse.’
‘Was there anyone in the Blockhouse, you spoke to at the time?’
‘No, Mr Swan, I just went to my station and did my job.’
‘Which was to…?’
‘Check that the mixing of the peroxide, was normal and not excessive.’
Swan summarised: ‘So that was it, you went inside, closed and secured the blast doors, and sat down at your desk ready for the countdown?’
Gruber nodded. ‘That is correct, Mr Swan.’
‘So, you were the last man to arrive at the Blockhouse?’
‘I think I was.’
‘Well you must have been Mr Gruber, because you just told me, you secured the blast doors of the Blockhouse.’
Gruber began to feel slightly agitated. ‘Yes, I was the last man inside.’
‘And, you are quite sure of this, Mr Gruber?’
Gruber confirmed. ‘Yes, Mr Swan.’
Swan sighed. ‘Okay, I would also like you to tell me a bit about your past, if you don’t mind?’
Gruber nodded his head. ‘Okay, please ask your questions.’
Swan leant forward in his chair. ‘What were your duties during the war?’
‘I was part of Herr von Braun’s team at Peenemunde, working on the A4 rocket, which later became the V-2, of course. I worked on the fuel systems for it. I also worked for a time developing the T-Stoff fuel, for the ME-163B Komet aircraft.’
Swan abruptly interrupted. ‘So, did you know Ruger during this time?’
‘Yes, Karl was more a rocket engineer, and we worked together on the Komet. He concentrated on the C-Stoff fuel for the Walter rocket engine.’
The German sniggered. ‘Please excuse me, Mr Swan, I was just thinking of us in our big grey asbestos suits. We all had to wear these you understand, even the test pilots. People used to call us The Grey Snowmen, but they saved our lives, as on many occasions, the mixture of fuel, would easily catch fire and many times, Karl and I, would even have to put out small fires on each other. I remember when we had new pilots in for testing the Komet, we would have a small cup of T- Stoff with us, and would ask them to place their finger in it. After a few minutes, their fingers would turn white, and begin to burn. The Komet was a volatile aircraft, it was so dangerous, pilots started to refuse to fly it. I believe, that in the dying days of the war, if anyone was to refuse, they would be shot by the SS.’
‘Remarkable,’ remarked Swan. ‘So, when you were working on the Komet with Ruger, do you remember a test pilot, by the name of Otto Kappelman?’
Swan saw that Gruber’s eyes instantly recognised the name. ‘I do indeed. He was one of our earlier pilots. He was a very good-looking man, and we were all jealous, because he used to attract all the frauleins in the village inn.’
‘And how close would you say he was, to Karl Ruger at that time?’
‘I would say they were extremely good friends. They would go to the inn and take out the girls together. Why are you interested in this pilot, Mr Swan?’
Swan looked at the floor for a few seconds, then lifting his head, looked straight into Gruber’s eyes. ‘Because, he was found dead on Saturday, in London. In fact, not too far from where Ruger was murdered, and it looks like Kappelman was also murdered.’
Gruber was shocked at this sudden news, and broke into his native German. ‘Ach. Mein Gott. Have the police found the killer?’
Swan shook his head. ‘Not yet. I am also leading that investigation. I was dealing with it, when I was suddenly called to come here.’
Gruber looked down and played with his fingers. ‘I hope that I have been of help in some way, Mr Swan. And I hope that you can find the killer and bring them to justice. Should you require any more information that might help, then I will be happy to help you.’