‘Peter, how the devil are you, old chap?’
‘Oh, mustn’t grumble. It’s been a long time, Alex. What brings you into Holborn then?’
‘As a matter of fact, I’m with someone, if you get my meaning.’
Peter looked behind him, eyeing Ross lighting another cigarette. ‘I say Alex, you seem to have struck lucky there, old boy. Have you known her long?’
‘We used to work together, and have been attached for a couple of years now.’
Mander smiled. ‘So, do I see the great Alex Swan, finally settling down at last?’
‘Well, let’s just say, I’m working on it, Peter.’
Mander hit Swan on the back. ‘Oh, jolly good show Alex. Will I get an introduction at some point, this evening?’
‘Of course, old boy, I’m just going to get a drink.’
Mander put up his hand. ‘Tell you what, Alex? Please let me buy you that drink.’
Swan smiled appreciatively. ‘That’s awfully kind of you, Peter. Thank you.’
‘Not at all. My pleasure. What’ll you have?’
Swan asked for a pint of bitter, and Mander called for the barman and ordered it, with another whisky for himself.
‘So, Alex, do you have any gritty cases at the moment?’
‘Nothing worth any of your page space, Peter.’
‘You never did tell me what the contents of that envelope was, did you?’
‘Well I didn’t need to in the end, did I? Especially, when I was able to come back and collect it from you.’
Swan took his glass from the bar. ‘Well, Peter, perhaps I will see you a bit later. Many thanks for the beer.’
They clinked glasses. ‘Cheers.’
‘You’re welcome, Alex.’ Mander looked over at Janet Ross as she watched Swan return, and catching her eye, raised his glass at her.
Ross was seething when Swan returned to the table. ‘You took your time. And who’s that man over there, who just raised his glass and smiled at me?’
Swan sat down. ‘An old acquaintance of mine, Peter Mander. He’s a newshound. I’ll introduce him to you later. Just do us a favour, and don’t tell him who you work for, or he’ll have our story in the first edition tomorrow morning.’
Ross suddenly had a thought. ‘Talking of the papers, I take it, there’s a blackout with the saboteur incident, at Highdown? I haven’t seen anything about it, or heard about it on the news.’
Swan nodded. ‘Yes, I have requested, we keep it that way. The last thing we need, is for the Press to start making a link with the two murders, and what went on at Highdown. That would really hinder the next phase.’
Ross homed in. ‘So, what is this next phase?’
‘To find this person who is pulling the strings on all this.’
‘Have you any leads?’
‘Not right now, but I have a suspicion, they are not in this country. Swan suddenly halted his conversation. ‘
‘Oh, watch out, here comes Peter,’ he warned.
Mander approached them with another glass of whisky in his hand, and a cigarette in his mouth. So, Alex, please will you introduce me to this charming lady.’
Swan rose from his chair and introduced them to each other. Ross turned and shook the freelance Fleet Street reporter’s already outstretched sweaty palm. ‘Pleased to meet you, Peter,’ she said smiling.
Mander smiled. ‘I say, that’s a most striking blouse you have on, Janet. Lovely colour. Really matches your hair.’
Ross thanked him for his compliment, giving Swan a pleading glance, as Mander continued. ‘So, what do you do then, Janet? Alex told me that you used to work together.’
Swan looked at her, dreading how she would answer this awkward question, but then realised that he had no need to fret.
‘I’m in clerical recruitment,’ she lied convincingly.
Swan’s expression was one of surprise.
Mander sniggered. ‘Ah, plenty of need for that these days. Only the other day, one of the editors, I work with, fired his secretary, while I was in his office. Anyway, I must be off, got a report to write for tomorrow’s Standard. Be seeing you both. Nice to meet you Janet. Perhaps I may see you again sometime.’
Ross gave him a friendly nod. ‘Goodbye, Peter. Nice to have met you too.’
They both watched, as the reporter walked towards the door.
Swan looked at Ross and praised her. ‘You were good, clerical recruitment, well done.’
Ross fumbled with her handbag. ‘I’ve been working in a spook’s office for so long now, that it almost becomes a habit to lie. Anyway, now I’m hungry. So, what’s your plan for dinner then, Mr Swan?’
‘I thought that we could catch a table at the trattoria around the corner, near the square,’ he suggested.
Ross picked up her handbag. ‘Then take me there, or I’ll get one of them to take me,’ she teased again, gesturing to the three dark suited men standing at the bar.
Swan leant over and kissed her on the lips. ‘Then, I better whisk you out of here, and into my little green chariot, before I have to fight them off with my sword.’
Ross took a hold of his head and pulling it towards her, whispered in his ear. ‘Oh, my brave and noble knight. For such gallantry, my heart is truly yours, this evening.’
Chapter 25
The next morning in his office, at the construction vehicle factory, Gunther Fleischer, pondered over the recent events in England, and cursed to himself, as his thoughts were again of the man sent from Whitehall, to investigate the incident.
He had heard nothing from Jean Lempiere in the last three days, and wondered what could be happening. The last report he received from his men, was they had observed Swan’s car boarding the ferry. Fleischer did not like this situation, as unnerving questions started to run through his mind. What has happened to Lempiere? How much does Swan now know? But most of all, are the plans of The Onyx Cross, in any danger?
On his desk, was the day’s edition of Die Welt, the German national newspaper. opened to page 4, dominated by a photograph of the River Thames in London. The German text showed the headline: Police Search for Rocket Man’s Killers. Below the river photo, was a copy of the photo-fits, supplied by Gable and Whittaker. This had been another factor which had also upset the German businessman; for he knew that for fear of being identified, his men would now have to keep a low profile, especially when together. In a fit of rage, he snatched the newspaper from the desk, throwing it across the room, as his mind raced with possibilities.
In Wellesley Mews, Swan studied the images in a similar article in The Daily Telegraph, then looked over at his colleague. ‘Let us hope, these photo-fit pictures, turn up with something, Arthur.’
Gable grunted, ‘well, I don’t think they’ll be going around as a pair for a while. Every bobby in London is on alert for them.’
Swan agreed. ‘The Press blackout for Highdown, is going to be lifted today, so we can expect it to be front page news tomorrow.’
Gable looked at his watch. ‘I think it’s time for elevenses.’
‘Coffee sounds good. I want to pop down to the War Museum after lunch, and speak with my old friend, Charles Bedworth-Jones. He helped me with my enquiries on Lempiere, and I think he may be able to help us with understanding more about this Operation Sternstruppe, which may give more insight to the Onyx Cross.
Gable popped his head out from the kitchen. ‘In that case, I’ll like to come with you. I’ve never been there and it has always been a place, I’ve wanted to visit.’
That afternoon, Gable drove his large saloon through the main gates of the Imperial War Museum and parked alongside other cars in the staff car park. As they climbed out, they paused to admire the recently installed 15-inch naval guns, which stood on their concrete mount before the entrance to the domed topped building.