Stratton nodded in agreement. ‘Indeed, there could be, Alex. Have you managed to find out any more about what Ruger, muttered to Stevenson?’
‘Nothing, still yet, John, I just don’t know, what it could mean. I thought perhaps, ‘the eagle will fall’, statement, Ruger made, may have something to do with Germany. The bird is on their national flag, so maybe it means, West Germany will suffer in some way.’
Stratton shrugged. ‘Who knows, Alex? Right, I’ve got to go now, I’ll make some calls in the morning, and I suggest that you try not to venture out in public for a few days, just in case this Onyx Cross, are on to you. I’m sure you have plenty of things to keep you occupied in the office, for a while?’
‘Of course, John, you know me, always busy,’
Stratton nodded. ‘Yes indeed,’ he huffed, rising irritatingly from his chair, knowing full well, the SID man always had things he did not disclose to this MI5 Head of Section. ‘Well, take care, Alex and keep in touch.’ He shook Swan’s hand.
‘I will, John. See you soon.’
Chapter 27
Taking Stratton's advice, Swan had decided to keep a low profile. On the Friday, he finally had the chance to clear up the long running case, he had been assigned to, before the Ruger incident, and after concluding his findings, had gratefully handed the remaining details over to Special Branch to finish up.
Now SID could wholeheartedly concentrate on the Onyx Cross, but the same few underlying questions remained. What is the Eagle and why will it fall? Where are Ruger and Kappelman’s killers?
With Janet Ross away for the weekend to visit her mother in the Cotswolds, Swan had spent his free time at his flat in Bayswater, and on both evenings, decided to take a stroll in Hyde Park. This had helped him put things into perspective, and on Sunday after his walk, he had formed a plan, a strategic plan to get to Fleischer.
After writing up some notes, and making a quick phone call to Janet, checking she had got back safely to her flat in Primrose Hill, he had taken his paperback copy of Len Deighton's novel, Horse under Water, to bed, settling down in readiness for an early rise, the next morning.
The green painted wooden hut was small, and at equal points around it, stood four erect masts and aerial wires criss-crossed overhead, at points above the roof. Inside the building, was a long desk with a row of monitoring equipment. At the end of the line, on the wall, was a green telephone, and although silent for a few seconds, it then began to ring.
Swan awoke suddenly, and looked at his clock. It was 11.30 pm. He had only been asleep for one and a half hours. As he lay for a couple of minutes, he realised that this recurring dream, was becoming more vivid and detailed.
It had started following the visit to the Imperial War Museum, and each time he had the dream, more events had been added to it.
He now instantly recognised the hut, as that of the Y Station, situated on a hill in Sutton Valance; a village to the south of Maidstone in Kent. As a junior officer in the Royal Corps of Signals, Swan had been stationed there as a radio officer, during the latter part of the Second World War. His job was to monitor German radio traffic, and send the messages to Station X, at Bletchley Park for decoding. The work was crucial, the Allied push into France, was well under way, but the threat of the V-2 rockets being launched from mobile launchers, proved to be a new threat to London.
Advanced warning of these launchings, would be advantageous, as an air assault could be instigated, providing the intelligence was accurate. Therefore, the work of the Y Stations, scattered around Southern England, were highly important to this operation.
It was on one of those days, while recording a lengthy message, triangulating from a point deep within the Ahrenwald, a heavily-wooded area on the German/Dutch border, that the ringing green telephone was a sound Lieutenant Alexander Swan, would never be able to forget.
The next day, at 7.55am, Swan and Gable walked into the foyer of the Post Office Tower, approaching an attractive young blonde receptionist, dressed in a navy suit, with a red scarf tied around her neck.
She greeted them both with a smile. ‘Good morning gentlemen. Welcome to the Post Office Tower. May I help you?’
Swan showed her his ticket, Gable following up behind, to show his. The receptionist checked them and nodded, instructing them to make their way to the lift area, and as they moved away, she called out to them. ‘Before you go gentlemen, do any of you suffer from motion sickness? The lift car travels quite fast, so I thought, I better warn you just in case.’
Swan smiled at the girl, looking at her name badge. ‘I think, we'll be okay, thanks, Alice.’
The girl smiled back, she loved it when visitors used her name. ‘I hope you enjoy our tower, gentlemen.’
She turned to attend to other guests, who had just entered.
Swan and Gable knew already, that the Post Office Tower had been opened to the public in 1966, and standing 364 feet high, instantly became the tallest building in London, attracting thousands of tourists.
The futuristic looking megalith, had been built as a communications relay station to accommodate the many personnel inside its thirty-eight-floored structure. On Floor 34, was a revolutionary revolving restaurant, powered by a small engine, allowing diners a 360-degree, panoramic view of London, in 22 minutes, as it slowly rotated around the tower’s central core.
With its full al la carte menu, Billy Butlin’s Top of the Tower Restaurant, offered such culinary delights, as the aptly named, La Tour Ronde, a large steak with all the trimmings. One floor below was the public observation gallery, and since its opening, thousands of visitors had queued around the building each day, to visit, giving them the opportunity to view Britain’s capital city, like they had never done before.
One floor above the restaurant, was a cocktail lounge, where the rich and famous, sampled the especially themed cocktails, before moving downstairs for their exciting eating experience.
Swan and Gable stood in front of the red lift doors. They opened, to be greeted by a short young man, dressed in a red uniform waiting inside. ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to the Post Office Tower. My name is Sam. Are you here for the Air Race reception?’
‘That’s right,’ nodded Gable.
Sam smiled. ‘Then, please step in and prepare yourselves for your lightning ride, to the thirty fourth floor,’ he announced, excitedly, sounding very much like he was quoting from a script.
The two men did as instruct. As the doors closed, Swan took in the blue interior of the lift, and then both men watched attentively, as the red-numbered buttons flashed in sequence at a terrific speed.
Gable showed a moment of elation, as the lift car was rapidly pulled by its high-speed winch. He was curious as to how fast they were travelling, so asked the attendant.
Sam had been expecting this query. After all, it was the most frequently asked question. ‘Right now, gentlemen, we are travelling at twelve hundred feet per minute.’ He pointed to an electronic counter above the door, which confirmed his statement and the two men stared at this. Suddenly, the speed began to decrease, the lift car beginning to slow down, as the light moved onto the thirty fourth button on the panel, and remained there.
With a slight jolt, they came to a sudden stop, before the doors parted in front of them.
Sam made another rehearsed announcement. ‘Here we are then, gentlemen. Floor Thirty-Four: The Top of the Tower.’
The two SID men, exited the lift. Adjusting himself to the intense sunlight, coming through the large windows, Gable looked at the temporary banner above their heads, titled: The Daily Mail Transatlantic Air Race Checkpoint Entrance.