To the left of them, was a table that had been placed in front of a portable screen. Their eyes were suddenly drawn to the scale model of an old First World War aeroplane, inside a glass case.
Gable studied it carefully, and read the label on the bevelled wooden base. ‘Vickers Vimy Mark Four — flown by British aviators, James Alcock and Arthur Whitten Brown, from St Johns in Newfoundland to Clifden, Connemara, in County Galway, Ireland, June 1919.’ He smiled at his colleague. ‘Their actual plane is in the Science Museum, up on the ceiling, next to Amy Johnson’s plane, if I remember rightly.’
Swan nodded. ‘I think you may be right, Arthur.’
On the display screen, were photographs of the actual event of 50 years previous, and some of the captured moments of the race, that had taken place in 1959.
Both men were then alerted to the sudden shadow of a large figure approaching them from behind. ‘Beautiful model, isn’t it chaps?’
Swan turned and was confronted by the jovial smile of his friend, Air Commodore Higgins. He was dressed in his Number One dress uniform. ‘Good morning, gentlemen. A fine one for a high-speed flight, across the pond, what?’
‘Indeed, it is Sir Alistair.’ Swan replied. He then referred to the model. ‘Is this one of yours?’
The burly RAF officer turned to Gable, and put out his hand. ‘Arthur, long time, no see, old chap.’ Higgins crouched down to cast his eyes back to the model. ‘No, this is not one of mine, but I would certainly like to have a go at building one. All that nice detail and wire rigging to get my teeth into.’ He stood up again to view the old photographs. ‘Marvellous achievement. Did you know, they had engine trouble, while they were crossing, and Brown went out onto the wing, to repair it, while Alcock carried on flying? Tragic though; Alcock was killed a few months later, while ferrying another aircraft over to France from Brooklands; a sad end to one of the greatest pilots in aviation history.’
As if in respect, the three men stood in silence, staring at the faces of the two aviators for a few moments. Higgins then rubbed his hands. ‘Right then, chaps. Breakfast awaits us. So, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to our table. We have a splendid view. Even better when the room starts rotating.
Swan and Gable followed, as Higgins snaked his way into the restaurant. Passing the bar, Higgins paused and shook hands with a tall, grey-haired man, wearing a dark grey suit. ‘Nice to see you again, Ernst. He turned to Swan and Gable.
‘May I, introduce you to a couple of friends of mine? This is Alex Swan and Arthur Gable, attached to the Ministry of Defence. Alex, Arthur, this is, Ernst Hoffenberg, Air Attaché, from the West German Embassy.
Swan looked into the German’s eyes, and noticed that they had suddenly widened.
Hoffenberg gave the SID men a nod, and a friendly smile. ‘Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,’ he said hesitantly.
Higgins continued. ‘These two chaps, are investigating the Ruger and Kappelman murders.’
The German sighed. ‘A most foul business. I hope that you are able to find the perpetrators, gentlemen.’ He turned to the Air Commodore. ‘Now, please excuse me, Sir Alistair, I have to speak with a colleague.’ He turned to Swan and Gable. ‘Enjoy the event gentlemen.’
Swan observed, as he gave a sharp mock head-bow, turned on his heel, and walked briskly passed them out towards the lift lobby.
Swan turned his head, still watching him, until he disappeared from their view. He thought that the man had acted strangely, when Higgins had introduced them.
Higgins then prompted him. ‘Alex?’
Swan shrugged. ‘Yes, of course. Please lead the way, Sir Alistair.’
Gable suddenly took hold of Swan’s arm. ‘You’re doing that faraway face, again. What is it Alex?’
‘Not sure old boy,’ he whispered. ‘Just the way Hoffenberg acted, when he was introduced to us. There’s something not quite right about it. Never mind for now, let’s eat.’
They followed Higgins as he gestured to them to take their seats at a table, next to a large window, looking out over the West End of London. The table had been covered with a blue table cloth, sterling silver cutlery, and red napkins, had been neatly laid out on it. On the next table, a woman in a light pink velvet jacket, sat eating a plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon; her face was half covered by a cream coloured wide- brimmed hat, to shield her eyes from the sunlight.
Opposite her, sat a small man with silver grey hair, with a central bald patch, and as Swan placed himself in his seat, he accidently nudged him in the back.
He turned his head slightly to apologise. ‘Please excuse me, sir, they don’t seem to have allowed a lot of room between the tables, I’m afraid.’
The man acknowledged, and staring into Swan’s face with an expression of full recognition, produced a beaming smile. In his Yorkshire brogue, he exulted in excitement. ‘Alex!’ He then looked over recognising Gable. ‘Arthur! What the blazes are you two doing here?’ He turned to Higgins pointing his finger. ‘Sir Alistair, you old rogue. You knew, that Alex and Arthur were coming, and funny how you didn’t happen to mention it earlier, did you? Howard Barnett turned to his wife. ‘Heidi, look who it is.’
The woman in the hat looked up and in her Swiss English accent, she gasped. ‘Oh my god, Mr Swan.’ She then scowled at Higgins, just as the waiter was serving him his breakfast. ‘You are so naughty, Sir Alistair, in not telling us.’
Higgins gave a smug look. ‘Well, I thought I would keep it from you, and have a little joke on you all.’
Swan then shook the man’s hand. ‘How the devil are you then HB?’ He reached over and kissed Heidi Barnett, on the cheek. ‘So nice to see you again, Heidi.’
Heidi Barnett smiled, giving a friendly pout. ‘Hello Alex, it has been a long time.’
Her husband interrupted. ‘Yes, it certainly has, four years, if I’m not mistaken?’
Swan sat down at their table. ‘So, what have you been doing with yourselves since we last met?’
Barnett sat back down on his chair, explaining he had been busy assisting SEPECAT with the Jaguar aircraft project. ‘An old Brinton colleague asked me, if I could give him a hand in the development of the Adour engines, for the plane. They aren’t that different from the BRE-300E, we had on the Rapier, just a little smaller, and therefore not as powerful with the thrust. I bumped into Sir Alistair, the other week up at Warton, when he was being shown around the works by the BAC bigwigs, and he invited me and my good lady wife, here to see the Harrier take off for the race. I’m really looking forward to hearing that Pegasus vector thrust engine, as it lifts that wonderful machine, into the sky.’
Higgins leant over and made a comment. ‘I say though, Mrs Barnett? You had better hold on to that hat of yours, when Squadron Leader Lecky-Thompson, takes off, or it might be taking a flight of its own, across London.’
Heidi laughed and adjusted her hat on her head.
Higgins then had the waiters join the two tables together and the five of them, sat in conversation, watching their changing view of London, as the floor revolved.
Higgins pointed to the groove in the floor, revealing how the mechanism worked, and Gable watched stared mesmerised, as the restaurant’s logo became distorted, while the outer section of the floor revolved.
Barnett turned to Swan. ‘So, Alex. What are you and Arthur doing, then?’
‘Well, if I was to tell you, HB, I would have to kill you,’ he joked.
‘No, we are currently investigating the murders of the two Germans, found in London last week.’ Swan decided not to disclose the other business, regarding the incidences at Highdown.
Barnett nodded in recognition. ‘Oh, yes. I read about that. One of them was a wartime Luftwaffe test pilot, wasn’t he? Flew the Komet or Devil’s Chariot, as it was better known at the time. We had one of those Walther rocket engines, on test up at Brinton after the war. What a volatile piece of machinery, it was too. I don’t envy those poor men, who had to work with it, I can tell you. So, how’s the investigation going then? I saw the pictures of the two suspects in the paper. Any clues, as to who they are?’