He also noticed other people, and the vehicles passing him. To carry out his task, he needed them to move to a more secluded spot.
At the base of Waterloo Bridge, Swan and Ross crossed the road and went up the steps. Baumann followed. A man in his early sixties, wearing a dark suit passed him, as he ascended the stone staircase, and now almost at the top of the bridge, Baumann noticed another man walking down in front of him.
Suddenly, the man pulled out a pistol, shouting at him. ‘Halt, Armed Police!’ Baumann stopped in surprise, and raised his hands. He then turned to see the man who had passed him. Arthur Gable was also holding a pistol. At the bottom of the stairs, two uniformed policemen revealed themselves. Two more, then arrived on the bridge, and more guns were pointed at the German, from the top of the staircase as other plain clothes officers had appeared,
Detective Superintendent, Martin Round, stood in front of him, calling out to the constables. ‘Search this man, gentlemen.’
The officers walked down the stairs and approached Baumann, his hands still raised. They went through his jacket, taking only a few seconds to find the Schnellfeuer machine pistol, he had used to threaten the Stevensons.
The constable held up the gun. ‘Just this, sir. He handed it to Round.
Baumann then heard the clatter of stiletto heels, as Ross and Swan came back into view. ‘
‘Well done, Superintendent,’ commended Swan. ‘Looks like we have our other killer, at last.’
Round smiled. ‘An excellent location to get our man. Very well chosen, Mr Swan.’ Baumann stared coldly at Swan. Feeling utterly dejected, only one conclusion burned in his mind: Stevenson, must have alerted him.
It had been earlier in the day, Arthur Gable had received a call from Chelsea Harbour, warning him of the assassin. Gable had informed Swan of the impending trouble, and wasn’t long before they had noticed a man outside in the street, who as well as displaying suspicious behaviour, had resembled one of the suspects in the Ruger case.
With Baumann still watching the office, Swan had exited the back entrance, descended the metal fire escape attached at the back of the building, and from a discreet vantage point, had watched the stranger casually, as he walked back out onto Victoria Embankment and got into his car.
Swan noticed the car to be the black Ford Consul Detective Inspector Lionel Dugdale, had mentioned seeing on the Isle of Wight. He had then called Janet Ross and arranged for her to meet him, and sensing trouble, telephoned Paddington Green Police Station, to set up the sting with Round, to snare this killer.
Swan had deliberately opted to stay on the opposite side of the road, to make a possible drive-by shooting attempt from his pursuer difficult, as he would have the added problem of on-coming traffic, the passing vehicles minimising the German’s chances of hitting his intended target while on the move.
Baumann had also realised this, opting to follow them on foot. At that moment, providing he did not decide to attack instantaneously, he had entered Swan’s net. Also, unknown to Baumann, as he paced behind the couple was that some of the people walking past them had been undercover police officers, discretely indicated to Swan, his man was still behind him. Once they had passed Baumann, they had taken up position, and followed to the staircase leading up to the bridge.
Initially, when Swan had informed Janet Ross of the assassin following them, she had had to contain the shock, then the adrenaline had kicked in, as she predicted the movements of the killer, walking behind them, waiting to choose his moment. It had made her think of Christopher, her older brother who had been killed in the war, exciting her that she too, was taking part in something, so death defying.
Round had lay in wait on top of the bridge, arranging his officers to take up position alongside Gable, out of sight on the opposite side.
With their prize now standing helpless in front of them, Round’s comment had been justified. It had indeed been the perfect place to apprehend their man.
As the group of armed officers surrounded the assassin, Swan smiled at the big German. ‘Now, I wonder if you can tell me all about your employer, Herr Fleischer.’
With cold steely eyes, the Onyx Cross killer, stared directly at him.
Swan repeated his request, this time using perfect German. Suddenly, Baumann’s eyes came alive. He froze for a few seconds, moving his tongue around the inside of his mouth.
Swan waited. Would Baumann be helpful and co-operate with him, or remain as tight-lipped as his accomplice? His eyes were then drawn to the side of the gunman’s mouth as a fleck of white foam appeared. Baumann then laughed at him, revealing much more of the substance, and with a final sneer at the SID man, his eyes rolled inwards as he slumped to the floor.
Swan leaped to his side and studied the foam, as it poured out, then shook his head in recognition of the scene, saying only one word, ‘Cyanide.’
Baumann had probed for the false tooth, released it from its cavity and bit hard. With its host having now slipped into oblivion, the foam ceased, turning the top half of the dead man’s black leather jacket to slushy snow.
Working late in his office, John Stratton was writing notes for his secretary Hayley Thomas, to type up for him first thing in the morning, when he picked up the ringing telephone to Dennis Martin. Martin sounded jubilant. ‘We have the bastard’s name, John and more to the point, we have the name of who he’s working for.’
Stratton listened with interest, as Martin informed him of the details. ‘That’s damn good work, Dennis. I’ll tell Alex in the morning.’
Martin quickly added that it wasn’t all without the help from his enforcer.
Stratton concluded. ‘Please thank Ammo for me. You can take Mr Trost to the Scrubs now, and let what’s left of him rot there, for a while. Swan was right, this German businessman, Fleischer is our man. We need to get some surveillance placed on him. I’ll contact Bruno Weitz, first thing tomorrow.’
Chapter 37
The activity at Launch Pad 39B, Cape Canaveral, suggested the impending Apollo 10 mission was working to schedule, with assorted vehicles passing from the assembly block, to the pad.
Peter Weisemann looked through the windscreen as he approached the launch platform and looked up at the mighty Saturn V rocket, sitting poised, an array of lights surrounding the gantry; and swarms of personnel moving around on every level. To him, this rocket was everything he had dreamed of during the war, seeing it as a far superior version of the A-4 missile.
Had his organisation had this technology at the time, the war would have ended differently, he was sure of it.
In the vehicle’s cabin behind him, was a wooden crate, full of components for the Lunar Module, he had recently tested. He stopped beneath the gantry and walked inside, where a white-coated technician, acknowledged him. ‘I have the back-up guidance unit for the LEM,’ announced the German engineer.
‘Okay, Mr Weisemann, I will get some guys to help with the unloading.’
‘If all goes well Max, our next mission will be a Moon landing,’ he said in mock admiration.
At Wellesley Mews, Swan handed John Stratton a cup of tea, then sat down opposite him at his desk. The MI5 Head of A Section, was a plump figure. His thinning dark hair brushed to one side, he began to sweat in his grey three piece, as he sat in the direct sunlight, blazing through the window. ‘
Swan offered him a cigarette. So, John. How shall we tackle Fleischer?’.
Stratton took the cigarette. ‘Well, Alex, I’ve already spoken to Bruno, and being the cautious fellow that he is, he decided to tap his phone, in any case.’ He picked up his briefcase, pulled out some documents and handed them to Swan. ‘Here are the transcripts.’