On his release, he had discovered an account number in his wife's name, with a balance of thirty thousand dollars in it. A trust fund for his boys from a legitimate benefactor, had also been set up, while he had been doing his time. This was enough for him to set up in the sunshine state; unfortunately for him, the cops were suspicious of how an ex-con, could suddenly afford to relocate, so soon after his release from jail. Frank was constantly hounded by the FBI, until one night, he had discovered a team of detectives with torches, going through his office filing cabinets. One of them had then panicked, and pulling a revolver, shot him three times in the chest; Frank had been declared dead on arrival at the hospital. His twin sons were only twelve years old, when they attended their father’s funeral.
Tony drove away from the diner and gave one last glance at the police car, before turning onto the main road. Inside the diner, the cops had finished their lunch of pancakes and walked over to the bar to pay.
Keneally took their bill, ‘So, what are you guys gonna be doing now?’
The taller of them, replied, ‘Oh, nothing really, Steve. We've just had this APB, and are on the lookout for this man and his dame.’
Keneally smiled. ‘Sounds as though you guys are searching for Bonnie and Clyde. What have they done?’
His joke caused the men to laugh. ‘We don’t know the reason for the APB, but they’re a couple of Kraut tourists, which around here, is half of the god-damned population.’
The diner owner’s usually rosy complexion, suddenly turned pale.
At an Italian restaurant in South Street, Fleischer sat poised at the table, and looked at the lunch menu. Earlier, he had received a call at the house from Weisemann, the engineer informing him that he had sickness in his team, so had to stay on to help, in preparation for the Apollo launch.
Holz sat opposite and took in her surroundings, glancing at the American people around her, laughing and enjoying their meals. Over on one side of the room, a young couple were in deep conversation at a corner table.
Fleischer spoke to her. ‘You seem nervous again, my dear. Is everything alright?’
She smiled at him. ‘Yes, Gunther. Everything is fine. Why do you ask?’
‘I thought perhaps, something was troubling you.’
‘No, there is nothing. I am fine, and ready to eat.’
Fleischer nodded. ‘Yes, let us do that. Some wine as well, perhaps?’
‘That would be excellent.’
Fleischer raised his hand to beckon over a waiter to order their meals. To all the other diners, they just looked like a typical couple, out for dinner. Over dinner, Fleischer had made some humorous comments, and Holz had laughed. She began to feel slightly more relaxed, and settled into her dessert. He took a serviette, wiping his mouth. ‘It is a pity, Peter could not join us tonight, the meal was most excellent.’
Holz agreed. Then suddenly, her attention was drawn to the sound of a siren and flashing red lights shooting passed. She shuddered. Fleischer reached over to her. He had never seen her like this before. She had always been calm and assertive, but lately, he thought that she had become withdrawn and on edge. ‘Relax, my liebschen. Everything will be alright, I promise.’
She gripped his fingers tightly. ‘I hope so Gunther. For our sakes.’
The German leant back in his chair. ‘At least, the accursed Mr Swan is a long way from here and cannot bother us now,’ he assured her, raising his glass to whisper a toast. ‘To our victory, Katrina.’
Holz mirrored the gesture. ‘To our victory, Gunther.’
Chapter 44
At McCoy Air Force Base, the F-111 taxied in from the runway with its canopies open, and followed the escort jeep to the dispersal area.
Swan unstrapped his mask, and for the first time in four and a half hours, breathed the sweet and clear afternoon air.
Wenham chuckled. ‘Well, Alex, I bet you are the first British G-man, to travel to the States, this fast.’
Swan nodded smiling, and shouted over the whine of the engines, that were calming down, after the supersonic Trans-Atlantic flight. ‘Without a doubt. And I have enjoyed every minute of it.’
Wenham steered the big bomber, following the lines on the tarmac. The jeep flashed its red lights and the pilot applied the brakes. Swan watched, as two men in green overalls moved under the machine to secure the wheels with wooden chocks. Then they pushed a ladder into the side of the aircraft.
Swan unbuckled his harness and gently climbed out, placing one foot onto the top platform of the steps. He called out to him. ‘Hey, careful standing up buddy. Remember, you’ve been wearing the Anti-G suit all this time, and for first timers, things can be a bit shaky.’
Swan appreciated the tip, as he soon realised after standing on the platform, his legs felt like jelly, beneath him, causing him to grasp the side rails.
Wenham called out to him. ‘You okay, Alex?’
Swan raised a reassuring hand, and a few minutes later, they walked towards the mess.
Inside the building, Wenham escorted Swan to the bar, ordering him a strong black coffee. Half an hour later, he was helped out of the flying suit, and handed his holdall. After a shower and a change of clothes, he suddenly felt rejuvenated.
Next to him, Wenham was finalising his own change of clothes. ‘Say, Alex? Do you have a ‘piece’ in your luggage, for whatever it is, you’re over here for?’ The pilot gestured by holding up a black holster, containing his USAF standard issue, Colt automatic pistol.
Swan looked at it. ‘I normally make it a rule of mine, not to carry one.’
Wenham thrust the holster into his hands. ‘Do yourself a favour, Alex, take this. I gotta hunch, you may need it today.’
It was half an hour later, as he was shaking Wenham’s hand, thanking him for the flight, that a man in an immaculate USAF uniform approached them. ‘Mr Swan, I am to take you to the County Sheriff. I have instructions to drive you there, right now, sir.’
Sheriff Roland P Derby was a big man with greying, curly hair. Having served as a Lieutenant in the Marines during the Korean War, he had built himself up a reputation for dealing with difficult situations. Nicknamed ‘Roly’ by his police colleagues, he was pleased to be on such an unusual case. He took the big Panama cigar from his mouth, blew a couple of smoke rings, and leant back in his chair.
Opposite him, Swan smiled to himself; thinking how stereotypical this man was; a real John Wayne. He could clearly see him in the Wild West, leading a posse of deputies, in pursuit of some notorious bank heist gang.
Derby gave the Englishman a hard glare. ‘So, Mr Swan, your man it seems, could be shacked up with his woman at this, German NASA guy’s house.’
Swan nodded. ‘The thought had occurred to me, when I was informed at the airbase Sheriff.’
‘So, you think that this ex-Nazi, is dangerous?’
‘Absolutely, he already has the death of four men on his hands. So, I would suggest, we play this as safe, as we possibly can.’
‘So, this guy, Fleischer? You met ‘im?’
‘No, Sheriff, I haven’t yet had that pleasure. I just seem to meet with all the things, he leaves in his wake.’
Derby frowned. ‘Geez, Swan. This guy is starting to make Charles Manson, sound like a Sunday school preacher.’
Swan smiled at the sheriff’s inference. ‘Precisely, that’s why we need to approach this strategically, and if you could let me lead your men, that would be much appreciated.’
Derby looked Swan up and down. Who was this guy from England? And how dare he ask him to step down as lead for this operation. But then, he realised, having never had to track down an international terrorist leader before, had to relent to the man from the British Government, after all, he was supposed to be the expert, and the authorities, would not have gone to all that expense, to fly him over in a supersonic jet bomber, if he wasn’t worthy.