Derby walked over to him. He also looked at the manual. ‘Jesus, it sure does. We got to report this, and now. The launch has got to be stopped.’
Swan shrugged. ‘I’ve tried that already, everyone at the Cape is too busy to want to believe that there is a sabotage attempt on Apollo 11.’
Swan explained to Derby that before arriving at McCoy, he had been in contact with the space centre. After speaking with a low grade official he had demanded to speak to the Flight Controller, Jed Gorman, but he had been in a pre-launch meeting, chaired by Werner Von Braun.
The German director had given strict instructions that at this crucial phase, his team was not to be distracted from their main tasks. The official had tried to raise his office, but his secretary just confirmed what he had tried originally to tell Swan. When it had been suggested to him, Peter Weisemann was a suspected saboteur, the director had dismissed it as preposterous.
Swan had found it hard to believe, that despite the solid evidence, he had to convince NASA there was a plot, but they were too occupied with the impending launch to even listen. He had decided to take the matter into his own hands. He had requested the local Titusville Police Department pick him up from McCoy, so that they at least could try and possibly do something about this.
On finishing the call, he shook his head at the stubbornness of Mr von Braun, to not even grant him a meeting to listen to his story.
Swan looked at the man in front of him. What if this policeman happened to now get all the credit for foiling the plot and capturing the perpetrator? How embarrassed would NASA be then, as they came up with excuses, as to why they had decided not to act? Was their mission so important, that not even a conspiracy to destroy it, had failed to distract them from their competitive strive to beat the Russians to the Moon? It was as if this was the only thing that motivated them. Also, with the unlimited budget at their disposal, and the pressure to fulfil the prophecy of the late John F Kennedy of putting a man on the surface of the Moon before the end of the decade, it had to be achieved. Despite this, he still silently cursed Von Braun; the man’s ambitions, driving his ignorance and lack of foresight as to what might be going on within his own team.
Derby walked over to the window and moved back the curtain. ‘Do you think from the way everything has been left, that they’ll be back?’
Behind him, Swan nodded. ‘Oh yes, Sheriff. In fact, I am counting on it.’
Derby looked back into the room. ‘So what are we supposed to do till then? Sit here on our butts and hope they come through the door? I’m sure it won’t be long, before we have the FBI up our asses.’
Swan shook his head. ‘No Sheriff, I have a far better plan.’
Chapter 46
After hearing of Swan’s plan, the sheriff had agreed it was a good one, and had followed the first stage of this plan, by taking himself back outside, to wait for the signal, from the house across the street. The occupiers had answered the door to two of his uniformed officers, and after being told they had needed it for ‘police business’ for a while, they had been ushered out and sent to a restaurant in town for their own safety.
Derby watched discretely from behind the curtain. Swan had said, he would summon him, as soon as he had finished with his man, and as the sheriff chewed on his cigar, his men played a friendly game of Texas Hold’em, while seated around the table behind him. He started to like this Limey, especially when it meant, he may even beat the FBI to this, and maybe even become a national hero.
It was over an hour, before Gunther Fleischer, now alone, turned the key given to him by Weisemann, in the lock of the bungalow. He entered, walking into the kitchen.
Across the street, Derby had suddenly seen a man matching the description, entering the house. However, the woman was not with him. He became excited, and called out to his officers. ‘Hey guys? It looks like, we might have some action, at long last. Get ready.’
Inside Weisemann’s bungalow, Swan sat on a wooden chair, behind the kitchen door. He had toyed with the idea of having Wenham’s Colt ready, but that could wait. He wanted to meet this man without menace, and perhaps reason with him, seeing his objectives had all been foiled. He hoped because of this, he would just give himself up and walk out of the house with him, into the hands of the police. However, past experience had told him, egomaniacs never just come quietly; this always created room for further conflict, sometimes violent. He had thought of Frank Maitland, the rogue CIA agent, and the scuffle on top of the servicing tower inside the hangar. No, he confirmed to himself, they really do not come quietly.
He heard the man approach the kitchen. Having seen him clearly through the net curtain approaching the door, he had already established who it was. Fleischer then walked through, with his back now to Swan. ‘You do know, don’t you Merlin, that you seem to have left quite a magical body count in your trail?’
The leader of the Onyx Cross, froze. Slowly, he turned and looked at the man sitting behind the door, the educated English accent drawing him to one conclusion. ‘Mr Swan, I presume? You are indeed an interesting man. You also have a remarkable talent of staying alive.’ The German pulled a chair and sat down facing his assailant. ‘So, tell me, Mr Swan. How did you know, I would be here?’
‘Well, after fleeing West Germany, and as people in your organisation seemed to be dying by the week, it was only a simple process of elimination, you would head here. After all, if I were the head of a vast operation, spanning twenty four years, I would want to be able to witness my ultimate triumph, which is, to go to Space View Park, and watch the Saturn V take off, knowing that, in a few days, it will become the pinnacle of your achievements in making the Allies pay for stealing the technology of your former regime. Oh, and you’re going to make sure, you watched over your last two little birds, as they strike for a victory.’
Fleischer nodded in appreciation. ‘Of course, why would I not think anything different, from an adversary such as yourself? You seem to know everything: my codename, our objective. Tell me, how did you manage to know so much?’
‘Let’s just say a terrorised little French bird of prey, told me, before he threw himself off a rocket gantry. And one of your little assassins, sang like a canary in the hands of our security services, although he didn’t know much. I must congratulate you Gunther, on how tight you run your little ship.’
Fleischer frowned. ‘It is a big ship, Mr Swan, a very big ship. We have been sailing through the years, disrupting the missile and space rocket developments around the world. But then, I expect that you already know this.’
Swan sighed. He had lost count of how many times, he had heard the bragging of maniacs wanting to rule the world, and now, he was suddenly hearing them all again. World domination, the old gag, yet again. He reached for his pack of cigarettes, offering one to the German, and surprisingly, he took it. Swan came over and lit it for him, then sat back down again, pulling his chair, so that the two adversaries were now only a few feet apart, face to face with each other. Then he sensed something — this man is too relaxed. Something is not quite right.
Fleischer took a puff, then withdrew the cigarette from his mouth, holding it out to view the brand. They were American, another gift from the F-111 pilot, along with the one Swan was aware of now, pressing on his ribs. The Onyx Cross leader, took a few seconds to study the man seated before him. ‘So, I presume you did not come here alone, Mr Swan. Am I correct, in assuming this?’