He realised he was in a trough. Like the sea-swell beneath the carrier's hull, he was in a trough. The general's face was a moment of calm.
He wouldn't have sent the photograph to his father, not in a lifetime, not in a million years…
Father -
Street, monument, dark hedge, front door, corridors, marble staircase, urns, white room, white room white room white -
The finding of his thread appalled him. He tried to shrink from the general whose face bore down on him, enlarging like the opening jaws of a fish -
Fish. Black fish — airframe. Water — drowning. Firefox — lake, sleeve trapped, cut free, airframe intact…
He knew he was out of the trough now. He even knew, for the briefest moment, that he was drugged. He knew where he was, he knew he was being deceived, he knew he must say nothing. Then that moment went. He wanted to talk. Had to talk.
'Dying… dying… dying-dying, dying, dying…' Seemed to be all the general was saying, though his lips did not move except to make his smile broader. The words seemed to come out of the air and fill the room. He disbelieved them for a moment then did not know why he disbelieved…
Then-
'He's not dying!' Aubrey's voice. 'For God's sake, he didn't crash — he didn't eject — the aircraft's still out there somewhere.' Aubrey did not come into view. The general's face looked away. His head shook sadly. An earpiece and a wire came out of the general's ear. Gant realised he was deaf. His father had worn an uglier, more obvious one. The general was deaf.
'He's dying, Kenneth…' He turned back to Gant. 'Tell us the airplane was destroyed.'
Deaf — would he hear? Gant reached up — huge effort, sweat bathed his body, but he grabbed the general's uniform and pulled him nearer so that he could hear. He placed his lips near the general's ear, near the earpiece…
'Not burned… not burned…' Something seemed to hurry him, quicken inside him like an increase in adrenalin. He began to babble incoherently, desperately trying to make himself understood. 'Not burned… drowning… drowning — on fire, but water, water… not burned… landed, not burned…water…'
The general's earpiece fell from his ear. Gant lay back in abject apology. His body twitched with adrenalin, or something. He felt too alive, a collection of jangling nerve-ends. He scrabbled for the earpiece. The general shouted at him, jerked away, but Gant held the earpiece. A long wire snake unreeled in his hand, seemingly alive. There was nothing at the other end of the wire, no box in the general's breast-pocket, like his father had. The wire trailed away out of sight.
Someone shouted, almost a snarl. He did not understand the language. Truth bubbled in his throat as self-pity had done. He gritted his teeth, held the words back, making them into a growl…
He did not know why he was stopping himself from speaking. The adrenalin demanded it. His body twitched and jumped with it. If he could tell, say everything, then he could relax. He must tell — must tell…
He sat up, jerkily, quickly, mechanically. Sat up in bed. Not bad for a dying man…
Not dying — tell — explain — in the lake…
'Not — explain!' he said through his teeth, looking around him. 'Listen!' he cried.
He saw two figures in one corner of the room. And flowers. And other faces. Nurse, doctor, general, man in suit -
Two generals…Blue and brown…
They stared at each other, the two generals.
'Listen to me!' Gant screamed. He had to tell them now — he had to. He would burst, explode, If he didn't get the words out. He had to tell them.' Listen!'
He moved, tried to pull his legs out of the bed but they would not move and he felt himself tumble forward. The floor rushed up at him, blue and white tiles. He dived at it, striking it with all the force of the energy surging through him.
Vladimirov rushed forward, shaking off the interrogator's restraining arm garbed in the USAF uniform, and knelt by the unconscious American. Blood seeped from Gant's forehead where it had struck the tiles. Vladimirov, in his frustrated rage, smeared it over Gant's face and neck like some horrific tribal badge of manhood. Then he turned to look at the interrogator in his American uniform.
'You had him!' he raged. 'You had him in the palm of your hand!'
The doctor lifted Gant's body back onto the bed. Then the nurse wiped the smeared blood from his face and dabbed antiseptic on the spreading, livid bruise. Vladimirov stood up and moved away from the bed. Gant was breathing stertorously, his chest heaving up and down as the last effects of the stimulant surged through his body. Uselessly -
'It is a matter of time,' the interrogator said, checking the earpiece the doctor had removed from Gant's hands. He had used it to listen to the comments of his aide, seated in another room in front of a bank of monitors where hidden cameras focused on eye-movements, muscular reaction, a hundred other tiny factors. He shook his head ruefully. 'A pity — but next time for certain — '
Vladimirov grabbed him by the upper arms. 'I want that information — I want it tonight!'
'He has to be allowed to rest now. We have to clear his system before we try again.'
'I want that information!'
'You'll have it — before morning,' the interrogator snapped, shaking off Vladimirov's fierce grip. 'Before morning!'
The Hercules transport, bathed in hard white light, sat like a stranded whale at the end of the runway. Beyond it, the lights of Lincoln created a dull, furnace-like glow on the underside of the low clouds. As he stood with Pyott near the RAF Land-Rover which would ferry him to the transport aircraft, Aubrey was impatient. The breeze lifted Pyott's grey hair and dishevelled it. It gave a wild, almost prophetic emphasis to the gloomy expression on his features.
Buckholz and Curtin were already on board. The Hercules waited only for Aubrey. The small, routine Ops. Room was behind him. He had left it, and the larger underground room beneath it, with a sense of freedom, of advantages gained, of wilfully having got his own way.
Now, Pyott held him — like the Ancient Mariner, Aubrey thoaght irreverently, and then said, 'Well, Giles, I wasn't on my way to a wedding, but you've nevertheless detained me. What is it you want to say?' His smile was an attempt to jostle Pyott into a more acquiescent mood. The soldier smoothed down his wind-blown hair and returned the smile.
'I want your assurance, Kenneth — ' he began.
'Oh, don't be so solemn!' Aubrey chided.
'Kenneth-damn it, you're impossible! I want your assurance, your solemn word that if the Skyhook does not arrive before the deadline expires — you will destroy the airframe completely.'
'Oh, Giles — '
'Don't "Oh, Giles" me, Kenneth. The airframe must not be left intact for anyone else to retrieve. You must salvage the most important systems and then destroy the rest. Now, do I have your word on it?' He paused, then added, 'It's too serious for anything less than your word. I know it isn't in your orders — you've persuaded everyone that your precious Skyhook will arrive — but, you must make certain the Firefox is not recovered by the Soviet Union. That is imperative.'
Aubrey patted Pyott's arm, just at the elbow. 'I promise, Giles, that the Firefox will not fall into the wrong hands. Don't worry — you'll give yourself ulcers.'