Waring interrupted. ‘And what was your target?’
Crossman explained how all his men were led to believe the target was an Albanian freighter carrying illegal arms to the EOKA B terrorists, and how Murphy had used this deception to hide the fact that the real target was a British warship — and how Murphy was pursuing his own vendetta, for what happened to his brother in Londonderry.
Waring shook his head. ‘How do I know that all you’re telling me about this Albanian freighter is true, Mr Crossman? At the moment, it seems to me, you and your crew are a bunch of terrorists yourselves. Unless you can give me something substantial, there’s nothing I can do to help your defence. I can’t even confirm there was a Mike Murphy aboard.’
Crossman suddenly felt that he was not in a good position over all this. This British officer was right — there was no evidence to back up his story. He then thought of the man on the bridge in Bermuda. ‘How about if I was to give you the name of the guy who financed this operation?’
On board the assault carrier, Alex Swan had just finished a warm meal of French onion soup. Wearing fresh clothes, provided by the chief petty officer, he sat opposite Jack Rowse.
Having explained themselves to the captain, they were now awaiting confirmation from Northwood as to their next move. The plan was for them to be airlifted by helicopter to Akrotiri, to interview Crossman, but as word had spread regarding an attack on a Greek Navy submarine by a British warship, the Greeks had threatened retaliation. This meant that any flights around the British sovereign base area could be targeted with their radar-controlled anti-aircraft guns.
The rogue crew had already been collected, on orders from Northwood to Waring informing him these men were to be detained at the SBA until Swan could get there.
Swan lit a cigarette. ‘I’m still trying to get my head around this, Jack. If what Reynolds said about this Senator Tremaine being involved is true, then what was it all for? More to the point, does the secretary of state know about this?’
Rowse nodded. ‘I can’t see how he would endorse an action like this, even if he did know. I know the yanks want the Turks to have a part of the island to keep their people safe, but to use tactics like this is beyond comprehension, if you ask me.’
Swan agreed. This was all almost too strange to believe. Why would a senator concoct some deceptive plan and think he could get away with it?
Swan suddenly had another thought. How deep does this go? Is this Senator Tremaine the instigator, or is there someone else driving this madness? Is Tremaine just a messenger boy or perhaps a loyal soldier?
‘Oh my god!’
Rowse looked over. ‘What is it, Alex?’
Swan was just about to tell him, when the captain returned.
‘Mr Swan, I now have confirmation from Northwood that is safe for you and Mr Rowse to be airlifted to Akrotiri. There’s a Wessex ready on the deck for you now, gentlemen.’
A short flight later, Swan and Rowse were met by the base commander, only to be informed that directly after being given the all clear for flights to continue, a C-140 JetStar had flown in from the Sicilian base at Sigonella and taken the crew of the USS Hatcher back there to be questioned by the American authorities over this incident.
This was not good news. Swan was desperate to get to these men, to find out the truth, and to get the evidence he needed to pursue the other matter. A matter, since they boarded the Wessex on the carrier, had set his mind into overdrive. Now that these men were half-way across the Mediterranean, and heading for a US air base, there was no way he could get the information he required to take the necessary action he had intended.
Despite this unfortunate news, the two men had also been given some good news, about John Hornsby. He had been found lying away from the wrecked Shackleton with a hastily-applied field dressing to his injured head. When Swan asked if anybody else had been picked up, he was informed that there was no-one else. Hornsby had been found alone.
Chapter 36
Since the invasion, the military hospital at Akrotiri had become a busy place, handling both civilians and soldiers of all three services, who had found themselves casualties of war.
Swan and Rowse walked down the corridor and into the ward where, they had been informed, John Hornsby was recuperating from his injuries. Walking past the flurry of patients, they soon found him.
Hornsby’s eyes brightened as he saw that his two new friends had managed to survive their ordeal of having to jump from the aircraft.
Swan smiled at him when Rowse showed the pilot a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label whisky.
‘Thought you might be needing some currency, seeing that you’re almost completely surrounded by both Greeks and Turks,’ he mused.
Hornsby laughed. ‘The Turks are in the upstairs ward. A lot of them are sailors from the destroyer sunk in a friendly-fire incident. It’s really good to see you gents.’
Swan sat on a high-backed chair between Hornsby’s bed and the bed next to him.
‘Good to see you too, John. We learnt you managed to get back to Nicosia by running into the pilot that climbed out of your Lightning with you. He sends his regards, by the way, and will be over with some of your squadron to see you tomorrow.’
Hornsby raised himself up on the pillows. The two men could now clearly see a bandage around his chest as he explained his main injury, a collapsed lung, which had been caused by his smashing into the yoke when the front wheel gave way under him. Other injuries were two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He also wore a neck brace, to support minor whiplash. Reynolds’ head bandage had been replaced with a fresh one.
Hornsby took some sips of water from a cup and recited his experiences after dropping the Lindholme raft for them. After which the two men congratulated him for his efforts.
‘And, what about Reynolds, did he make it?’ asked Rowse.
Hornsby told them how Reynolds had helped him after the crash, by carrying him to safety, away from Doris.
‘Her wing was on fire, so the fuel tank could have gone up at any minute. After that… I can’t tell you what happened, as I passed out when I heard the vehicles coming. Then, I woke up here.’
Swan nodded. ‘So, you have no idea what happened to him?’
‘None whatsoever, Alex. I’ve got to say it was jolly good he didn’t jump with you guys.’
Both men agreed. ‘Reynolds was certainly unique,’ added Rowse.
Swan was about to add his own comment about the mercenary with whom they had all been so briefly acquainted, when he heard a voice behind him. He turned, and saw that it came from the man in the next bed.
‘Excuse me,’ he said again. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing, but are you referring to a man called David Reynolds?’
Swan noticed the man had a French accent. ‘Yes, we are.’ He paused, wondering how this man could know of him, then suddenly he realised why. Lowering his tone, he asked, ‘Would you happen to be one of his team, by any chance?’
Jacques Daffaut nodded. ‘Yes, I am, Mr…’
‘Alex Swan, Ministry of Defence.’
The Frenchman introduced himself. ‘Where is he?’
‘We have no idea, but wherever he is, Jacques, he would be most relieved to hear that one of you made it, after the firefight you had with the Greeks. David told me all about it.’
Daffaut smiled. ‘It is not only me who made it, Mr Swan. There is a man called Sami Ahmed upstairs. He was shot in the throat, so he cannot speak. I think, because of his dark skin, he must have been mistaken for a Turk, and put with them.’