But what was even more interesting was another pair of Italian police cars to be seen just east of Pinasca. One was stationary on the road, but the other was clearly in motion, driving down a narrow track towards a building located in a field. And beyond that building was the unmistakable white shape of a small civilian aircraft.
‘That’s them,’ Westwood muttered. ‘Five gets you ten, whoever the Brits sent out to pick up Raya Kosov is a pilot, and he’s going to fly her out of Italy.’
‘That’s a hell of a leap of logic, sir,’ Richards said.
‘No, it makes sense,’ Westwood insisted. ‘The first incident occurred on the same road, near Cesana Torinese, so they had to be driving east. They spotted the hangar, took a chance there’d be an aircraft in it, and they’ve stolen it. Gotta admire that kind of thinking.’
‘But they can’t make it to England in that little thing, can they?’
‘No. That’s why I’ve got the Lear here. Get me a car and driver to take me to Fiumicino right now. Then contact the U2 through Aviano Operations, and tell the pilot to get airborne asap, and concentrate on the area around Pinasca. I need to know where that civil aircraft is heading. Tell him I’ll call Aviano from the Lear, once we’re in the air, so they can patch me straight through to the pilot.’
There were various maps and charts to be found in the aircraft cabin, but Richter didn’t think he’d need to use most of them. As long as they headed more or less west, and he managed to avoid flying into the top of a mountain, they’d eventually end up where they wanted to go. And Richter figured it was more important, at that moment, for him to keep looking out of the window rather than bury his head in an aviation chart. They’d been only about thirty miles from the Italian border when they took off, so within the hour, and with a modicum of luck, they should be on the ground again, but this time in France.
‘We’ll head north,’ he decided.
‘North?’ Dekker and Raya replied, almost simultaneously.
‘Only so as to try to mislead the Eyeties on the ground,’ Richter explained. ‘They can still see us, remember. If we simply reverse direction and head straight for Briançon, that’s where they’ll tell the French to start looking for us. And they’ll definitely be talking to the gendarmes any time now. If they think we’re heading north, trying to get to Switzerland, or even Germany or Austria, that will widen the search area, and right now that’s very important for us.’
‘Yeah, makes sense,’ Dekker said. ‘And I take back what I said before. You can fly an aircraft — even one you’ve not flown before.’
‘The Queen seemed to think so too. That’s why she paid me for years.’
Richter looked ahead, mentally planning his route. Directly in front, he could see a couple of small lakes and, beyond them, the urban sprawl of Turin. To his left, ranges of mountains extended in all directions and, perhaps ten miles away, the black ribbon of the A32 autostrada snaking along the base of the Val di Susa.
‘Right,’ he said, pressing the left rudder pedal and turning the yoke to the left, then starting the Piper in a left-hand bank. ‘We’ll start tracking north.’
He stabilized the aircraft on a northerly heading, then reached down and pulled out the navigation charts. He flipped through them until he found a topographical chart, and opened it up.
‘I’ll hold it for you,’ Dekker suggested, and took hold of one side of it.
‘Thanks.’
With the tip of his finger, Richter traced a route running north, and across the autostrada.
‘We’ll turn west about here,’ he said, ‘between Pointe de Charbonnel and L’Albaron. That’s actually on the French border. Then I want to head west over open country, not fly over towns where people might see us, or even over major roads, and that route seems to be about the best option.’
‘Not a bad choice.’ Dekker nodded. ‘We’ll have to fly over that minor road there, the D902, but after that there’s nothing much on the ground until we reach some of these small Alpine villages. And most of them seem to be located at the limits of dead-end roads, so I guess they’re mainly ski resorts. And that means they should be pretty much deserted at this time of year. Where will you land?’
‘Buggered if I know,’ Richter said. ‘We’ll need to get clear of these mountains first, then I’ll start looking. All I’ll need is a reasonably level piece of ground, about five hundred yards long, preferably grass, that’s not too far out in the sticks — because, once we abandon this aircraft, we’ll be walking.’
‘We’ll find a car,’ Dekker promised, ‘one way or the other.’
They’d just crossed the autostrada a couple of miles east of Borgone Susa, when Dekker pointed ahead.
‘What?’
‘A glint of something just over there. Something moving,’ Dekker replied.
Then Richter saw it too. A sudden oval shimmer of light, in view for just a bare second or two, then disappearing again. But, unlike Dekker, he knew exactly what it was, and it wasn’t good news.
‘That’s a helicopter rotor disc,’ he said. ‘I thought the Italians might have a chopper or two patrolling this area, searching for us, and it looks to me like that one’s following the line of the border fairly closely.’
‘But we’re OK up here, aren’t we?’ Dekker asked. ‘I mean, we’re well above it, and this plane must be faster than a chopper, surely?’
‘We are above it, yes, and most light, fixed-wing aircraft are quicker than most helicopters, yes. If that’s just a surveillance bird, it shouldn’t be a problem. But if it’s a gunship, and the crew manage to spot us, we’re in trouble.’
‘And the Italians have helicopter gunships, do they?’ Dekker asked.
Richter nodded grimly. ‘They even build one of their own: it’s called a Mangusta, and it’s a bit like an Apache with attitude. It’s got a twenty-millimetre cannon, and it can carry quite a bouquet of missiles — Stingers, TOWs, Mistrals and Hellfires. This Arrow could just about outdistance the chopper in a straight line, but we’d never be able to outrun its missiles.’
‘Oh, shit.’
‘That about sums it up.’
For the moment, Richter did nothing. It was just possible that the helicopter was a private aircraft that simply happened to be in the area, in which case it was no threat to them. Even if it was a military or police aircraft, running surveillance along the border, it wouldn’t be a problem, because the crew would be looking down, trying to identify anyone crossing into France by not using the roads. What he feared, though, was that news of their theft of the Piper Arrow had already been broadcast, and that the Italian military was now involved.
‘Give me that chart,’ he demanded. Dekker handed it over.
Richter studied it for a few moments, then passed it back. ‘We might be OK,’ he said. ‘The closest military base is near Caselle Torinese, just north of Turin. There’s no way a gunship could have got from there to here by now, even if it had been crewed up and ready to launch the moment we stole this aircraft. And if the Italians were looking for us on the ground, a gunship wouldn’t do them any good.’
‘So you reckon that’s maybe just a police chopper, something like that?’
‘Most likely, yes, but just keep your eyes on it.’
Richter had now coaxed the Piper up to an indicated altitude of just over 5,000 metres, which felt pretty near its maximum ceiling because the rate of climb had fallen dramatically, despite the Lycoming engine still being at almost full throttle. The helicopter looked as if it was about 1,500 metres below them, and was heading south. It still appeared to be following the Franco-Italian border, which in that area ran more or less north-east to south-west. As the Piper was flying north, Richter reckoned they should get behind the helicopter within a couple of minutes.