Atlantic Fury by Hammond; Innes

clinging to an old existence in a land as old as time. It was an anachronism now, pitiful-looking against the background of the camp with its fuel dump and its M.T. workshops and the barrack lines of its huts. ‘Where will I find Major Braddock?’ I asked.
    â€˜His office is in the Admin, block. But he may not be there. He’s supposed to be flying to Laerg today.’ She drew up at the main gate where the model of a rocket stood and a notice board read: Joint Services Guided Weapons Establishment. ‘The Admin. block is down there on the left,’ she said. I thanked her and the little estate car drove off along a concrete roadway drifted with sand that led to another part of the camp.
    There was no guard on the gate. I simply walked straight in. The huts stretched in two straight lines either side of a concrete road; sand everywhere and the rain driving like a thick mist. A staff car and two Land-Rovers stood parked outside the Admin. block. There was nobody about. I went in. Still nobody, and a long passage running the length of the hut with glass-panelled doors to the offices leading off it. I walked slowly down it, feeling oddly nervous, conscious of being an intruder in a completely alien world. Small wooden plaques announced the contents of each closed box of an office: RSM – W. T. Symes; Commanding Officer – Colonel S. T. Standing; 2nd-in-Command – Major G. H. Braddock (this lettered in ink on a paper stick-on); Adjutant – Captain M. L. Ferguson.
    I stood for a moment outside Braddock’s door, unwilling now to face the awkwardness of this moment. Lane and his snapshots seemed a whole world away and I felt suddenly foolish to have come so far on such an errand. How could the man possibly be my brother after all these years? But I had an excuse all worked out, the excuse that I wanted to visit Laerg. He could only refuse and at least I’d know for certain then. I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I pushed it open. There was nobody inside and I had a feeling of relief at the sight of the empty desk.
    There was a sliding hatch in the partition that separated this office from the adjutant’s and I could hear a voice talking. But when I went into the next office Captain Ferguson was alone at his desk. He was speaking into the telephone. He wore battledress, a ginger-haired youngster with a square freckled face and a Scots accent that took me back to my Glasgow days. ‘… I can see it is … Aye, well, you check with the Met. Office … Damned if I do. You tell him yourself. He’s down at Leverburgh, but he’ll be back soon. Eleven at the latest, he said, and he’ll be mad as hell when he hears … Laddie, you haven’t met the man. He’ll be across to see you … Okay, I’ll tell him.’ He put the phone down and looked at me. ‘Can I help you?’
    â€˜My name’s Ross,’ I said. ‘I wanted to see Major Braddock.’
    â€˜He’s out at the moment.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Back in about twenty minutes. Is he expecting you?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t know whether he’ll have time. He’s very busy at the moment. Could you tell me what it’s about?’
    â€˜A private matter,’ I said. ‘I’d like to talk to him personally.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t know …’ His voice doubtful. ‘Depends whether this flight’s on or not.’ He reached for his pad. ‘Ross, you said? Aye, I’ll tell him.’ He made a note of it and that was that. Nothing else I could do for the moment.
    â€˜Could you tell me where I’ll find Cliff Morgan?’ I said. ‘He’s a meteorologist at Northton.’
    â€˜Either at the Met. Office or in the bachelor quarters.’ He picked up the phone. ‘I’ll just check for you whether he’s on duty this morning. Get me the Met. Office, will you.’ He cupped