Gatwick. And he was English. And the female passenger he was travelling with wore no ring. A girl had to make the most of her opportunities. She told him the cost of the message and he took his time paying her in dollars.
`The radio operator is already transmitting, Mr Newman...'
`You're a helpful girl to have around...'
`I have two days off at Gatwick...'
`Give me the phone number?'
`I'm not supposed to...'
`But you will...'
He loaned her his pad and ballpoint pen, tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and watched her while she wrote the figures on the pad. She added a name and upside down he read Susan. He took the pad off her and slipped out of sight as the curtain moved and a steward appeared. He gave her a little salute.
`Thank you for dealing with that for me,' he said for the benefit of the steward who was unnecessarily polishing glasses. 'When should it reach London?'
`Within a matter of minutes, sir...'
`Thank you again.'
He winked at her, pushed aside the curtain and went back to his seat. Nancy was awake, stretching her arms, thrusting out her well-rounded breasts against her tight cashmere sweater. He gave her a look of amiable resignation as he settled himself beside her.
`You're a dog,' she said. 'You've been chatting up that stewardess.' She wrapped a proprietary arm round his. 'You know, sometimes I think I should grab you for good while I can. You're not safe to leave roaming around loose.'
`What stewardess?'
`The one with the superb legs who showed us to our seats, the one you couldn't take your eyes off, the one whose eyes ate you up. Discreetly, of course...'
`Change of plan,' he said abruptly.
`Which means?'
`You'd better have some coffee to get you properly awake before I tell you.' He summoned the steward who had finished polishing glasses and gave the order. Then he relapsed into silence until she had drunk half the cup.
`I've been a good girl,' she said. 'What change of plan?'
`We don't take the Dan-Air flight from Gatwick to Belp. We take the bus from Gatwick to Heathrow. Then we catch a Swissair flight to Geneva. Going in via Geneva disguises our real destination.'
`Bob!' She straightened up so abruptly she almost spilt her coffee. 'You're taking this thing seriously. You do think there's something peculiar going on. God, you're a dark horse. Sometimes I feel I'll never really know you. Your whole manner has changed...'
`If we have to do the job we might as well do it professionally...'
`That isn't the reason,' she pounced. 'Rosen told you something which changed your whole attitude. So why the hell did we have to have that embarrassing row in the lobby of the Tack Room?'
`Rosen told me nothing. We're just doing it my way. You might call it a fait accompli ,' he replied airily.
asked for that one,' she conceded. 'And I still don't believe you. Well, isn't that nice?'
She looked at him and Newman's head was rested against the back of the seat. His eyes were closed and he had apparently fallen into a catnap, something he was able to do anywhere at any time.
In the pilot's cabin the radio operator crumpled up the note from Newman's pad he had transmitted. The signal seemed innocuous enough and he didn't give it a second thought.
Addressed to Riverdale Trust Ltd with a PO Box number in London it was brief and to the point.
Aboard American Airlines Flight... ETA Gatwick... Proceeding to Heathrow to board Swissair flight to Geneva, repeat Geneva. Newman .
Manfred Seidler was running for his life. He used every devious means to throw a smokescreen in the eyes of those who would try to track him. Using a fake set of identity papers, he hired a car from the Hertz agency next door to the Bellevue Palace in Berne.
He drove only as far as Solothurn where he handed in the car. From the station he caught a train to Basle. If anyone did manage to trace him so far they would — with luck — think he had gone on to Zurich. He fostered this fiction by buying two separate
`The radio operator is already transmitting, Mr Newman...'
`You're a helpful girl to have around...'
`I have two days off at Gatwick...'
`Give me the phone number?'
`I'm not supposed to...'
`But you will...'
He loaned her his pad and ballpoint pen, tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and watched her while she wrote the figures on the pad. She added a name and upside down he read Susan. He took the pad off her and slipped out of sight as the curtain moved and a steward appeared. He gave her a little salute.
`Thank you for dealing with that for me,' he said for the benefit of the steward who was unnecessarily polishing glasses. 'When should it reach London?'
`Within a matter of minutes, sir...'
`Thank you again.'
He winked at her, pushed aside the curtain and went back to his seat. Nancy was awake, stretching her arms, thrusting out her well-rounded breasts against her tight cashmere sweater. He gave her a look of amiable resignation as he settled himself beside her.
`You're a dog,' she said. 'You've been chatting up that stewardess.' She wrapped a proprietary arm round his. 'You know, sometimes I think I should grab you for good while I can. You're not safe to leave roaming around loose.'
`What stewardess?'
`The one with the superb legs who showed us to our seats, the one you couldn't take your eyes off, the one whose eyes ate you up. Discreetly, of course...'
`Change of plan,' he said abruptly.
`Which means?'
`You'd better have some coffee to get you properly awake before I tell you.' He summoned the steward who had finished polishing glasses and gave the order. Then he relapsed into silence until she had drunk half the cup.
`I've been a good girl,' she said. 'What change of plan?'
`We don't take the Dan-Air flight from Gatwick to Belp. We take the bus from Gatwick to Heathrow. Then we catch a Swissair flight to Geneva. Going in via Geneva disguises our real destination.'
`Bob!' She straightened up so abruptly she almost spilt her coffee. 'You're taking this thing seriously. You do think there's something peculiar going on. God, you're a dark horse. Sometimes I feel I'll never really know you. Your whole manner has changed...'
`If we have to do the job we might as well do it professionally...'
`That isn't the reason,' she pounced. 'Rosen told you something which changed your whole attitude. So why the hell did we have to have that embarrassing row in the lobby of the Tack Room?'
`Rosen told me nothing. We're just doing it my way. You might call it a fait accompli ,' he replied airily.
asked for that one,' she conceded. 'And I still don't believe you. Well, isn't that nice?'
She looked at him and Newman's head was rested against the back of the seat. His eyes were closed and he had apparently fallen into a catnap, something he was able to do anywhere at any time.
In the pilot's cabin the radio operator crumpled up the note from Newman's pad he had transmitted. The signal seemed innocuous enough and he didn't give it a second thought.
Addressed to Riverdale Trust Ltd with a PO Box number in London it was brief and to the point.
Aboard American Airlines Flight... ETA Gatwick... Proceeding to Heathrow to board Swissair flight to Geneva, repeat Geneva. Newman .
Manfred Seidler was running for his life. He used every devious means to throw a smokescreen in the eyes of those who would try to track him. Using a fake set of identity papers, he hired a car from the Hertz agency next door to the Bellevue Palace in Berne.
He drove only as far as Solothurn where he handed in the car. From the station he caught a train to Basle. If anyone did manage to trace him so far they would — with luck — think he had gone on to Zurich. He fostered this fiction by buying two separate
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