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“You tell my little cousin I’m all right.” Hohendorf smiled. “Who would have thought it? I take my back-seater home for a weekend and the next thing
that happens, my cousin’s married him. Nothing can be worse for a pilot than to have a navigator in the family.”

“She feels I have to look after you.”

“She would. As for my wandering wife … tell Erika things will sort themselves out. She’s not to worry. Anne-Marie and I understand each other.”

“But—”

Hohendorf grinned. “Goodnight, Johann.”

He put the car into gear. Ecker stood back, and he accelerated out of the car park. As he turned into the road that would eventually take him to the main gate, a pair of Tornadoes curved in to land, their presence betrayed by the noise of their engines, and the winking of their nav lights.

Ecker stood in the cold car park, watching the tail lights of the Porsche until they eventually disappeared.

Then slowly, he made his way towards his own car.

“So what does it feel like to be a paid killer?”

“Better than being an unpaid one.”

“Touché!” she said, almost approvingly. “Either you’ve had practice dealing with awkward questions, or someone’s been teaching you how.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but no one’s been teaching me. I haven’t had to answer silly questions like that before, either.” Selby glanced at the revelers. He and the girl were almost shouting to make themselves heard above the racket. “But I expect tonight may well make up for it.”

“You don’t really like us, do you?”

“To tell you the truth, I have no strong feelings either way.”

“Contempt, then. I see.”

He said nothing. He didn’t know the young woman looking mockingly up at him, and he didn’t want to.

About the time that Hohendorf was leaving his base in Schleswig, it was 23.15 in London. A winter’s ball was in full swing and the guests, having had their fill of a substantial banquet, were settling down to an evening of serious dancing and drinking.

The ballroom and main restaurant of one of the bigger London hotels had been engaged for the night, and one of the three hired bands was onstage. People in dinner suits and ball gowns were moving gracelessly to the disco beat of the music. A few of the younger men had removed their jackets, while their partners had abandoned their shoes and hitched up their long skirts, to dance more freely. There was a lot of leg showing.

Selby and his companion were standing on a balcony overlooking the dance floor. His eyes were searching the crowd below.

“If you’re looking for that pretty girl who was at your table, she’s over there, I’m afraid, being monopolised by the dreaded Reggie.”

He looked, and in a far corner recognised the long sweep of dark hair, a man’s hand resting possessively on the shoulder beneath it.

“Not jealous, are you?” his pushy companion teased.

He turned to look at her. Small, neat body. Short black hair, thickish eyebrows and wide-apart dark eyes full of mischief. A small, sharp nose, but a generous mouth. She wore a black gown with gold highlights, and an intricate gold necklace gleamed
at her throat. Black earrings hung from small lobes and a small, black-dialed watch on a gold band encased her left wrist. On her feet were golden sandals. Unusual, but interesting, he thought. And very expensive.

“Will I pass?” she queried, tilting her head to one side as his eyes surveyed her.

“You’ll pass.”

“Well! I did expect a little more enthusiasm.”

“You mean like those drones who’ve been hovering about you all evening?”

“Ah ha. So you did notice me.”

“It was difficult not to.”

“Oh dear. I detect a note of censure and … Oh do look! It would seem that Reggie’s having a go at kissing your girl… but she does not appear to want him to. You must have quite a hold on her. Reggie’s usually quite devastating.”

“He looks fat and conceited from here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you find us so hard to stomach, why did you come?”

“Morven got the invitation. She needed an escort. I agreed to provide one.”

“Morven,” she said, dragging out the name thoughtfully. “And she needed an escort. So she’s not your … girlfriend.”

“My sister.”

“Your sister.” Below them the band stopped playing. As the reverberations faded she lowered her voice. “What’s this? Big brother foresakes the skies
to chaperon sweet little sister and keep the big bad wolves at bay?”

“Who told you about me?” he countered.

“You’re not the only one who’s observant, you know. In passing, I heard someone ask a friend what you did for a living. You know how it is at these functions …”

“No. I don’t.”

She smiled. “What a lovely chat we’re having. I think it’s time we introduced ourselves. One never knows how the evening could end.” Her glance was daring him. “I’m Kim Mannon. That’s right,” she continued as he started, “Mannon, of Mannon Robinson, merchant bankers. I’m the host’s daughter.” She offered her hand in an almost businesslike way.

He shook it. “Mark Selby. I—”

“No need to apologize.”

“I wasn’t going to. You called me a paid killer.”

“Oh dear. We’re arguing just like an old married couple. This is going to be an interesting evening, after all. I was getting quite bored with these people.”

“And now you’ve found a convenient distraction.”

“Don’t be so hostile, Mark. I saw you up here all alone. You looked bored too, so I thought I’d come up and say hello.”

“You have a unique way of saying it.”

She tilted her head again. “I’m going to make you like me, you know.”

“You’ve got that on good authority?”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she asked: “Are you really a jet fighter pilot?”

“Yes.”

“What are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What rank?”

“Is that important?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Snobbish, you mean. I’m a Flight Lieutenant.”

“And what’s that in
real
rank?”

Selby shut his eyes in weary resignation.

“Well, you can’t expect ordinary people to know these things,” she said defensively. “I understand about majors, captains, and colonels and so on …”

“If you need a translation, it’s equivalent to a captain.”

“Army captain? Or navy captain?”

“Army captain.”

“It’s not much. But it’ll have to do, I suppose.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’ve got to know what I’m going to marry.”

“You’re
what
? First I’m going to like you … now I’m going to marry you?” He laughed, amused in spite of himself. “All in the space of an evening?”

“Well, not this evening …”

“You’re crazy.”

“Daddy won’t be pleased, of course. He wants
me to marry Reggie. Something in the City, you see, and all that crap.”

“You
are
crazy.”

“But nice. Underneath all the rudery.” She looked away. “And speaking of the devil, here he comes, towing your clearly undevastated sister.”

Selby peered over. The plump, sleek-looking man with the winter tan was bounding up the rich carpet of the curving stairs towards them. Behind him came Morven, hands holding her skirt clear as she climbed.

The confident Reggie arrived, thrust out a hand to Selby. “Reggie Barham-Deane. Your sister’s been telling me all about you. So you’re one of those jolly chaps who tear madly about the sky and crash into mountains and so on.”

He laughed uproariously, then recoiled as Selby’s eyes hardened. Morven, coming up behind, stared apprehensively at her brother. She knew the pictures flashing through his mind: a laughing Sammy Newton, his friend and hers, a smoking crater in a hillside, a grieving widow, a fatherless baby boy….

Barham-Deane said quickly, “Just a joke, Selby. You don’t honestly think I meant that, do you?”

Selby’s voice was dangerously quiet when he finally replied. “Barham-Deane, you’re a prat. Worse, you’re a drunken prat. Those ‘jolly chaps’ you’ve just joked about are dedicated men, with more skill and
bloody talent than you could ever dream of. For your information …” He glanced at Kim Mannon. “… and for yours too, out of every six thousand applicants who come to us wanting to be pilots, three hundred at the most make it through preliminary selection. Of that lot, half may become pilots and about fifty of those may actually make it to fast jets. And even that number will be further whittled down before they arrive on an operational squadron. We work bloody hard to do what we do. And for what? So that if we inadvertently frighten a field of cows or disturb a sleeping village, questions can be asked about us in Parliament. And if one of us should cop it, prats like you can joke about it.”

He turned away, disgusted, and stared blindly out over the empty dance floor. The band had changed now and new, fashionably bizarre musicians were tuning their instruments. Suddenly, he swung back to Barham-Deane.

“And do you know what I find really sickening? That we stick our necks out every day in order that pampered sods like you can make your killings in the market place, and sleep easy in your beds. Christ… if our friends from the East ever come marching down Whitehall you’ll be first out there in the queue to sell them something.”

Briefly, he passed a hand over his eyes. He shook his head. Then he pulled himself together.

“Goodnight, Miss Mannon. Thank your father for inviting us and tell him we’ve had a wonderful
evening. Come on, Morven—let’s get out of this place. I’ve had enough of it.”

He walked quickly away. Morven followed him, after a sheepish smile at Kim Mannon.

Barham-Deane, watching them make their way down the stairs, said: “I certainly pressed the wrong button there. Bit gung-ho, wasn’t he? Those types can never take a joke.”

Kim Mannon said: “God, Reggie. You can be such a dick sometimes.”

“Language, darling. That’s what comes from fraternising with the troops. What would your father say?”

“Oh shut up!” she snapped, and strode angrily away in the direction of the upstairs bar.

He stared after her. “I do believe our Kim is smitten with the sky warrior,” he murmured. “Well, well. What do you know.”

They’d hailed a taxi and were on their way to Elgin Avenue, to a flat belonging to absent family friends.

“I’m sorry, Morven,” Mark said. “I shouldn’t have blown up like that. But people like him really do get on my nerves.”

She touched his arm lightly. “I think you lasted quite well, all things considered.”

“I’ve spoilt your evening.”

“No you haven’t. I had a good time. I was dying to get away from Reggie, anyway.” She smiled. “As a matter of fact, I’d already told him you had to get
back because you were on duty in Leicestershire tomorrow morning.”

“Not to mention the hundred miles I’d have to drive to reach Cottesmore.”

They both laughed.

“As long as you’re sure you didn’t mind leaving,” he said after a while.

“I didn’t. Honestly.”

“All right.”

“I think Kim Mannon fancies you,” Morven said, checking his face in the gloom of the taxi to gauge his reaction.

“I doubt it. Women like that are always taken by a new diversion on the horizon. She’s bored with her Reggie for the time being. Perhaps she wants a pilot for her list. She can count this one out.”

“I think you’re wrong about her.”

“Oh yes?”

“You didn’t see her face when Reggie made his stupid remark. If looks could kill, he’d be bourguignon.”

“As long as I didn’t have to eat him.”

They laughed again.

The big, first-floor flat in Elgin Avenue had three bedrooms, and was very comfortably furnished. Morven and Mark had taken a guest bedroom each, leaving the owners’ master bedroom untouched.

Morven said as they entered: “I’m doing some shopping with Tricia in the morning, so I’ll catch the
15:40 plane back to Aberdeen. You don’t have to get up. Have a lie-in, and I’ll see you by midday at the very latest.”

“Do you need to go back? It’s …” he glanced at his watch. “… Friday now. Why not spend the weekend? Penny and Anthony won’t be back for another week. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“I’d love to, Mark,” she said regretfully, “but I shouldn’t even have come. I’ve got a paper I’m supposed to be working on. If you want your little sister to become a famous marine biologist, she’s got to keep at her work.” She gave him a hug. “But I wanted to see you. What with me being at university up in Scotland, and you always on some training program or other, we never get to see each other.”

Which was certainly true. Within the past six months, they had met just once. Now she began to feel guilty.

“Will you be all right on your own here?” She looked worriedly at him.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll spend a quiet weekend here, then go off to the squadron on Monday. I’m not flying till the afternoon.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Now who’s the baby of the family around here?”

“You could always get in touch with Kim Mannon.” Morven looked at him sideways. “I bet she’d set the weekend alight.”

“I’d need my head examined.”

“Oh come on, Mark. She’s not that bad.”

“She’s worse.”

“I’m obviously not going to change your mind. Coffee before bed? I can make some.”

“No thanks. I think I’ll turn straight in. By the way …”

“Yes?”

“I meant what I said about blowing my top back there; but when Barham-Deane made that asinine comment about crashing, I couldn’t help thinking about Sammy. I was the one who had to tell Charlotte. I still see her face in the night sometimes.”

She patted him gently on the arm. “I know, Mark,” she told him softly. “I know.”

She was a strongly built young woman, with the clear complexion of someone who spends much of her time in the open air. Her dark hair, thick and lustrous, fell well past her shoulders. Her eyes were a luminous green, her face heart-shaped with a firm chin, her forehead high and curving. The nose was strong but the mouth, in complete contrast, looked soft and vulnerable. When she smiled, her eyes seemed to twinkle. In the blue, high-necked ball gown, she was ravishing.