Projekt Saucer: Inception Part 93

'I'll try not to.'

'My day's made,' she said with a throaty chuckle, then the line went dead.

Putting the phone down, Bradley checked the calendar. It was June 13, 1944, exactly one week after D-Day, the invasion of Europe, which he'd bitterly regretted having missed. The thirteenth, he thought as he cast off his pyjamas and hurried into the bathroom. Unlucky thirteenth. He ran the water in the old-fashioned bath, climbed in, and thought of the progress of the invasion as he hurriedly bathed himself.

He had wanted to go with the troops, to be one of the first to step onto the soil of Europe, but the urbane Lieutenant Colonel WentworthKing had refused him permission, insisting that he remain in London until the Allies had overrun Germany. Bradley had been furious, but there was little he could do about it, other than keep track of the known movements of the German scientists, contact European resistance groups regarding Wilson's whereabouts, and, when not thus engaged, spend his time with Gladys Kinder, with whom he was now undoubtedly in love in a pleasantly gentle, middle-aged way that so far was devoid of angst.

Nevertheless, while he would dearly miss Gladys if and when he left London, he was becoming increasingly excited by his conviction that now Wentworth-King would be unable to refuse him permission to travel to Europe and begin the real search for Wilson.

If remote-controlled rocket bombs were already falling on London, G.o.d knows what other secret weapons the Germans, doubtless with Wilson's help, were about to use against Britain and, possibly, the Allied troops in Europe.

After letting the water out of the bath, he dried himself, dressed quickly and carelessly, then hurried out of the apartment and headed for Baker Street. By now he was used to the broken gla.s.s on the pavements, the fresh piles of smouldering rubble, and the scorched, jagged holes in the walls of the buildings, revealing the rooms inside, like stage sets, some untouched, some in chaos, all somehow naked and pitiful. The barrage balloons were still overhead, swaying like beached whales, and anti-aircraft gun emplacements stood in the many small parks and squares, the gun barrels being polished by the crews while they waited for night to fall. Yet normal life continued. The roads were filled with buses and taxis, and, as usual, the newspaper vendors shouted out the day's headlines, which today were about the 'miracle' weapons.

Bradley thought of Wilson, hidden somewhere in Germany, and wondered what he would spring next.

'Ah ha!' Lieutenant Colonel Wentworth-King said brightly when Bradley entered his cluttered office in SOE headquarters in Baker Street. 'Our American friend!'

'Morning,,' Bradley greeted him, then pulled up a chair and faced the soles of the lieutenant colonel's boots, which were up on the desk.

'Can I order you up some tea?'

'No, thanks,' Bradley said.

'I don't suppose I have to ask why you're here,' Wentworth-King said with a slightly mocking smile.

'No, I don't suppose you do. What have you learned so far?'

'As we suspected, the rockets are V-ls, being flown, as far as we can ascertain at this point, from bases in the area of Pas de Calais. They're not pilotless aircraft but flying bombs, powered by petrol and compressed air, coming in at low alt.i.tude at an approximate speed of four hundred miles per hour, steered by a gyroscope and designed to explode on impact. So far, our anti-aircraft guns are proving to be fairly ineffective against them, though hundreds of ack-ack units are being rushed to the south coast, where even more buzz bombs, or doodle-bugs, as they're already being called by the populace, are falling.'

'Christ! ' Bradley exclaimed.

'Here, in London, the flying bombs have scored direct hits on a church, a convent, a hospital, and a house in South London, with considerable loss of life. Outside of London, the situation is even worse, with a veritable deluge of bombs falling on Southampton, Kingston, Sevenoaks, and Bromley and, indeed, still falling this very minute. Apparently the ground of southern England is shaking as if in an earthquake, and whole areas are now covered in a pall of smoke. Are you sure you wouldn't like a cup of tea?'

'No, thanks,' Bradley said. 'It doesn't settle my nerves. Any comment on the bombs from across the water?'

'German radio is describing the flying bomb as a, quote, miracle weapon, whereas Dr Goebbels is repeatedly using the name "V-l," which suggests that other secret weapons are in the pipeline and about to be unleashed.'

'Wilson,' Bradley said.

'I beg your pardon, Colonel?'

'That son of a b.i.t.c.h Wilson's behind them.'

'I really don't think so. They're part of the Peenemnde project, headed by Wernher von Braun. Wilson has nothing to do with it. We're convinced he's still at k.u.mmersdorf.'

'Wilson was working at k.u.mmersdorf when von Braun's rocket project was also located there. I'm not saying the rockets are all his. What I'm saying is that he doubtless contributed to them and G.o.d knows what he's working on right now. If Goebbels is hinting about other secret weapons, we should take him seriously.'

'Dr Goebbels is a genius at propaganda.'

'But I don't think he's lying in this instance. The V-1s are a sign of that. We also know that they wouldn't keep Wilson on at k.u.mmersdorf if he wasn't working on something valuable. And if the V-1 rockets are going to be followed by something worse, it could come from him.'

Wentworth-King pulled his feet off the desk and began to tap his perfect teeth with a pencil while smiling knowingly at Bradley.

'I know what you're going for,' he said. 'You're going to use the flying bombs as leverage to force me to let you parachute into Germany.'

'Right. Even you'll have to accept that the flying bombs are a sign that our time may be running out. If they use those bombs, or something even worse, against our troops, the tide could be turned against us.'

'If we survived the Blitz, we can survive the buzz bombs, I'm sure.'

'But what if they follow them up with something worse?'

Wentworth-King simply shrugged. 'We'll take our chances,' he said. 'Meanwhile, since the invasion is still in its early stages, I'd rather not let you, or anyone else, parachute into Germany.'

'Then let me go to France now, to at least follow the troops into Germany.'