Our man in Camelot

But there was something else in the back of his mind— something the Englishman Roskill had said, but about Mosby himself.

It made us wonder whether you were who you said you were.

Simple.

Anthony Price - Our man in camelot

Liddington Hill—the real Badon?

Wodden—the false Badon.

Davies—the bird-watcher.

Davies—the Badon-hunter.

Just as there had been a false Badon, so there had been a false Davies. Any loner among the pilots would have done. Davies just happened to fit best. But so long as there was a general resemblance it didn't matter, because there weren't going to be any witnesses left around long enough to argue the difference.

Once the real Davies was dead, the false one automatically ceased to exist, leaving only his lies behind him.

It was as gloriously simple as the sun in his face was blinding.

He never even heard the car.

Anthony Price - Our man in camelot

Anthony Price - Our man in camelot

Epilogue:

Captain Finsterwald and A1C Merriwether

CAPTAIN FINSTERWALD WALKED across the tarmac to where Airman First Class Merriwether stood watching the heavily-laden transport preparing for take-off.

Merriwether sketched a salute. 'Everything okay, Harry?'

'It'll do. They'll never love us again, but they don't hate us any more.'

'And those two Russians they picked up?'

'What Russians?' Finsterwald shaded his eyes.

The transport's engines roared.

'That Sheldon's a lucky son-of-a-bitch,' shouted Finsterwald.

'Because he's going home and we're still here?' Merriwether shouted back. 'Don't fret, man. We're going to be on one of those big birds ourselves pretty soon. I got the feeling we are now surplus to Air Force requirements… If not pos-it-ively unwanted.'

'That's not what I meant.'

'No? Well, you can't mean his state of health, with those ribs cracked like he's been kicked by a Georgia mule.'

The transport jerked forward.

'I was thinking of that woman of his.'

'Uh-huh? Well, he's not going to enjoy any of that, the way he's strapped up… not for a while anyway.'

Merriwether watched the transport with a professional eye. 'That guy's going to need a lot of runway, the way he's taking his time.'

Finsterwald showed no sign of having heard the last sentence. 'The way she was fussing him, I wouldn't bet on that,' he said, finally.

Merriwether considered the proposition. 'Could be you're right at that… Funny thing, though…'

'What?' Finsterwald cupped his ear.

'Nothing really. But he always used to look at her like he was a dog hoping to get scratched behind his ears, and she never took one damn bit of notice of him.'

The roar of the engines was fading.

'So what?'

'So when I saw them just now it was right the other way round, that's all.'

Finsterwald shook his head. 'So he's learnt to play it cool. I never said he wasn't a smart son-of-a-bitch as well as a lucky one.' He turned back towards the car.

Merriwether watched the transport eat up the last yards of old runway and lift into the air, up and out over the site of Windmill Knob towards distant America.

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Anthony Price - Our man in camelot