We can’t get a view inside and I neglected to bring our heat-sensing equipment.”
“Okay, at least you’re giving us a start,” Jack said. “Shall we?” he asked the others as he turned for the gate.
“We will cover your team from the tarmac, staying out of sight.” Sebastian took Jack’s hand and they shook, then Collins went toward the gate. “Auf Wiedersehen, old friend.”
As the commando team, camouflaged in airport security garb, waved them inside the gate, Jack also felt for his nine-millimeter.
“Pete, Charlie, if anything happens, get the hell out of here and run back to where we left Sebastian.”
“But-” Charlie started to say.
“But nothing, get the hell back,” Everett answered for Jack.
“All right, but under protest,” Ellenshaw said.
As they found the tarmac and the silhouette of their aircraft, Jack slowed and allowed his senses to take hold. He saw the neighboring plane and its darkened interior. Then his eyes switched to their own aircraft. He saw the cockpit cabin lights on but no movement. He figured the plane’s Air Force personnel were in the back asleep. They had been ordered to stay put for three days while the ground team was in the city. A six-day supply of food had been stored onboard because Jack had known they might be traveling to more than one continent on this investigation. When he didn’t feel any eyes on him other than those of Sebastian and his nine men, Collins waved Everett up the portable stairs. He saw Carl tap on the door with the flat of his hand.
Ellenshaw and Golding were nervously looking around them, even scanning the high control tower a mile and a half distant.
The door opened and Jack relaxed when he saw the United States Air Force captain looking sleepy-eyed and surprised to see Carl.
“Okay, guys, up the stairs, quickly,” Jack said, as he continued to study the white-painted aircraft next to their own. As he did he saw one of the window blinds raise about six inches and then lower again. Collins hurriedly took the steps two at a time and then closed and secured the large door. “Captain, warm this thing up and preflight us for London for now.”
The sleepy pilot shook his copilot and engineer awake and then turned to Collins and the others, who had shocked them with their bruised and dirty bodies.
“It’ll take us thirty minutes, Colonel, and that’s rushing it. Without filing the flight plan in person, we’re breaking about six hundred different rules.”
“We have a friend who will get us clearance. Just get her done, Captain. We don’t have much time. In case you didn’t notice, we’re wanted for mass murder.”
The captain turned and with his copilot and engineer entered the cockpit.
Jack ran a hand through his hair and gestured to Everett. “Carl, keep your eye on our mysterious friend next door.”
“Aye,” he said, as he went to the emergency door behind the cockpit and looked out into the darkness.
“Doc, you and-”
Pete and Ellenshaw had already disappeared into the communications area of the plane, and Golding was already connected to and giving orders to Europa. They had completed the uplink to the secure computer system. Jack went to join them. The lights flickered as the pilot switched over to internal systems. The copilot left the plane to disconnect the ground power source, leaving the door behind him ajar. While the door was not secured, Jack pulled his nine-millimeter and kept it at his side.
“Europa, scan the selected photo from Spandau Prison, Germany, year 1947. The object of investigation is the lieutenant colonel second from the right in the front row of officers.”
Jack watched Pete insert the photo from the file into the scanner. His eyes went to the large monitor placed on the aircraft’s wall.
“Scanning,” Europa said, in her ever-present sexy voice. “Dr. Golding,” she replied almost immediately, “there is no record of this lieutenant colonel in the archival accounts at Spandau Prison in the time frame given.”
“Damn!” Pete said, as he looked at the blowup of the photo on the screen.
“Europa, can you scan the uniform of the officer in question and find out if there are any identifying insignia or shoulder patches?” Jack asked, leaning closer to the monitor. “In particular, the lapel area of the jacket.”
“Yes, Colonel Collins.”
Jack watched as Europa started blowing the photo up into larger sections, scrambling and then descrambling the image. It finally locked on the area Jack had interest in.
“I’ll be damned,” Pete said, as the image cleared. “It was there the whole time. All we needed was a magnifying glass.”
Collins saw the silverfish-looking cross on the colonel’s left lapel.
“A priest?”
“Europa, is there any record of religious personnel stationed at Spandau?” Jack asked, starting to put a face on his developing theory.
Europa started sending a series of differing faces across the screen, pushing each photo into the upper left corner of the monitor with names and ranks and service country. The only country not represented was the Soviet Union, for obvious reasons. The man in the original photo wasn’t among those listed.
“We have two Catholic priests, three Episcopal priests, and five Baptist ministers listed as being assigned Spandau duties in that one year, but still nothing on the man in the photo.”
Jack placed his hands on Pete’s shoulders as he tried to think. Then he had an idea.
“Europa, Spandau Prison didn’t start housing prisoners of war until 1946, but there had to be a transition team stationed at that facility during the trial for preparations for criminal transfer. Is there a list of personnel that interviewed each prisoner before being transferred from Nuremberg?”
Europa only took a second to delve into U.S. Army, British and French forces, and Soviet legal personnel files before a long list appeared.
“Come on Europa, follow along,” Pete scolded the system, “please break the list down to American religious personnel or counselors.”
Europa didn’t respond; it was as if Pete had hurt her feelings as the photos and file names started dropping from the screen. They were left with two pictures, one a captain who was assigned as a Roman Catholic priest and the other a Baptist minister from Gillette, Wyoming, Lieutenant Colonel William T. Rawlins. The pictures from 1947 matched. The reason Rawlins wasn’t listed as being stationed at Spandau was because all he had done was examine and interview each prisoner before their arrival at the prison as to their religious needs. He had only been at Spandau for the one day as the prisoners arrived, and that was when the picture of the new staff was taken.
“That name is very familiar,” Ellenshaw and Pete said at almost the same time.
“Almost as familiar as the man’s face, wouldn’t you say?” Jack asked as he leaned over and instead of asking Europa a question, he typed it in with the keyboard.
As Golding and Ellenshaw watched the monitor, a videotaped segment flashed onto the screen and both scientists were amazed at what Jack had figured out before they themselves had even asked the right question.
“Unbelievable,” Ellenshaw said.
“You mean to say that the man here, this Samuel Rawlins, the evangelist, is this colonel’s son?” Pete asked with incredulity etching his voice.
“Yes,” Jack said. “And also the man that is most vociferous and adamant about us not going to the Moon.”
“What are you suggesting here, Colonel?” Ellenshaw asked.
Collins sat up straight and watched the soundless image on the monitor as the man on the world stage slammed his fists into the pulpit and screamed about something they couldn’t hear, but Jack knew the man’s tirade was directed at the president and the men and women attempting the excursion to the lunar surface, and that possibly meant Sarah and his two men. He watched the man as he delivered his words. Pete reached out and was about to turn up the volume but Collins stayed his hand and just watched the gesturing of the Reverend as he spoke.
“I believe we are looking at the man whose father discovered the truth and the whereabouts of Operation
