“Well, all that can wait. All aboard. I want us out of here fast. Dillon, you and Billy had better change. What about you?” Ferguson asked Kubel.
“Oh, I’ll fly off after you’re gone. Time for an extended holiday, I think.”
“You were wonderful back there.”
“Yes, I was, wasn’t I?”
Lacey and Parry were in the cockpit of the Citation, Hannah and Harry boarded, Ferguson followed and Dillon and Billy came running out of the hangar a moment later.
Dillon said to Kubel, “I thought I was a good pilot, but you’re a great pilot. Isn’t he a great pilot, Billy?”
“Bleeding marvelous. Let’s go.”
They went up the Airstairs door and Parry closed it behind them. A few moments later, they were rolling down the runway, taking off and climbing fast.
“Okay, what happened?” Harry demanded.
“It can wait, Harry,” Ferguson said. “As usual, they covered themselves with glory.” He turned to Hannah. “Be kind enough to call Roper. Mission accomplished, Hitler diary destroyed. Baron Max von Berger, Marco Rossi and Derry Gibson departed this life for who knows what? Ask him to relay that information to Blake Johnson, too.”
“Of course, sir, and the Prime Minister?”
“I’ll deal with him myself.”
She went to the back of the cabin and moved into the kitchen for privacy. Harry got the bar cupboard open. “I reckon a drink’s in order, except for Billy here.”
“I’m going to have a kip anyway,” Billy said, putting his seat back and closing his eyes.
“Bushmills.” Harry held the bottle up. “You’ve got friends at court, you little Irish sod.”
He found three glasses and paused. There was a kind of companionable silence. They drank it down and Harry poured again.
Ferguson toasted Dillon. “A hard one, Sean, but you did well.”
“They get harder,” Dillon said. “I sometimes think I should find a better class of work.”
Ferguson shook his head and said softly, “Don’t be silly. Where on earth would you go?”
