Night Over Water

well,” Diana said.

“And I you.”

Diana turned around without saying any more and went aft along the aisle to her compartment.

Mervyn said: “But what about us? What are we going to do?”

Nancy realized she had not yet had time to tell him of her plan. “I’m going to be Nat Ridgeway’s European manager.”

Mervyn was surprised. “When did he offer you the job?”

“He hasn’t—but he will,” she said, and she laughed happily.

She heard the sound of an engine. It was not one of the Clipper’s mighty engines, but a smaller one. She looked out of the window, wondering if the navy had arrived.

To her surprise, she saw that the gangsters’ motor launch had been untied from the Clipper and from the little seaplane and was pulling away rapidly.

But who was driving it?

Margaret opened the throttle wide and steered the launch away from the Clipper.

The wind blew her hair off her face, and she gave a whoop of sheer exhilaration. “Free!” she yelled. “I’m free!”

She and Harry had had the idea at the same time. They had been standing in the aisle of the Clipper, wondering what to do next, when Eddie, the engineer, brought the skipper of the launch down the stairs and put him in number 1 compartment with Luther; and both of them had been struck by the identical thought.

The passengers and crew were too busy congratulating one another to take much notice of Margaret and Harry as they slipped into the bow compartment and boarded the launch. The engine was idling. Harry had untied the ropes while Margaret figured out the controls, which were just like Father’s boat in Nice, and they were away in seconds.

She did not think they would be chased. The naval cutter summoned by the engineer was in hot pursuit of a German submarine, and could not be expected to take an interest in a man who had stolen a pair of cuff links in London. When the police arrived they would be investigating murder, kidnapping and piracy: it would be a long time before they worried about Harry.

Harry rummaged in a locker and found some maps. After studying them for a while he said: “There are lots of charts of the waters around a bay called Blacks Harbour, which is right on the border between the U.S.A. and Canada. I think we must be near there. We should head for the Canadian side.”

A little later he said: “There’s a big place about seventy-five miles north of here called St. John. It has a railway station. Are we heading north?”

She looked at the compass. “More or less, yes.”

“I don’t know anything about navigating, but if we keep in sight of the coast I don’t see how we can go wrong. We should get there around nightfall.”

She smiled at him.

He put the charts down and stood beside her at the wheel, staring at her hard.

“What?” she said. “What is it?”

He shook his head as if in disbelief. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “And you like me!”

She laughed. “Anyone would like you, if they knew you.”

He put his arm around her waist. “This is a hell of a thing, sailing along in the sunshine with a girl like you. My old mum always said I was lucky, and she was right, wasn’t she?”

“What will we do when we get to St. John?” she said.

“We’ll beach the launch, walk into town, get a room for the night and take the first train out in the morning.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do for money,” she said with a little frown of worry.

“Yes, that is a problem. I’ve only got a few pounds, and we’ll have to pay for hotels, rail tickets, new clothes....”

“I wish I’d brought my overnight case, like you.”

He looked mischievous. “That’s not my case,” he said. “It’s Mr. Luther’s.”

She was mystified. “Why did you bring Mr. Luther’s case?”

“Because it’s got a hundred thousand dollars in it,” he said, and he started to laugh.

AUTHOR’s NOTE

The golden age of the flying boats was very short.

Only twelve Boeing B-314s were built, six of the first model and six more of a slightly modified version called the B-314A. Nine were handed over to the U.S. military early in the war. One of these, the Dixie Clipper, carried President Roosevelt to the Casablanca Conference in January 1943. Another, the Yankee Clipper, crashed at Lisbon in February 1943 with twenty-nine casualties—the only crash in the history of the aircraft.

The three planes Pan American did not give to the U.S. military were sold to the British, and were also used to carry VIPs across the Atlantic: Churchill flew on two, the Bristol and the Berwick.

The point of flying boats was that they did not need expensive long concrete runways. During the war, however, long runways were built in many parts of the world to accommodate heavy bombers, and the advantage of the flying boats disappeared.

After the war the B-314 was uneconomic, and one by one the planes were scrapped or scuttled.

There are now none left anywhere in the world.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I thank the many people and organizations who helped me research this book, especially:

In New York: Pan American Airlines, most particularly their librarian, Liwa Chiu;

In London: Lord Willis;

In Manchester : Chris Makepeace;

In Southampton: Ray Facey of Associated British Ports and Ian Sinclair of RAF Hythe;

In Foynes: Margaret O’Shaughnessy of the Flying Boat Museum;

In Botwood: Tip Evans, the Botwood Heritage Museum, and the hospitable people of Botwood;

In Shediac: Ned Belliveau and his family, and Charles Allain and the Moncton Museum;

Former Pan American crew and other employees who flew on the Clipper: Madeline Cuniff, Bob Fordyce, Lew Lindsey, Jim McLeod, States Mead, Roger Wolin and Stan Zedalis;

For finding most of the above: Dan Starer and Pam Mendez.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ken Follett is the international bestselling author of suspense thrillers and the nonfiction On