‘Falcon, are you receiving me? I say again, are you receiving me?’
It was eleven forty-five and the Lysander was only five miles away. Lavinia stood in the entrance to the barn looking up, holding the headphones in one hand against her left ear. Of the plane, there was no sound.
‘Am receiving you, Lysander. Am receiving you.’
‘What are conditions in your nest?’ Asa’s voice crackled.
‘Thick fog. Visibility down to fifty yards. Wind gusting occasionally. I estimate strength four to five. It only clears things intermittently.’
‘Have you placed your markers?’ he asked.
She’d totally forgotten. ‘Oh, God, no, give me a few minutes.’
She put down the headphones, got the bag of cycle lamps and ran out into the meadow. She arranged three of them in an inverted L shape, the crossbar at the upwind end, and switched them on so that their beams shone straight up into the sky. Then she ran to a point two hundred yards along the meadow, Nell chasing after her, and spaced out a further three lamps.
She was panting for breath when she returned to the barn and reached for the headphones and mike. ‘Falcon here. Markers in place.’
She stood in the doorway of the barn looking up. She could hear the Lysander clearly. It seemed to pass at a few hundred feet and move away.
‘Falcon here,’ she called. ‘I heard you. You were directly overhead.’
‘Can’t see a thing,’ Asa replied. ‘It’s bad.’
At that moment Sir Maxwell Shaw appeared from the darkness. He was not wearing a raincoat or hat and was very drunk, his speech slurred and halting. ‘Ah, there you are, old girl, everything all right?’
‘No it isn’t,’ she told him.
Asa said, Til keep circling, just in case things change.’
‘Right, I’ll stand by.’
There was a crash of some sort just outside Ashford, a large produce truck and a private car, potatoes all over the road. Devlin, gripping the wheel impatiently, sat there in a queue of traffic for fifteen minutes before pulling out and turning the van.
‘Already midnight,’ he said to Steiner. ‘We can’t afford to hang about here. We’ll find another way.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Munro said. ‘Having trouble, are we, Mr Devlin?’
‘No, you old sod, but you will be if you don’t shut up,’ Devlin told him and took the next road on the left.
It was at about the same time that Asa Vaughan took the Lysander down for the fourth attempt. The undercarriage was of the non-retractable type and there were landing spotlights fitted in the wheel spats. He had them on, but all they showed him was the fog.
‘Falcon, it’s impossible. I’m not getting anywhere.’
Strangely enough it was Maxwell Shaw who came up with the solution. ‘Needs more light,’ he said. ‘Lot’s more light. I mean, he’d see the bloody house if it was on fire, wouldn’t he?’
‘My God!’ Lavinia said and reached for the mike. ‘Falcon here. Now listen carefully. I’m a pilot so I know what I’m talking about.’
‘Let’s hear it,’ Asa said.
‘My house is three hundred yards south of the meadow and downwind. I’m going to go up there now and put on every light in the place.’
‘Isn’t that what they call advertising?’ Asa said.
‘Not in this fog and there isn’t another house for two miles. I’m going now. Good luck.’ She put down her headphones and mike. ‘You stay here, Max, I shan’t be long.’
‘All right, old girl.’
She ran all the way to the house, got the front door open, gasping for breath and started. She climbed the stairs first, going into every room, even the bathrooms, switched on the lights and yanked back the blackout curtains. Then she went down to the ground floor and did the same thing. She left quickly and when she stopped after some fifty yards to look back, the house was ablaze with lights.
Maxwell Shaw was drinking from a hip flask when she returned. ‘Bloody place looks like a Christmas tree,’ he told her.
She ignored him and reached for the mike. ‘Right, I’ve done it. Is that any better?’
‘We’ll take a look,’ Asa said.