“You’ll meet your Jerry guest and
do the honours at the airfield, I presume. Or Mr Bracken?”
The military man smiled
thinly. “Rather you did it yourself, old boy, if you don‘t mind. There’ll be a
small RAF team in the control tower, looking after the lights and so on. But
they’ll be keeping themselves to themselves. You might like to pick up the
parcel by yourselves and deliver it to us down at Eastern Command HQ at Luton
Hoo where we’ll take over.”
Sowerbutt swallowed the rest
of his Old Bushmills. “Am I being set up as the patsy if anything goes wrong?
Is that it, John?”
“Certainly
not, old boy, wouldn‘t dream of it. You know Churchill has a soft spot for
you. "