Dennis Wheatley - Faked Passports

Gregory moved uneasily in his seat. Somehow or other he was determined to get back to Berlin. He could, of course, let Freddie Charlton fly him home, lie up for four days and arrange to be flown out again to the secret landing ground on the following Sunday night but in the meantime anything might happen and the one thought that agitated his now active mind was the awful danger in which his beloved Erika stood. Tonight Berlin was in utter confusion; almost certainly the street fighting would still be in progress to morrow. While the Germans were killing one another they would be much too occupied to do any spy hunting. If only he could return at once he would be able to move about the city freely, for some hours at least, without being called on to produce any papers. While von Pleisen's officers were still holding their own he would be able to get in touch with some of those he had met and, since many of them knew Erika, ascertain through them the most likely places in which to look for her.

On the other hand, if he could get back to Berlin before Monday morning a decision would almost certainly have been reached by then. If the Generals had come out on top there would be nothing for him to worry about; but he was now extremely dubious about their chances, and if the revolt had been suppressed the old Nazi tyranny would be clamped down more firmly than ever before. Storm Troopers and police would be challenging all who dared to put their noses out of doors, and without papers his arrest would be certain before he had been back in the Capital an hour.

There was no question about it; his only hope of rejoining Erika lay in returning to Berlin while the fighting was still going on. That meant that he must land in Germany again that night and every mile further that he allowed Charlton to fly him from the Capital would make his task of getting back there more difficult. He began to plead again urgently desperately but Charlton continued adamant in his refusal.

At last Gregory fell silent, but that did not mean that he had abandoned his project. Instead he had begun to contemplate desperate measures no less than an attempt to render Charlton powerless and take charge of the plane himself.

He felt confident that if he could get control of the plane he knew enough of aircraft to get the machine down without allowing it to plunge headlong to destruction. Landing was another matter. He did not flatter himself for a second that he could perform such an operation successfully when an ace pilot like Charlton declared that in the black out a crash was inevitable; but modern planes are stoutly built so Gregory was prepared for a crash and to take a chance that if he could bring the plane down slowly with its engine shut off, once it had hit the ground, he would be able to get Charlton and himself clear of it without serious injury.

The idea was semi suicidal and Gregory realized that it was extremely hard on Charlton that his life and freedom should be jeopardized by such an act; but if the airman would not help him by attempting to land of his own free will he must take the consequences. Gregory had risked his neck too often to worry about himself and now the only thing he cared to live for was Erika von Epp.

Leaning forward he peered down towards the hidden landscape in an attempt to assess the density of the darkness. For a few moments he could see nothing because they were flying high above a heavy cloud bank, but after a little the clouds broke and far below he caught sight of a few tiny pin points of light. The German black out was still far from perfect. In spite of heavy penalties for slackness there had been a natural tendency to be careless about A.R.P. as the only enemy planes which had flown over the country since the outbreak of war had dropped leaflets instead of bombs.

The lights suddenly disappeared again but Gregory reckoned that once below the cloud bank he would be able to pick up plenty more. The altimeter of the plane would give him his height until he was within a thousand feet of the ground. If he brought the machine down in a long, flat spiral he could watch the lights. If any of them blacked out he would know that the crest of a hill had come between them and him and so he would be able to zoom up again to repeat the process until, with luck, he struck an area of flattish ground on which he could chance a landing with some prospect of not crashing too badly.

The problem was how to overcome the pilot. Had both Gregory's arms been sound he would have flung over Charlton's head the rug in which his own legs were wrapped and pulled him backwards out of his seat. One flick of the controls would be enough to turn the plane's steering gear over to "George", the gyroscopic mechanism which would keep the machine steady while he tied Charlton up. But, wounded as he was, Gregory knew that such a plan was quite impracticable; he hadn't the strength to overcome the airman. The only alternative was to knock Charlton out: a rotten thing to have to do, but once Gregory had made up his mind about a course of action he never allowed sentiment to deter him from his purpose.

Stooping down he began to grope about at his feet in the hope of finding some object with which he could hit the unsuspecting pilot over the back of the head.

Charlton must have sensed something of what had been going on in Gregory's mind. He turned suddenly and said: "What're you up to?"

"Nothing," muttered Gregory, who, having failed to find on the floor of the plane any object which he might use as a weapon, had pushed back the rug and begun to unlace one of his shoes with the idea of using that. He did not wish to hurt the airman more than necessary and reckoned that a good blow with the heel would be sufficient to stun him temporarily without cutting open his head.

Charlton appeared satisfied but a moment later he swung round again. Gregory had his shoe off and was holding it by the toe, in his right hand, ready to aim his blow.

"Now, look here," Charlton snapped, "no funny business! If you're thinking of trying to land me one with that shoe and taking over the plane you'd better think again. You've got only one good arm and I've got two. What's more, I've got a spanner here. I'm afraid you're so overwrought that you're near as dammit off your rocker; otherwise you'd never contemplate sending us both crashing to our death. If you make one move towards me or the controls of this plane I'll have to knock you senseless "

The two men stared angrily at each other. Charlton had his jaw thrust out and evidently meant every word he said. Gregory's eyes were narrowed and the white scar of an old wound which caught up his left eyebrow, giving him a slightly Satanic appearance, showed a livid white.

The airman was wondering if it would not be wisest, without further argument, to knock out this maniac who threatened to jeopardize both their lives, and his right hand was already groping for the heavy spanner which lay beside his bucket seat. The lean, sinewy soldier of fortune was coolly assessing his chances in an open attack. They would be much less than if he could have taken the airman by surprise, as at the moment he was very much the weaker of the two; but he believed that he could rely upon his greater experience in scrapping, and the utter ruthlessness with which he always acted if once compelled to enter any fight, to get in one good blow on Charlton's temple before the airman could overpower him.

"If you get hurt you've brought it on yourself," Gregory muttered, glad now to have been relieved from the repugnant act of striking from behind a man whom he would normally have counted a friend.

"For God's sake… “Charlton exclaimed. He was furious with Gregory for placing him in such a situation. Although he had switched the plane's controls over to the gyroscopes he realized the hideous danger of a fight in mid air which might even temporarily incapacitate him and he was more than a little scared by the gleam in Gregory's eyes.