"Innes, Hammond - Air Bridge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Innes Hammond)

'No.'

'Any close relatives who might start making inquiries if Neil Eraser disappeared for a while?'

'I don't think so,' I answered. 'My mother's dead.

My father remarried and I'm a bit out of touch with him. Why?'

'What about friends?'

'They just expect me when they see me. What exactly are you driving at?'

He turned to the bench and stared for a while at the contents of my wallet as though trying to make up his mind. At length he picked up one of the dog-eared and faded photographs I kept in the case. 'This is what interested me,' he said slowly. 'In fact, it's the reason I didn't ring the police last night and denied that I'd seen anything of you when they came this morning. Picture of you with W.A.A.F. girlfriend. On the back it's got -September, 1940: Self and June outside our old home after taking a post-blitz cure.' He held it out to me and for the first time since I'd met him there was a twinkle in his eyes. 'You look pretty tipsy, the pair of you.'

'Yes,' I said. 'We were tight. The whole place collapsed with us in it. We were lucky to get out alive.'

'So I guessed. It was the ruins that interested me. Your old home was a maintenance hangar, wasn't it?'

'Yes. Kenley Aerodrome. A low-flying daylight raid it pretty well blew the place to bits. Why?'

'I figured that if you could describe a maintenance hangar as your home in 1940 you probably knew something about aero-engines and engineering?'

I didn't say anything and after staring at me for a moment he said impatiently, 'Well, do you know anything about aero-engines or don't you?'

'Yes,' I said.

'Practical - or just theory? Given specifications and tools can you build an engine?'

'What are you getting at?' I asked. 'What do you'

'Just answer my questions. Can you operate a lathe, do milling, grinding and boring, screw cutting and drilling?'

'Yes.' And then I added, 'I don't know very much about jets. But I'm pretty sound on all types of piston engines.'

'I see. And you're a pilot?'

'Yes.'

'When did you become a pilot?'

'In 1945, after I escaped from Germany.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. I wanted a change. In 1944 I was posted to bombers as flight engineer. I started learning to fly. Then we were shot down. I escaped early in 1945 and remembered enough about flying to pinch a Jerry plane and crash-land at an airfield back home. Shortly after that I got my wings.'

He nodded vaguely as though he hadn't been listening. He had turned slightly on his stool and was staring sombrely at the gleaming fuselage of the Tudor. His eyes caught a shaft of sunlight from the high windows and seemed to gleam with some inner fire. Then he turned back to me. 'You're in a spot, aren't you?' It wasn't said unpleasantly - more a statement of fact. 'But I'll make you a proposition. See that engine over there?' I turned. It stood against the wall and was chocked up on wooden blocks. 'That's finished -complete. It's hand-built, mostly right here in this hangar. Well, that's one of them. But there's got to be another before I can get this crate into the air.' He nodded towards the Tudor. 'It's due to fly on the Berlin Airlift on 25th January  fuel freighting. We've got the tanks installed. Everything's ready. All we need is a second engine. We've started on it already. But I'm pressed for time. That first one took us six months. And now Carter, who's been working on it with me, is getting impatient. I'm a pilot, not an engineer. If he walks out on me, which is what he threatens to do, I'll have to pack up - unless I've got somebody else to carry on.' He looked at me, eyes narrowed slightly. 'Well, what about it? Can you build another engine like that, if necessary on your own?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'I haven't examined it and I don't know what equipment you've got.' My eyes roved quickly along the bench, noting the lathes, the racks of taps, boxes of dies, the turning tools, the jigs and the welding equipment. 'I should think I could,' I added.