They finished their drinks and left the pub, wandered through Soho, which was packed, then crossed Charing Cross Road, took some dark side streets, and ended up in Covent Garden Market. They kept their torches turned down, making their way through moonlit darkness, pa.s.sing the empty vendors' carts, which were covered in canvas for the night, and then crossing the much busier Strand and on down to the Embankment, where the moonlight and stars shone on the River Thames and streaked the water with silver. There were wh.o.r.es along the Embankment as well, negotiating with the servicemen, and Bradley felt a little embarra.s.sed when he pa.s.sed them with Gladys.

'I love it,' she told him, as if sensing his embarra.s.sment. 'The less violent, more human commerce of war: a pound of flesh for some silver. You can't keep human nature down. So,' she added, getting back to her last question, 'why are you in London?'

'I'm a member of OSS,' he said. 'Have you heard about it?'

'Of course, Mike. The Office of Strategic Services. A fairly new intelligence agency. Are you somehow linked up with the invasion?'

'No. I'm still after Wilson. That's why I'm here.'

Taken by surprise, she stopped walking and stared at him, then she shook her head and gazed across the river, to where the warehouses of the docks were silhouetted against the clear, starlit sky.

'I'd forgotten all about him,' she said. 'That old man who was great in the sack. Good G.o.d, he must be over seventy by now! Is he still alive?'

'We think so,' Bradley said, standing beside her, shoulder to shoulder. 'We receive reports from European resistance groups and he still features in them. At least an American scientist does, so we a.s.sume that he's Wilson. We think he helped the rocket scientists and is working at a research establishment near Berlin. The Brits aren't concerned about him they're willing to wait until the invasion but our government still wants to talk to him about a few things, notably the Tunguska explosion that you told me about and, even more worrying, about what he's creating for the n.a.z.is. We have reason to think he's creating an extremely powerful weapon that could be turned against us when we attempt the invasion. That's why I want to go now.'

'Go now? You mean parachute into Germany?'

'Right.'

'G.o.ddammit, Mike, that's crazy. It's plain suicidal.'

'I think I can make it.'

'You think wrong, believe me.'

'I still want to go.'

'Why not wait until the invasion and follow the troops into Germany?'

'They may not get there.'

'They will. And in the meantime you could have a good time in London, the world's finest city.'

'I can't wait that long.'

'It won't be long.'

'You don't know that.'

'I know it's going to be this year. Everybody knows that.'

'I don't care. I want to go as soon as possible. I'm frightened that he's going to create something unbeatable before we get there to stop him. If he can invent something more powerful than the rumoured rockets, he could prevent us from winning the war.'

'The secret weapons are only rumours.'

'I'm not too sure about that.'

'And that's why you can't wait to get to Wilson?'

'Yeah, right.'

'I'm sorry, Mike, but I don't believe that. I think it's something much more than that.'

'Such as?'

'You tell me.'

Bradley sighed. 'I've got a bee in my bonnet about this Wilson. He's haunted me for years. I have to meet him, face to face, and find out exactly what makes him tick. He appears to have few normal feelings you confirmed that when we first met but he's clearly a genius, he wants anonymity, and his ruthlessness appears to know no bounds. The man's like a ghost: he exists and yet he doesn't. I dream about, or imagine, the things he's invented and they keep me awake at night. I know all about him, yet know nothing. I have to study his face.'

'You'll see nothing but the face of pure logic: a void that transcends morality. You'll see the end of the world.'

'Maybe that's what I'm after.'

Gladys was just about to reply when a distant siren wailed, then another, and another, until the very air seemed to vibrate with that terrible sound: a high, nerve-shattering wailing.