Ambrose's trainer and jockey trickled back looking pensive, and finally Ambrose came himself, reddish in the face and breathing out beer fumes in a sickly cloud. As soon as he reached the aircraft he leaned towards me and gave me the full benefit.

'I've left me hat in the cloakroom,' he said. 'Hop over and fetch it for me.'

Kenny and the other two were all of a sudden very busy piling themselves aboard and pretending they hadn't heard. Short of saying 'Fetch it yourself and losing Harley a customer, I was stuck with it. I trudged back across the track, through the paddock, into the Members' Gents, and collected the hat off the peg it was hanging on. Its band was so greasy that I wondered how Ambrose had the nerve to let anyone see it.

Turned, made for the door. Felt my arm clutched in a fiercely urgent grip.

I swung round. The hands holding onto my arm like steel grabs belonged to Major Tyderman.

'Major,' I exclaimed in surprise. I hadn't seen him there all through the afternoon.

'Sh.o.r.e!' He was far more surprised to see me. And more than surprised. Horrified. The colour was draining out of his face while I watched.

'Sh.o.r.e... What are you doing here? Did you come back?'

Puzzled, I said, 'I came over for Mr Ambrose's hat.'

'But... you flew... you took off with Colin and Nancy Ross.'

I shook my head. 'No, I didn't. Nancy was flying.'

'But... you came with them.' He sounded agonised.

'I didn't. I flew the Six here with five pa.s.sengers.' The extreme state of his shock got through to me like a tidal wave. He was clinging on to my arm now more for support than to attract my attention.

'Major,' I said, the terrible, terrifying suspicion shaking in my voice, 'You haven't put another bomb on that aircraft? Not... oh G.o.d... another bomb?'

'I... I...' His voice strangled in his throat.

'Major.' I disengaged my arm and seized both of his. Ambrose's hat fell and rolled unnoticed on the dirty floor. 'Major.' I squeezed him viciously. 'Not another bomb?'

'No... but...'

'But what what?'

'I thought... you were flying them... I thought you were with them... you would be able to cope...'

'Major.' I shook him, gripping as if I'd pull his arms in two. 'What have you done to that aeroplane?'

'I saw you... come with them, when they came. And go back... and look at the map... and do the checks... I was sure... it was you that was flying... and you... you... could deal with... but Nancy Ross... Oh my G.o.d...'

I let go one of his arms and slapped him hard in the face.

'What have you done to that aeroplane?'

'You can't... do anything...'

'I'll get her back. Get her down on the ground at once.'

He shook his head. 'You won't... be able to... She'll have no radio... I put...' He swallowed and put his hand to his face where I'd hit him. 'I put... a plaster... nitric acid... on the lead... to the master switch...'

I let go of his other arm and simply looked at him, feeling the coldness sink in. Then I blindly picked up Ambrose's hat and ran out of the door. Ran. Ran across the paddock, across the track, down to the aircraft. I didn't stop to slap out of the Major what he'd done it for. Didn't think of it. Thought only of Nancy with her limited experience having to deal with a total electrical failure.

She could do it, of course. The engine wouldn't stop. Several of the instruments would go on working. The altimeter, the airspeed indicator, the compa.s.s, none of those essentials would be affected. They worked on magnetism, air pressure and engine driven gyroscopes, not electricity.

All the engine instruments would read zero, and the fuel gauge would register empty. She wouldn't know how much fuel she had left. But she did know, I thought, that she had enough for at least two hours flying.

The worst thing was the radio. She would have no communication with the ground, nor could she receive any signals from the navigation beacons. Well... dozens of people flew without radio, without even having it installed at all. If she was worried about getting lost, she could land at the first suitable airfield.

It might not have happened yet, I thought. Her radio might still be working. The nitric acid might not yet have eaten through the main electrical cable.

While I was on the ground I was too low down for them to hear me, but if I got up in the air fast enough I could tell the Manchester control people the situation, get them to relay the facts to her, tell her to land at an airfield as soon as she could... A fairly simple matter to repair the cable, once she was safe on the ground.

I gave Ambrose his hat. He was still outside on the gra.s.s, waiting for me to climb through to the left hand seat. I shifted myself across on to it with no seconds wasted and he hauled himself up after me. By the time he'd strapped himself in I had the engine running, my head-set in place, and the radios warming up.

'What's the rush?' Ambrose enquired, as we taxied at just under take-off speed down to the far end.

'Have to send a radio message to Colin Ross, who's in the air ahead of us.'

'Oh...' He nodded heavily. He knew the Rosses had come up when we had, knew that Nancy was flying. 'All right then.'

I thought fleetingly that if he thought I couldn't even hurry without getting his permission first he was in for a moderate shock. I wasn't taking him back to Cambridge until I was certain Nancy and Colin were safe.

As there was only one head-set on board Ambrose couldn't hear any incoming transmissions, and with the microphone close against my lips I doubted if he could hear over the engine noise anything I sent outwards. I thought I would delay as long as possible inviting his objections.

Two hundred feet off the ground I raised the Air Traffic Controller at Liverpool. Explained that Nancy's radio might be faulty; asked if he had heard her.

Yes, he had. He'd given her radar clearance out of the control zone, and handed her on to Preston Information. Since I had to stay on his frequency until I was out of the zone myself, I asked him to find out from Preston if they still had contact with her.

'Stand by,' he said.

After a long two minutes he came back. 'They did have,' he said briefly. 'They lost her in the middle of one of her transmissions. They can't raise her now.'

Sod the Major, I though violently. Stupid, dangerous little man.

I kept my voice casual. 'Did they have her position?'

'Stand by.' A pause. He came back. 'She was on track to Lichfield, E.T.A. Lichfield five three, flying visual on top at flight level four five.'

'On top?' I repeated with apprehension.

'Affirmative.'

We had been climbing steadily ourselves. We went into thin cloud at two thousand feet and came through it into the sunshine at four thousand. Everywhere below us in all directions spread the cottonwool blanket, hiding the earth beneath. She would have to climb to that height as well, because the Pen-nines to the east of Manchester rose to nearly three thousand feet and the high ridges would have been sticking up into the clouds. With no room for her between the clouds and the bills she would have had either to go back, or go up. She wouldn't see any harm in going up. With radio navigation and a good forecast for Cambridge it was merely the sensible thing to do.

'Her destination is Cambridge,' I said. 'Can you check the weather there?'

'Stand by.' A much longer pause. Then his voice, dead level, spelling it out. 'Cambridge actual weather, cloud has spread in fast from the south west, now eight eighths cover, base twelve hundred feet, tops three thousand five hundred.'

I didn't acknowledge him at once: was digesting the appalling implications.

'Confirm weather copied,' he said baldly.

'Weather copied.'

'Latest meteorological reports indicate total cloud cover over the entire area south of the Tees.' He knew exactly what he was saying. The laconic non panic voice was deliberately unexcited. Nancy was flying above the cloud layer with no means of telling where she was. She couldn't see the ground and couldn't ask anyone for directions. Eventually she would have to come down, because she would run out of fuel. With the gauge out of action, she couldn't tell exactly how long she could stay airborne, and it was essential for her to go down through the clouds while the engine was still running, so that she could find somewhere to land once she was underneath. But if she went down too soon, or in the wrong place, she could all too easily fly into a cloud-covered hill. Even for a highly experienced pilot it was a sticky situation.

I said, with the same studied artificial calm, 'Can the R.A.F. radar stations find her and trace her where she goes? I know her flight plan... I made it out for her. She is likely to stick to it, as she thinks it is still clear at Cambridge. I could follow... and find her.'

'Stand by.' Again the pause for consultations. 'Change frequency to Birmingham radar on one one eight zero five.'

'Roger,' I said. 'And thanks very much.'

'Good luck,' he said. 'You'll need it.'

CHAPTER TEN.

He had explained the situation to Birmingham. I gave the radar controller Nancy's planned track and airspeed and estimated time for Lichfield, and after a few moments he came back and said there were at least ten aircraft on his screen which were possibles, but he had no way of telling who they were. 'I'll consult with the R.A.F. Wymeswold... they may not be as busy as we are... they can concentrate on it more.'

'Tell them that at about five three she will change her heading to one two five.'

'Roger,' he said. 'Stand by.'

He came back. 'R.A.F. Wymeswold say they will watch for her.'

'Great,' I said.

After a few moments he said in an incredulous voice, 'We have a report that Colin Ross is aboard the non-radio aircraft. Can you confirm?'

'Affirmative' I said. 'The pilot is his sister.'

'Good G.o.d' he said. 'Then we'd better find her.'

I had got them to route me straight through the control zone instead of round it, and was making for Northwich, and then the Lichfield beacon. We had taken off, I calculated, a good thirty minutes behind her, and in spite of the short cut and the Six's superior speed it would be barely possible to overtake her before Cambridge. I looked at my watch for about the twentieth time. Five fifty. At five fifty three she would be turning over Lichfield... except that she wouldn't know she was at Lichfield. If she turned as scheduled, it would be on her part simply blind faith.

Birmingham radar called me up. 'Cambridge report a steady deterioration in the weather. The cloud base is now eight hundred feet.'

'Roger,' I said flatly.

After another five minutes, during which five fifty three came and went in silence, he said, 'Wymeswold report that an aircraft on their screen has turned from one six zero on to one two five, but it is five miles north east of Lichfield. The aircraft is unidentified. They will maintain surveillance.'

'Roger,' I said.

She could be drifting north east, I thought, because the wind from the south west was stronger than it had been on the northward journey, and I hadn't made enough allowance for it on the flight plan. I pressed the transmit b.u.t.ton and informed the radar man.

'I'll tell them,' he said.

We flew on. I looked round at the pa.s.sengers. They looked variously bored, thoughtful and tired. Probably none of them would notice when we left our direct course to go and look for Nancy: but they'd certainly notice if or when we found her.

'Wymeswold report the aircraft they were watching has turned north on to zero one zero.'

'Oh no,' I said.

'Stand by...'

Too easy, I thought despairingly. It had been too easy. The aircraft which had turned on to the right heading at the right time at roughly the right place hadn't been the right aircraft after all. I took three deep deliberate breaths. Concentrated on the fact that wherever she was she was in no immediate danger. She could stay up for more than another hour and a half.

I had over an hour in which to find her. In roughly three thousand square miles of sky as featureless as the desert. Piece of cake.

'Wymeswold report that the first aircraft has apparently landed at East Midlands, but that they have another possibility ten miles east of Lichfield, present heading one two zero. They have no height information.'

'Roger,' I said again. No height information meant that the blip on their screen could be flying at anything up to thirty thousand feet or more, not four thousand five hundred.

'Stand by.'

I stood by. Metaphorically bit my nails. Slid a sidelong glance at Ambrose and went unhurriedly about checking our own height, speed, direction. Lichfield dead ahead, eleven minutes away. Forty minutes to Cambridge. Too long. Have to go faster. Pushed the throttle open another notch and came up against the stops. Full power. Nothing more to be done.

'Possible aircraft now tracking steady one zero five. Present track if maintained will take it thirty miles north of Cambridge at estimated time two zero.'

'Roger.' I looked at my watch. Did a brief sum. Pressed the transmit b.u.t.ton. 'That's the wrong aircraft. It's travelling too fast. At ninety knots she couldn't reach the Cambridge area before three five or four zero.'

'Understood.' A short silence. 'Retune now to R.A.F. Cottes-moore, Northern Radar, one two two decimal one. I'm handing you on to them.

I thanked him. Retuned. Cottesmore said they were in the picture, and looking. They had seven unidentified aircraft travelling from west to east to the south of them, all at heights unknown.

Seven. She could be any one of them. She could have gone completely haywire and turned round and headed back to Manchester. I felt my skin p.r.i.c.kle. Surely she would have enough sense not to fly straight into a control zone without radio. And anyway, she still believed it was clear at Cambridge...

I reached the Lichfield beacon. Turned on to course for Cambridge. Informed Cottesmore radar that I had done so. They didn't have me on their screen yet, they said: I was still too far away.

I tracked doggedly on towards Cambridge over the cottonwool wastes. The sun shone hotly into the cabin, and all the pa.s.sengers except Ambrose went to sleep.

'One unidentified aircraft has landed at Leicester,' Cottesmore radar said. 'Another appears to be heading directly for Peterborough. 'That leaves five?' I asked.

'Six... there's another now further to the west.'

'It may be me.'

'Turn left thirty degrees for identification.'

I turned, flew on the new heading.

'Identified,' he said. 'Return to former heading.'