The Thames was boiling. Several minutes after Jane Roylston had disappeared beneath the surface, the whole middle area of the river erupted. Bubbles burst to the surface. A sudden, impossible wave curled upwards close to Westminster Bridge, between Miss Manners and the Houses of Parliament.
‘What the hell?’ Alban said. ‘Did your friend do this?’
Miss Manners shook her head in disbelief. She had no answer.
People paused on the Embankment, staring out incredulously as the waters churned, turning from muddy brown to foaming white. A dark shape forced its way to the surface. Water cascaded from the huge, bulbous craft as it broke the surface. It rose slowly, ponderously, water sluicing off it as it came clear of the river. Boats were tossed about like wooden toys, their crews struggling to keep control and avoid being washed overboard.
The shouts and cries of the people watching were lost in the roar of the massive engines glowing beneath the craft. It climbed higher into the air, pausing for a moment before turning slowly on its axis. It was slightly elliptical, short, stubby fins jutting up from the back end, as big as a double-decker bus. Then suddenly a light so bright it hurt the eyes flashed out from the back of the craft. In moments it was screaming away across the river, climbing over the Palace of Westminster.
‘They’ve got the axe,’ Miss Manners said, staring after it. ‘Jane gave them the axe.’
‘Is it important?’ Alban could see the answer in her expression. ‘I’ll get on to the RAF. Maybe they can intercept it.’ He was already running back towards Charing Cross to find a phone.
‘It might be quicker to run to the Air Ministry,’ Miss Manners murmured. But Alban was probably right. He’d have more success phoning MI5 to put in an urgent, formal request than trying to get past the front entrance to the Air Ministry without the requisite clearance.
For the moment, there was nothing Miss Manners could do except wait for Alban, assuming he came back. She stared out across the Thames. The surface was still choppy from the Vril craft’s emergence. If nothing else, she now knew what a UDT looked like. It matched the descriptions she’d taken from pilots who’d seen one – including Sarah Diamond. There were quite a few more people who’d seen one now, though of course they’d have no idea what they had really seen.
She was about to turn away and follow Alban when she saw something in the water. At first she thought it was just a piece of driftwood or rubbish. But as she watched, it was drawn closer by the flow of the river – a shape emerged. A body. Lying face down in the water, just the head and shoulders breaking the surface. She could make out the short dark hair, plastered to the back of the neck. Jane.
The current was taking Jane’s body towards Westminster Bridge. She ran along the Embankment, trying to keep the body in sight. Could she have survived – was it possible?
She was almost at the bridge when the body seemed to come to life. Jane’s head lifted. Water gushed from her open mouth as she looked round. Then she struck out for the bank, swimming strongly with even, almost mechanical strokes.
Miss Manners increased her speed. But she wasn’t going to get there in time. Already Jane was hauling herself up a slipway, then on to the Embankment. Apparently oblivious to her appearance, she headed off towards Westminster Bridge. People glanced at her curiously, taking in the sight of a young woman drenched from head to toe hurrying barefoot along the pavement. But most had seen more improbable sights.
Turning onto the bridge to follow, Miss Manners lost sight of Jane for a second. Was she crossing the bridge, or had she turned the other way? Miss Manners looked round, trying desperately to spot her. Instead she saw another familiar and distinctive figure – Alban’s red hair meant he stood out easily in the crowd.
‘Did you see her?’ Miss Manners gasped as she reached Alban.
‘See who?’
‘Jane.’
He just stared at her.
‘She swam to the bank. Climbed out. I lost her.’
‘She got out of the river? And came this way?’
Miss Manners nodded, breathless.
‘Then let’s follow her.’ Alban pointed at the pavement at their feet. The area closest to the river was wet from the water cascading off the Vril craft. Trails of wet footprints led off in all directions.
‘How does that help?’
‘It might not,’ Alban conceded. ‘But if she’s been in the river, she’ll stay wet longer than most people’s shoes. Show me where she was heading and we’ll see if she left a trail.’
‘She’s barefoot,’ Miss Manners said. ‘That will help. And the RAF?’ she asked.
‘If they can get a trace, they’ll try to intercept. Well, they might get lucky.’
* * *
The UDT had reached the English Channel before the Spitfires found it. Three planes from RAF Manston intercepted over the Kent coast. None of the pilots had seen anything like it before, but their orders were clear – the craft was hostile and to be brought down.
‘Some sort of dirigible, maybe,’ Bert Tanner, piloting the lead aircraft, thought as he closed in, approaching from ahead of the craft as it raced at him.
The other two Spitfires were close behind and on either side. Tanner opened up with his Browning .303 machine guns. If the bullets impacted on the craft in front of him, they had no effect. He kept firing, but the craft was moving rapidly towards him and he had to bank rapidly to starboard.
As soon as Tanner was out of the way, the other two planes opened up. Their fire had as little effect, and they too had to turn rapidly to avoid collision.
‘Bring it down at all costs’ had been the order. Tanner barely gave a thought to what he was doing as he swung the plane round and dived back towards the strange craft. He pushed the throttle to its full extent, the acceleration driving him back into the seat. The Merlin engine’s note deepened to a throaty roar as it propelled the plane towards the enemy craft at almost 500 miles per hour.
He closed his eyes at the moment of impact, taking his hands off the controls and breathing out. Only at that moment did he think about what he was doing. About Gracie and the children.
A brilliant white light burned through his eyelids. That was it, he realised, and suddenly he felt calm and relaxed.
Then a deafening thunderclap of sound shocked him back to reality. He opened his eyes and grabbed for the joystick. His plane was still diving, powering through the low clouds. The distinctive elliptical wings of two Spitfires cut through the sky above him as Tanner pulled the plane out of the dive and levelled off.
A streak of white disappearing into the distance was the only sign of the craft he had been attacking.