'You mean the trouble was related to his work?' Bradley asked as he rearranged the position of the ashtray.

'Yes,' G.o.ddard confirmed. 'He didn't tell me much about himself, but he did say that he'd come from Iowa, worked on some airship projects, and came to me when those projects were first taken over by, then dropped by, the US government. Is that why you're interested, Mr Bradley? Were you involved in his problems?'

Feeling distinctly uneasy, Bradley was nevertheless able to answer honestly. 'No. I know nothing about them. It's interesting, though, that he should have said that. What do you think?'

'I don't think I have to tell you, Mr Bradley, that for years I've felt neglected by the US government and if Wilson was working on airships, or similar projects, and was then either dropped or blocked by the government, he would feel as bitter as I do which is very bitter indeed.'

Bradley almost felt G.o.ddard's bitterness. Deeply embarra.s.sed by it, he disguised it by drinking more coffee and then clearing his throat.

'Did he say or do anything to substantiate such bitterness?'

'Yes,' G.o.ddard replied without hesitation. 'Just before our rocket test flight of December 31, 1930, which Wilson should have attended, he told rne that our government didn't appreciate its brightest minds, that it would eventually make things difficult for me, and that I should consider leaving the country for good and taking my talents where they'd be more appreciated.'

'And where did he suggest, Mr G.o.ddard?'

'Germany,' G.o.ddard said. 'He reminded me that the German rocket scientists revered my work and that because of that I'd certainly get the financing there that I couldn't get here. Two days later, while we were testing our latest rocket, he packed up and disappeared.'

'Was your rocket test a success?' Bradley asked, thinking it wise to lighten the conversation.

'It was gratifying,' G.o.ddard replied. 'The gyroscopic controls didn't work properly and the descent parachute didn't open, but the rocket reached a speed of 350 miles per hour and a height of nearly two miles.'

'That's impressive.'

'Yes, it's impressive but not to your superiors.'

Feeling that he'd just been slapped on the face, and also oddly haunted by the ghostly man he was pursuing, Bradley finished his coffee, stubbed his cigarette out, placed the ashtray on the table, and prepared to leave.

'Is there anything else you can give me that might help me?' he asked.

'No,' G.o.ddard replied, standing up to show him to the door. 'What I've told you is all I can tell you. Apart from that, he's a mystery.'

Bradley sighed. 'Thanks anyway,' he said. 'I'd like to apologize for how the government's treated you, but '

'It's not your place to do so.'

'Yeah,' Bradley said, grateful for the unexpected sensitivity. 'Right. It's not my place. Thanks again, anyway, Dr G.o.ddard and the best of luck for the future.'

G.o.ddard just smiled and nodded, led him to the door, remained on the porch till he drove away, then disappeared back into his attractive, old-fashioned house.

Bradley drove straight to the MIT, flirted with the middle-age lady who worked in the records department, and soon learned that John Wilson had indeed attended the university before going on to Cornell in Ithaca, New York. He was also able to ascertain from Wilson's old registration card that at the time of his enrolment, he had been living in Ma.s.sachusetts with only his father, that before that he had lived with both his parents in Montezuma, Iowa, and that he had been born there on July 6, 1870.

Growing ever more intrigued by the fragmented trail of his brilliant, mysterious quarry, Bradley took the next train out of Ma.s.sachusetts.

'Airships,' he muttered to himself as he sat in his reserved seat in a first-cla.s.s car and lit a cigar. 'What next? I wonder.' The train moved into darkness.

CHAPTER SIX Ernst awakened at dawn, after a night of bad dreams, thinking he was in a cell in Stadelheim Prison, his heart pounding with fear. Then he saw his own bedroom, felt Ingrid beside him, and so heaved a sigh of relief and reached out to touch her. She was naked beneath the sheets, her skin smooth and warm, and aroused, he rolled in against her, hoping to waken her.

She did not awaken immediately, which disappointed him again, and still caught in the web of his frightening dreams, he gazed through the windows. The curtains had not been drawn and he saw the dawn's dark-gray light, gradually illuminating the houses opposite, in the modestly-priced Berlin suburb of Helensee. They had moved here a year ago, two weeks after they were married and had honeymooned in Paris, which, compared to Berlin, had been like heaven on earth. It seemed longer than a year ago (so much had happened in that turbulent period) and Ernst, now the father of a daughter, Ula, wondered where all the joy had gone.

Germany had changed dramatically in the fifteen months and he had changed with it.

Not wishing to think about it, feeling the need for escape, he pressed himself against Ingrid's spine and ran his hands over her. He heard her breathing change, felt her stiffen and then relax, so he whispered her name into her ear and she sighed and turned into him. She gazed at him with sleepy, cat-like green eyes, then kissed him sensually.

This was the dawn's sole reward, and he made love with feeling, aware that it was not like it had been, but grateful to have her. Ingrid's body was still sublime, a soft retreat from harsh reality, and he slid along her belly, sucked and licked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and neck, and moved inside her with the desperate need to obliterate what had recently been haunting him the knowledge that he was losing her love as his pride was destroyed.

When he had finished and was hoping to rest on top of her, she slid out from under him.

'I'll get breakfast,' she said.

'Please, Ingrid, stay in bed a little longer.'

'No,' she said. 'You'll be late.'

Reminded by that remark of what the day might yet bring, Ernst felt the chill of dread slipping through him. He had forgotten that he'd been ordered to report back to barracks unusually early, in preparation for possible action against the SA, or Brownshirts, who were reported to be planning an armed rebellion under the leadership of Captain Ernst Roehm.

Another police duty, Ernst thought bitterly as Ingrid, in a dressing gown, padded from the room and he slid his legs out of the bed and went into the bathroom.

As he attended to his ablutions, he pondered the fact that even he was becoming confused by the sheer number of conflicting groups within the Third Reich's increasingly nightmarish police structure. Top of the list were the Gestapo, or Secret State Police. Originally under the command of the debauched Hermann Goring, recently it had been taken under the wing of Heinrich Himmler, who was also head of the SS. The SS had been formed as. .h.i.tler's personal Guard Detachment but was fast becoming the most feared police force of all. Next came the SD, which acted as the long-range Intelligence and Security Service of the SS, under the control of the dreaded Reinhard Heydrich. Last of the major groups was the SA, originally formed as part of the SD and consisting of Ernst Roehm's brown-shirted Storm Troops, who represented the military arm of the n.a.z.i Party and were used mainly to intimidate, beat up, or murder those openly opposed to it. Now that degenerate madman, Roehm, was rumoured to be planning a putsch, or armed revolt, against the Reichswehr... And today's police duty, Ernst suspected, had something to do with that situation.