“You have done a splendid job here, for which the British people and His Majesty’s Government thank you; but, in these times of great danger, we cannot take chances with anyone whose past record is in doubt. I am sorry, Wilson, but I have orders to release you and send you back to the United States.”
Stan sat looking at the Wing Commander. Suddenly anger boiled up inside him, a savage, cold anger.
“If you can show no more appreciation than this, I do not care to stay. My record with the Royal Air Force should be proof that the charges against me were phony.”
The O.C. reddened. He looked at Garret. Scowling blackly, he said, “I took that attitude, personally, but my superior officers have ordered your release.”
“Before you release him I suggest that you consider another angle,” Garret said. “I have just learned that, though he and an Irish recruit returned safely, the new plane did not return. The fighters of all groups have been questioned and they did not see the Hawk in action against the enemy at all. I think the plane was delivered to Nazi agents on the coast.” Garret’s voice was little better than a snarl when he finished.
Stan’s gaze locked with that of the lieutenant. “The Hendee Hawk will be delivered here at the field in a few days. Lieutenant O’Malley set her down on a carrier in the channel after she was put out of action.”
Garret laughed harshly. “That is a fine story, Wilson, but one that only a fool would believe.”
“It is an impossible story,” the O.C. agreed.
“He should be locked up,” Garret insisted.
“I hardly think that will be necessary,” a voice from the doorway said. The men turned and saw Allison standing just inside the room, supported by the strong arm of O’Malley.