Hornet Flight by Ken Follett

of his customers’ luggage. “Where is the mailbag?” Peter said.
    â€œIn the baggage office.”
    â€œWell, what are you waiting for? Bring it here, idiot!”
    Varde went off. Peter pointed at the luggage with a disgusted gesture and said to his detectives, “Get rid of this stuff.”
    Dresler and Ellegard repacked the suitcases roughly. A baggage handler came to take them to the Junkers. “Wait,” Peter said as the man began to pick up the cases. “Search him, Sergeant.” Conrad searched the man and found nothing.
    Varde brought the mailbag and Peter emptied the letters on the ground. They all bore the stamp of the censor. There were two envelopes large enough to hold a newspaper, one white and one brown. He ripped open the white one. It held six copies of a legal document, some kind of contract.The brown envelope contained the catalogue of a Copenhagen glassware factory. Peter cursed aloud.
    A trolley bearing a tray of sandwiches and several coffeepots was wheeled out for Peter’s inspection. This was Peter’s last hope. He opened each pot and poured the coffee out on the ground. Juel muttered something about this being unnecessary, but Peter was too desperate to care. He pulled away the linen napkins covering the tray and poked about among the sandwiches. To his horror, there was nothing. In a rage, he picked up the tray and dumped the sandwiches on the ground, hoping to find a newspaper underneath, but there was only another linen napkin.
    He realized he was going to be completely humiliated, and that made him madder.
    â€œBegin refueling,” he said. “I’ll watch.”
    A tanker was driven out to the Junkers. The detectives put out their cigarettes and looked on as aviation fuel was pumped into the wings of the aircraft. Peter knew this was useless, but he persevered stubbornly, wearing a wooden expression, because he could not think what else to do. Passengers watched curiously through the rectangular windows of the Junkers, no doubt wondering why a German general and six civilians needed to observe the refueling.
    The tanks were filled and the caps closed.
    Peter could not think of any way to delay the takeoff. He had been wrong, and now he looked a fool.
    â€œLet the passengers board,” he said with suppressed fury.
    He returned to the departure lounge, his humiliation complete. He wanted to strangle someone. He had made a complete mess of things in front of General Braun as well as Superintendent Juel. The appointments board would feel justified in having picked Juel instead of Peter for the top job. Juel might even use this fiasco as an excuse for having Peter shunted sideways to some low-profile department such as Traffic.
    He stopped in the lounge to watch the takeoff. Juel, Braun, and the detectives waited with him. Varde was standing nearby, trying hard to look as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They watched while the four angry passengers boarded. The chocks were removed from the wheels by the ground crew and thrown on board, then the door was closed.
    As the aircraft moved off its stand, Peter was struck by inspiration. “Stop the plane,” he said to Varde.
    Juel said, “For God’s sake . . .”
    Varde looked as if he might cry. He turned to General Braun. “Sir, my passengers . . .”
    â€œStop the plane!” Peter repeated.
    Varde continued to look pleadingly at Braun. After a moment, Braun nodded. “Do as he says.”
    Varde picked up a phone.
    Juel said, “My God, Flemming, this had better be good.”
    The aircraft rolled onto the runway, turned a full circle, and came back to its stand. The door opened, and the chocks were thrown down to the ground crew.
    Peter led the rest of the detectives out onto the apron. The propellers slowed and stopped. Two men in overalls were wedging the chocks in front of the main wheels. Peter addressed one of them. “Hand me