Extract: Eyes Turned Skyward, by Ken Lussey

Eyes Turned Skywards by Ken Lussey

This novel reflects on the rumours and theories surrounding a number of real-life events, including the death of the Duke of Kent and the aircraft crashes of Short Sunderland W4032 and Avro Anson DJ106.

Wing Commander Robert Sutherland has left his days as a pre-war detective far behind him. Or so he thinks. On 25 August 1942 the Duke of Kent, brother of King George VI, is killed in northern Scotland in an unexplained air crash; a second crash soon after suggests a shared, possibly sinister, cause. Bob Sutherland is tasked with visiting the aircraft’s base in Oban and the first crash site in Caithness to gather clues as to who might have had reason to sabotage one, or both, of the aircraft.

Set against the background of a country that is far from united behind Winston Churchill, and the ever-present threat from the enemy, we follow Bob as he unravels layers of deceit and intrigue far beyond anything he expects.

Extract

The dark-haired man stood on the platform that topped the concrete wall separating the waters of the loch from the fish ladder. He disliked this place. You could see hills in the distance to the west and the south, but the immediate landscape, for miles around, seemed dismal and uninteresting. A wet, peaty desert that did nothing to counter the deep sense of lost hope and failure that he now felt.

A chill north wind blew along the loch. There was nothing between where he stood and the Arctic to get in its way. He knew that this was what the British called a ‘lazy wind’. Too idle to go around you, so it just went straight through you. The man pulled his long overcoat around himself, shivered, and wished he was somewhere else. Almost anywhere else. It might have been August, but it felt like November.

As he stood and watched the loch’s waters flowing over the weir and into what he knew was the River Thurso, the man became aware that a green staff car was bumping along the narrow track that led from the road to the stone cottage standing on the shore of the loch.

He slowly crossed the walkway over the fish ladder to the cottage, and paused briefly to collect his thoughts as he passed one of the nameless guards who had been left with him. The young man wore a camouflage smock and the maroon beret of the Parachute Regiment. He carried his rifle with the easy authority of someone able and prepared to use it.

The car had stopped on the far side of the cottage. A man in a British army officer’s uniform, complete with Home Guard shoulder flashes, emerged from the rear of the car. The driver remained where he was, as did the Parachute Regiment officer in the front passenger seat.

‘Any news, major?’ asked the dark-haired man.

‘I’m sorry, sir, it’s not looking good. I’ve been able to reach my people in London from the radio in the lodge. They have confirmed that our friends left on time, but can tell me nothing more. That means they should have been here nearly an hour ago.’

The two men turned to look south, at a point to the left of the most prominent hills that defined the horizon. The black pall of smoke they had first seen rising between patchy clouds an hour previously had faded to a lighter, greyer tone, but was still visible.

‘I don’t think they are coming, do you, major?’

‘I’m afraid it doesn’t look that way, sir.’

‘So what do we do now?’

‘I don’t know, sir. For the moment we are advised to return to the lodge, and stay there until the situation is clearer.’

‘By “advised” do you mean “instructed”, major?’

‘Yes, sir, I suppose I do.’

They walked over to the vehicle. The dark-haired man took a last look around before climbing into the car, whose rear door was now being held open for him by the driver.