The Final Flight

by James Blatch

  “The film’s exposed,” he said, as he headed to the back of his van.

  “Exposed? How did that happen?”

  “It happens,” Sampson said.

  “Or someone sabotaged us,” Megan said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

  Sampson didn’t look up but he made a derisory snorting sound.

  “Sabotage?” Susie said.

  “Leaky camera,” Sampson said. “I told you to test it.” He disappeared back into the tent to retrieve the rest of his kit.

  Susie turned to Megan and spoke with as much sympathy as she could muster.

  “We still have the folder. Where is it?”

  The lines of Megan’s face looked deep in the grey first light. She didn’t reply, and wandered off.

  When Sampson came back out, he held a bulging rucksack.

  She followed him, not taking her eyes off the bag.

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “No.”

  There was something in the way he looked at her. The first signs of suspicion, maybe?

  She decided not to push her luck.

  It was out of her hands, now.

  As she walked back toward her tent, he drove past, the Morris van rocking as it trundled over the uneven grass. It turned onto the main road and disappeared from view on the other side of a hedge.

  She bit her lip, listening to the receding engine noise.

  The van came back into view in the distance, heading toward the S-bends south of the airfield.

  After what seemed an age, a second set of headlights came on and a car swung out behind the van.

  The two vehicles disappeared from sight.

  12

  Saturday 18th June

  “Where are they?” said Kilton.

  “On their way, boss,” the adjutant replied.

  Millie stood between the two, staring down at the broken door.

  Secure Cabinet 3 had been cleared out. The small padlock discarded on the floor, along with the thin metal base plate.

  The room was quiet.

  They’d followed so much protocol to ensure it remained hidden from view. Not just from the public, but from the rest of the RAF and armed forces.

  And yet someone had been inside TFU, forced open the cabinet and simply walked out with it.

  Who was reading about Guiding Light now?

  Kilton’s breathing grew heavier.

  He kicked the cabinet; it rocked against the wall, flakes of paint fluttering to the ground.

  The adjutant flinched.

  Rob May and Red Brunson crashed through the doors.

  Kilton set off toward his office.

  “Follow me.”

  He sat down as the men shuffled in behind him.

  “It was targeted. They must have known about Guiding Light.”

  Brunson and May looked at each other.

  “We had a break-in last night,” Millie said. “One cabinet was accessed. Guiding Light material is missing. Tapes and project files.”

  “Christ,” spluttered Rob. “Do we know who it was?”

  “Who’d you think it was?” Kilton said. “It was obviously those bloody fairies at the end of the bloody runway.” He paused. “But they must have had help. There’s someone in here leaking. Someone on the inside. We have a traitor in our midst.”

  “Or they just broke in to do some damage and got lucky?” Millie suggested.

  “Don’t be so bloody naive, Millie. They knew what they were looking for. Nothing else is gone. The hatch to the Vulcan was open. Engineers are certain it was left closed.”

  Millie had seen Vulcan hatches left open overnight before, but said nothing.

  “They’ve stolen Guiding Light from the Vulcan?” Rob said.

  “No. Everything’s still there. But they know it exists and that could be the end of the project.”

  Millie could contact JR to stand down the flight to Abingdon. The peace protestors may have just done him a favour.

  But Kilton continued. “We can’t let that happen, can we? We’ve come too far. There’s too much at stake.”

  Kilton looked galvanised, eyes wide.

  “We need to move quickly and surely. First, we find out who the traitor is. I need a list of everyone who has had any dealings with the project. Anyone who knew what it was, where the paperwork was, and which aircraft it was fitted to. And I want the list now.”

  Rob looked at Millie.

  “That’ll have to be you, Millie. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “That’s a lot of people, boss,” Millie said. “Only a few of us properly know about it, but others know of it.”

  “Just draw up the bloody list, Milford.”

  “May, Brunson, you can start by rounding up everything to do with the project now. This place is no longer secure. From now on, everything stays in the safe in the HQ building.”

  The men stayed where they were for a moment, not sure if Kilton was finished. He looked at them, exasperated. “Go! Get on with it!”

  The cell was damp. Condensation clung to the thick stone walls. Susie pulled her arms tightly around herself and tried to settle on the hard wooden bed.

  The police had come for them just after 6AM.

  A shout went up, and some of the girls shrieked as the men jumped out of their vehicles and marched toward the tents, truncheons drawn.

  A few put up a token struggle, but most went quietly.

  They knew it was coming, of course.

  Susie expected Megan to brief them on how to say nothing and wait to learn what, if any, evidence they had against them. But that was not part of the plan. Quite the opposite, in fact. Megan wanted a fuss. Court appearances would be maximised as an opportunity to shout at the press.

  Initially, Susie was in a cell with Samantha and two other girls, but shortly after names were taken, they came for the other three and moved them elsewhere, leaving her alone.

  “Stay strong,” Samantha had said as a constable led her away.

  It was 10AM.

  A bolt clunked on the other side of the door.

  A spindly police sergeant appeared. He said nothing, but beckoned her with his finger.

  Susie lifted herself from the bed and walked behind him past two other closed cell doors and out through a rear exit into the daylight.

  She shielded her eyes from the bright sun.

  In front of her was a small car park filled with police panda cars and a black Vauxhall saloon with dark windows.

  The rear door was open, and the sergeant gestured her toward it.

  She climbed into the back seat alongside a middle-aged man, clean-shaven and wearing a suit and tie.

  The camera and rucksack sat on the seat next to him.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “You’re going back in there.” He picked up the rucksack and opened it, removing a thick wad of papers, including three brown paper files.

  “Is this everything?” he said.

  Susie looked at the folders and camera.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure? There was only one film and no prints.”

  “That’s right, one film. I exposed it before he could develop it. There should have been some over-exposed prints?”

  The man opened a cardboard box of photographic paper. She picked up the top three sheets, noticing the others were below a thin layer of brown paper.

  “I think these are the attempts at developing the film.”

  The man held them close to his face. “OK.”

  Susie’s eyes went to the paperwork. Red ‘Top Secret’ stamps and the carefully written project name: GUIDING LIGHT.

  The man produced a strange leather satchel with twisted metal wire running through a black clasp.

  He inserted the folders, camera, film and the three over-exposed prints.

  He showed her a box of cardboard sleeves containing the reels of magnetic tape.

  “Is this all of them?”

  “Looks about right.”
>
  “You didn’t count them?”

  “No. But I’m sure that’s it. Sampson took them all. None were left in the tent and they couldn’t be anywhere else.”

  The man nodded. “The tents were searched. The plod found a bag of tools in the woods, but that was it. Still, if you didn’t count them, we can’t be a hundred per cent.”

  “Where else would they be?”

  “OK. But next time be more observant.”

  “You have Sampson?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happens to everyone else? What happens to me?”

  “It’s up to West Porton. I suspect they won’t want to press charges. They seem a little shy when it comes to publicity.” He paused. “But for now, you can go back to your cell.”

  “Thanks. What next? I’m done here.”

  He looked at her and shrugged. “Not my call, I’m afraid. Speak to your desk officer.” He looked her up and down. “I must say this is a first for me. And it’s true what they said, you are quite pretty.”

  “Right.”

  He fed the tapes into the pouch. It bulged, but he managed to seal it using the wires.

  “Off you go. Shoo!” He motioned toward the door.

  “Thanks. I’m not a cat. And no ‘well done’?” She climbed out.

  “If you want to be told ‘well done’, become a nurse.”

  The police sergeant looked expectantly at her.

  “I need to go back to my cell. The same as everyone else, please.”

  “Oh. OK.” He looked uncertain. “So, are we to be told what this is all about?”

  Before Susie could answer, the man in the car called out,

  “In here please, sergeant. I need you to make a delivery.”

  “Mark, this is extremely serious. They will soon take it out of our hands.”

  Group Captain Gilbert Periwinkle’s office was spacious. He spoke from behind his desk, leaving Kilton to pace the room. “We need to tell people what’s missing. Group for a start.”

  “No,” Kilton snapped. “They don’t need to know. They don’t have the full picture, anyway.”

  “What about the Ministry? And Blackton? At least let’s tell Ewan.”

  “I’ll talk to Ewan. But we’ll lose the project if we lose confidence.”

  “How can we be confident? You heard the police. They’ve found nothing at the site. Just some wire cutters. None of the material. For all we know it’s sitting on a newspaper editor’s desk, or halfway to Moscow by now.”

  Periwinkle looked stern. “I’m just trying to be realistic here, Mark. I think you’re hoping for a miracle that won’t come. We’ve lost the material and we need to alert the proper authorities. We haven’t even told the police we’re missing anything. We can’t just pretend.”

  Kilton slumped down at a chair against the back wall.

  “The flimsy bloody cabinets. I told Johnson to beef them up.

  What about a D-Notice?” he asked. “We need one. If the documents are in the hands of the press, we need to stop publication.”

  “D-Notices are extremely hard to get, Mark. Telling newspapers they may not cover stories is not the politicians’ favourite pastime. I think this government in particular will be reluctant. Having said that, it would be a first step to inform the Ministry.”

  “Not yet.” Kilton softened his tone. “Let’s be sure of what’s missing. I’ve got the men going through everything.”

  “If we sit on this, it will only get worse for us.”

  “Worse? How?”

  The phone on Periwinkle’s desk rang.

  The station commander picked it up and listened for a moment. “Yes. I see. Please escort him straight to my office.”

  He hung up and looked at Kilton. “The police are here.”

  Kilton stood up. “Remember, we tell them nothing.”

  The door opened. A corporal ushered in a short police inspector. His hat was under one arm and in the other he clutched a large leather satchel.

  “Officer, how can we help you?”

  “Regards to the break-in you’ve had at the fence. You believe nothing was stolen?”

  Periwinkle glanced at Kilton. “Well we can’t be a hundred per cent certain…”

  “Right, only this has been passed to us, to pass to you.”

  He put the satchel on the desk.

  It had an elaborate seal with two loops of metal wire.

  The station commander stood up and peered over his half-moon glasses.

  “Looks like the old diplomatic pouches we used to take through civil airports. Do you know what’s in it?” he asked, looking up at the policeman.

  “For your eyes only, was the instruction.”

  “Who gave the instruction?” asked Kilton.

  The policeman shuffled on his feet. “The gentleman worked for the government, is about all I can tell you.”

  “Excuse me, inspector,” Kilton said, “if this is our property I think we deserve to know where it came from.”

  “That’s the thing, sir, I don’t actually know. All I can tell you is that he worked for Her Majesty’s government. And he returned stolen material, which, he informed us, belongs to you.”

  Periwinkle smiled. “Security Service, Mark. Don’t expect a calling card.”

  Kilton stared down at the satchel, clearly itching to open it.

  He looked back at the policeman. “And you have no idea what’s in here?”

  “No, sir. It’s sealed.”

  “Thank you then, officer. Is that everything?”

  The policeman looked disappointed, but said his goodbyes and left.

  Kilton picked up the satchel, but Periwinkle emerged from behind his desk and took it from him. He snapped the black seal on the table and the metal wires sprung out.

  He emptied the contents onto his desk: the secret Guiding Light files, a collection of magnetic tapes, a box marked ILFORD PHOTOGRAPHIC PAPER and an Olympus OM-1 camera.

  Kilton stared.

  “It’s everything, plus this camera.”

  The station commander sat back down behind his desk. “Don’t expect an explanation, Mark. My experience with these types is that they rarely tell you anything. But it looks like you have a guardian angel.”

  He looked up to Periwinkle. “This was a warning. The longer Guiding Light’s held at the trial stage, the greater the risk of it being blown wide open.”

  “It’s time to bring things to a conclusion.”

  The station commander stood up to see him out. “Well, let’s not rush anything, but yes, I agree. I’ll be rather pleased when it moves on.

  “See you at the ball tonight, Mark? I think we’ve earned a stiff drink.”

  “We’re still going ahead with the ball? After all this?”

  “Of course. The show must go on.”

  The officers’ mess dining room was adorned with orange ejection seat parachutes and packed with loud chatter and laughter. The RAF West Porton Summer Ball was in full swing.

  Millie sipped his gin & tonic, venturing away from his usual tipples on this special occasion.

  It had been a strange day. Seeing Kilton go from a state of fury to light-hearted banter was quite something.

  But there was a look on his face Millie didn’t much like. A new determination seemed to fuel him.

  He looked around the room. Catching JR’s eye, he raised his glass across the sea of heads.

  As usual for West Porton, very few people knew the truth of what was happening. The break-in was public knowledge, but that was about it.

  The gong sounded; people cheered. Millie couldn’t see him, but he imagined Rob with the hammer in his hand.

  He found Georgina, and they walked arm in arm through to the dining room.

  After the meal, they stood for the loyal toast, and the cigarettes and cigars came out.

  Mark Kilton rose to his feet.

  The TFU commanding officer launched into a lecture on national security and loyalty.

  He
began with the debt they owed their grandfathers, who fought in the trenches, moving on to their duty to protect their loved ones.

  “But foul play of the worst kind will undermine all our efforts. Make no mistake, gentleman, we are under attack.”

  Georgina whispered in Millie’s ear. “This doesn’t apply to the ladies present, then.”

  Everyone listened politely, but this was not the time or place for a Churchillian rant.

  Kilton, though, was oblivious to mood. “I will meet treachery with swift and vicious justice. Changes are already in place to ensure our work continues uninterrupted.”

  People shifted in their seats.

  He came to a loud conclusion. “We will not allow our freedom to be lost in the name of naivety or deliberate treachery. We will do what is required, however unpleasant that may seem to the outsiders, such that those same people can sleep peacefully at night.”

  A few men greeted the speech with rapturous applause, while others put their hands together politely.

  Millie glanced over to see Speedy Johnson start a standing ovation; others joined in, including Rob.

  “Is he feeling alright?” Georgina asked.

  Millie shook his head.

  “No. He’s getting worse. The man has too much power.”

  “He’s a bit manic, that’s for sure.”

  “And that’s a dangerous combination, my dear.”

  Kilton sat down, having had the last word. There were no more speeches. It was a ball, not a dining-in night.

  Millie drained his glass. He and Georgina walked out to the anteroom while they cleared the tables for the dancing.

  They found their place by a window. Millie looked out at the darkening skies.

  He recalled the moment that morning when it looked like the project had been brought to a premature end. Then later being told the items had been recovered.

  He assumed it was some kids maybe, looking for cash or something valuable, and imagined them cursing the drab papers and reels.

  So there was no need to cancel his trip to RAF Abingdon and onto Oxford on Monday.

  Three more drinks and one hour later, he was dancing with Georgina, followed by Sarah Brunson, then with Diana Johnson.

  And then with Mary May.