The Final Flight

by James Blatch

“Damn it, Roger. This is bloody ridiculous. We’re onto something.”

  “You could have gone to Oxford to sniff about. But instead you’ve dragged this poor pilot into it. You weren’t even supposed to contact him and yet, here we are.”

  “The answer’s most likely at RAF Abingdon. He can get in. I can’t get in.”

  “Well, it’s academic now. They want you here tomorrow to debrief.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “It is a Wednesday, my dear. Sorry, did you have plans? Oh, that’s right, you were going to commandeer one of Her Majesty’s aircraft. Maybe you could fly home?”

  She slammed the phone down and closed her eyes, struggling not to scream.

  Outside the phone box, a waiting young woman gave her a startled look. Susie pushed the door open.

  “Men!”

  She brushed past and walked along the river toward the meeting place with Rob. She was early. A few ducks swam hopefully toward her as she took a seat on a bench facing the river. “You’re out of luck,” she said to them. “If it helps, you’re not alone.”

  For ten minutes, she watched the world walk by, trying her best to calm down.

  But she was angry. Undermined.

  Worst of all, she knew they were wrong.

  She checked her watch and walked along to The Old Mill Hotel.

  Inside the low-ceilinged building, she asked for two teas and found a table outside, overlooking the mill pond.

  Rob appeared along the river path from Salisbury.

  He looked terrible.

  “You OK?” she asked.

  He shook his head, looking as if he was about to cry.

  “Christ.” She stood up and led him away from the hotel.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Mary left me.”

  “What?”

  “We were spotted, you and me. Some busybody from the church. Mary waited up for me last night. I think she’d spent the evening stewing, getting herself all worked up about it, and of course I was out with you.”

  “God, I’m sorry, Rob.”

  “What do I do?” He stopped walking and faced her. “You can fix this. You can tell her.”

  “Haven’t you told her?”

  “I said you were helping me, but she didn’t believe me.”

  “Then what do you want me to say?

  “Can’t you fix it?”

  “I’m not a marriage counsellor, Rob.”

  His face fell.

  “Please talk to her for me.” He sounded pitiful, in actual pain. “I don’t think I can go on Thursday unless she’s back.”

  “Thursday?”

  “We can’t go tomorrow. Has to be Thursday.”

  “Shit.”

  “Is that a problem? Maybe we should call it off?”

  She studied him. “Let’s sit down.” She walked him over to the bench.

  “You’ve changed your tune, Rob. Is this because Mary’s left you, or has something else happened?”

  Rob looked across the river in the direction of the cathedral. The ducks fidgeted about in the water, diving for scraps. In the distance, the cathedral clock rang for 6PM.

  “It just hit home today. At TFU, it’s just me. Everyone else is just carrying on as normal. Maybe I’m wrong. Is it worth it, Susie? Is it worth my marriage?”

  “Rob, you’re the only one left because the others are dead. Or sent to the gulags by Kilton.”

  He chewed a nail. Susie noted the dark bags under his eyes. It reminded her of those images of Battle of Britain pilots smoking after a flight; drained of energy and ageing by the minute.

  “So many things can go wrong on Thursday, Susie. It could ruin everything and achieve nothing. And where would that leave me with Mary? I could be out of the RAF or worse.” He gave her that forlorn look again. “What if Mary never comes back?”

  “And what if you don’t go? You stay and sign off the project and it goes into production with the same flaw that killed Millie. Can you live with that? You know Mark Kilton’s done his sums. He’s not an idiot. He knows people will die while this thing enters service. Even now, he’s probably planning how TFU will be involved in the inquiries, quick to rule out the secret technology and blame the crews. We’ve already seen it with Millie. That crash should have been the end of the project, but if anything, it’s emboldened him. It’s shown him he can get away with the worst case scenario. And you’re right. You’re alone now. Millie’s gone. It’s down to you.” She looked up at the sky and sighed. “We all have to make choices in life, Rob. As a matter of fact, I’m in a similar position.”

  He gave her a quizzical look.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but the Service doesn’t want us to go ahead with the flight. In fact, I’ve been recalled.”

  “So we can’t go, anyway?”

  “I didn’t say that. I was never going on the flight. So that’s still a matter for you.”

  “But you wouldn’t be there to help me.”

  “I didn’t say that, either. But I’m not staying around if you’re half-hearted about it.”

  She let the statement hang in the air for a minute.

  The ducks appeared to have lost hope on being fed and paddled off downstream.

  “It’s easy for me to walk away,” said Susie. She tapped his shoulders. “But there’s a lot of weight on there. I’m not sure there’s any other way of shifting it.”

  She looked at her watch. “Look, do one more thing for me, before you make your final decision.”

  She pulled out her notepad and flicked through the pages of shorthand, before settling on a couple of scribbled lines. Tearing off a fresh sheet, she used a ballpoint pen to translate it.

  73 Sunrise Avenue

  Totton

  “What will I find here?” Rob asked.

  “A reminder why we’re doing this.”

  The A36 was quiet. Rob pushed down on the accelerator and opened up the Healey, braking heavily as he came to a series of bends on the outskirts of Totton.

  It took him several minutes to find Sunrise Avenue.

  He crawled along the road, peering out of the passenger window at the odd numbers. 31, 33…

  He gently sped up. 57, 59…

  He glanced forward and stared at Millie’s car.

  Climbing out, he let his hands brush across the distinctive fins on the burgundy Rover.

  He recalled the occasions he’d been in the passenger seat. The thing rolled around corners like a boat. Not great with a belly full of beer.

  A door opened to his left. Georgina stood in the entrance of a small bungalow with an overgrown front garden. She wore a red pattern dress. Even among the shabbiness of her new home, she looked wonderful.

  Tears welled in his eyes as he made his way up the path, stepping over long discarded children’s toys.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said. They embraced.

  She pulled back. “It’s lovely to see you, dear Robert. But as I’m on the naughty list, I’m guessing this isn’t a sympathy visit.”

  “Can we have a chat?”

  She led him through to the garden. The interior of the house was in dire need of repairs. Peeling wallpaper and wonky radiators. He glanced into the kitchen as they passed and saw a small, two-ring cooker.

  Charlie sat at the kitchen table nursing a mug of something.

  The teenager sprang to his feet and beamed.

  “Hello, Mr May.”

  “Please call me Rob. How are you?”

  “Not great, to be frank with you.”

  “And that’s OK, Charlie. It’s OK not to be OK.”

  Charlie’s eyes were warm as he looked at Rob. “Thank you.”

  “Look, when this is all over, why don’t you and I spend some time together? I can tell you a bit about your father at work. Maybe a few stories he’d hope you didn’t hear.”

  Charlie smiled. “I’d love that so much. Thank you.”

  Rob followed Georgina out into the garden where he was offered a cheap p
lastic chair. Georgina sat on a wooden stool.

  The fence at the back of the garden leaned forward, having been attacked by unkempt undergrowth on the far side.

  “It’s not ours,” Georgina said. “It’s my brother-in-law’s. He rented it out, but the last family left it in rather a state. I think he’s hoping Charlie and I will help do it up in return for a little rent-free stay.”

  “They just threw you out of the married quarter?”

  “They said it was a crime scene. Can you believe that?”

  Rob shook his head.

  “They told me while the investigation took place, everything was on hold. Including the pension.”

  “How are you for money?” Rob asked. Georgina gave him a look that said it all.

  “It’s hard enough for me, but it’s been terrible for Charlie. Can you imagine what he’s thinking? He adored his father. He was his hero. But now? I hate that he thinks Millie could have done anything wrong.” She dabbed her eyes with a hanky.

  “He did nothing wrong, Georgina. But it’s… complicated.” He waited for her to recover herself. “Can I ask you some questions? Do you remember that Saturday when Millie went to Oxford to see Charlie and we went shopping?”

  “I do. And I know he didn’t go. I suspected as much, but knew better than to ask. It’s funny, after he died I didn’t think so much about the conversations we had. I thought more about the ones we didn’t have. I barely knew anything about his work these last few years. It must be hard to hide so much. Damn Kilton and his vale of absolute secrecy.”

  “So, you didn’t ask him anything?”

  “No. I let it go, like so much. Charlie told me you asked him, though. I didn’t know what to say. Do you know where he went?”

  “Not exactly, no. Was there anything odd about him, leading up to the crash?”

  She thought for a bit and looked off in to the distance. “There was something off, I could sense it. In fact, I thought it was about you.”

  “Me?”

  She smiled. “He loved you, Rob. Loved having you around. You made him feel young. He was so pleased you’d picked him out as a friend, when you had all those glamorous flyers queuing up to rub shoulders with.

  “But then, something changed. You drifted away, which was fine of course. Understandable. Ultimately, I think he understood it. He was good like that. A man without ego. But for a few weeks, it was hard.”

  Rob tightened his hand around the thin plastic arm of the chair.

  Georgina tilted her head. “Oh, darling, he still loved you and you were still friends, weren’t you?”

  “I wasn’t a friend when he needed me.”

  Georgina handed him a tissue.

  “I have plenty of these!”

  Rob took a moment to steady himself.

  “Was there anything else, Georgina? Just something he may have mentioned in passing that sounded odd?”

  Georgina put her hand to her chin and stroked it for a moment before shaking her head. “I can’t think of anything. I mean, he was wrestling with some maths problem at one point, but I can’t see that’s got anything to do with anything.”

  “Maths? Tell me exactly what he said.”

  “Well, I don’t remember much. He just said he had a maths problem. We laughed a bit about Charlie having all the maths brains in the family.”

  Rob stood up and took a few steps around the area of grass that had been cut enough for a couple of chairs and a table. “But he didn’t ask Charlie? Unless Charlie was lying. Maybe he asked Charlie to lie?”

  “I’m sure he would have told me by now, but let’s ask him. Charlie!”

  He appeared at the back door.

  Rob faced him. “Charlie, do you remember our conversation at your mother’s?”

  “About me seeing Dad in Oxford?”

  “Yes. I want to check that you’re not covering up for him. That he didn’t ask you not to say anything. I promise you I’m on his side. I’m not here for TFU or the police. I’m here to clear his name.”

  Charlie shook his head. “I would tell you, Mr May, I promise. But I never saw him. God, I wish I had. But he didn’t visit me.”

  “Or call you?”

  “No. Nothing. I last saw Daddy at Easter.”

  “Thank you, Charlie.”

  “Will you clear his name?” Charlie asked, glancing across to his mother.

  “I’m doing everything I can, I promise.”

  Georgina stood up. “We’re so alone here, Rob. This means everything to us. Thank you.”

  She showed him to the front door.

  “God, I miss Mary. How is that gorgeous wife of yours?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Well, send her my love from Siberia.”

  Rob smiled. “We’ll see you on Friday. After that, you won’t be able to get rid of us.”

  30

  Wednesday 6th July

  In their final chat on Tuesday evening, Susie had dubbed it ‘Normal Wednesday’, urging Rob to play the part of the TFU lackey. Toe the line. Head down.

  “Throw Kilton off the scent. He’ll be writing up your special commendation for delivering the project rather than worrying what you’ll do next.”

  At the tea bar, he was nervous. He couldn’t believe that his colleagues didn’t know Mary had walked out.

  But he drank tea, laughed when he could, and threw himself into the planning for two more Guiding Light trips.

  According to the truncated project timetable, they had nine hours and twelve minutes left to log. Kilton wanted the jet in the air morning and afternoon. Log four hours today and four tomorrow, leaving the ceremonial final flight with around sixty minutes to complete the minimum requirement.

  After an uneventful morning trip to Yorkshire and back, Rob took himself off to the mess for lunch.

  JR was at a table by himself. It would be too out of the ordinary for Rob to join him, so he loitered by his side for just a moment as he passed with his drink in hand.

  “All ready?” He kept his voice low.

  JR looked up and nodded.

  “She’s fixed and waiting for you, Flight Lieutenant. I’ll pick you up at 7.30AM.”

  Rob nodded.

  He avoided the bar after work and went home, remembering to casually mention to Red and Jock that he wasn’t feeling one hundred per cent.

  Twice he picked up the phone and dialled the Laverstocks’. On both occasions he hung up before the line connected.

  It was unbearable, not speaking to Mary. But Susie had warned that any contact might upset him. Throw a spanner in the works at the wrong time.

  The light faded. He finished a bottle of wine as a distraction from the silence. At 10.30PM he went to bed, praying for a good night’s sleep, although he knew it was unlikely to come.

  He turned onto his side and closed his eyes, imagining Millie sitting next to JR in the cockpit of the Anson. Holdall behind him.

  Alone on a mission to save lives.

  31

  Thursday 7th July

  The alarm unleashed its urgent clanging. Rob’s eyes flickered open.

  His first thought was surprise. He’d slept.

  He turned over and faced the space where his wife should be. He rested a hand on the undisturbed pillow, before rolling out of bed.

  He put on his uniform and packed a civilian change of clothes in a holdall.

  It was just after 7AM.

  He walked downstairs, picked up the telephone receiver, and, with nervous fingers, dialled the switchboard at West Porton.

  “Commanding officer, Test Flight Unit, please.”

  A short pause.

  “Kilton.”

  “Sir, it’s Rob May. I’m afraid I’ve been rather unwell in the night and I’m not fit for work or flying today.”

  “You can come in, though?”

  “No. I’m unwell.”

  “This is very inconvenient, May. You have two trips today. Important ones. I’m about to reassure the government we’ll sign
off tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Fine. I’ll take your place.”

  Rob said goodbye but found himself speaking to a dead line. Kilton was gone.

  Ten minutes later, Rob slipped out of the house and walked at a brisk pace into the village.

  He didn’t look left or right, but just prayed his fellow TFU colleagues were too busy dressing or eating breakfast to glance out of the window.

  As he entered the village, he spotted an old Hillman Minx outside the shop. JR was cramped into the front seat, his head tilted forward to avoid the low roof.

  He gave Rob a wave.

  As he approached the passenger door, a man in RAF uniform swept out of the newsagent, paper tucked under his arm. He nodded at Rob, smiling.

  Rob forced a smile back and studied the man’s stripes; a squadron leader with a medal ribbon.

  He climbed in next to JR.

  “Do you recognise that officer?”

  JR nodded.

  “Deputy on Handling Squadron at Boscombe. Worry not.”

  The car pulled out and Rob sunk lower in his seat.

  He felt exposed, but short of hiding in the footwell, he had no choice but to remain on view to anyone who cared to look.

  They entered West Porton through the main gate. Since the security clampdown, it was the only way on or off.

  “We used to have our own airfield gate,” said JR. “It was on the other side and led directly to the unit. No-one bothered us. Halcyon days.”

  “Sounds idyllic. And then TFU came along.”

  “Indeed. Still, the mess is a lot livelier.”

  They turned onto the approach road to the gate and joined a short queue. Rob found himself sliding down in his seat. He scanned ahead and recognised a couple of the cars. It looked like Red Brunson in the distance, but he didn’t recognise the white Rover immediately in front of them, although he did notice a pair of eyes in its rear-view mirror.

  “I keep thinking I’m being watched.”

  “You’re fine,” said JR. “It’s the morning. No-one’s alert.”

  It was their turn. The officers ordered JR out of the car. Rob put his hand up to his cheek to mask his face from anyone who might drive by.