The Final Flight

by James Blatch

  Kilton looked up. “Come back in five minutes.”

  Rob’s mouth was too dry to reply. He backed out and shut the door, wondering if this was all a psychological trick.

  Five minutes took an eternity. Even then, no-one appeared for him.

  He thought and walked back to the office, knocking and entering.

  Kilton was still there, but he glanced at his watch and stood up, brushing past Rob on his way out.

  “Please take a seat, Robert,” Hoskins began, “this is part of the investigation into a security breach concerning the Guiding Light project.”

  Rob didn’t respond.

  “You have been a pilot, acting as commander and co-pilot for multiple flights, since the project’s inception?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know Guiding Light inside and out?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Hoskins made a note and looked up. “Tell me about your relationship with Chris Milford.”

  “We used to be close.”

  “It’s a curious thing. Each tape of data generated by the equipment is meticulously logged. So, we have nearly two hundred and fifty already dispatched to Cambridge. Twenty-three have been logged since that last transfer and stored in the cabinet inside the station HQ. In addition, there are another thirty-nine blank tapes in the same cabinet.”

  Rob remained impassive.

  “Which leaves sixty-four blank tapes delivered to West Porton, most of which are unaccounted for. They’ve simply vanished. Apart from these two.”

  He reached into a bag and placed two tape sleeves on the table. Rob peered down. One was marked ‘Blank F1’, the other ‘Blank F2’. He recognised Millie’s handwriting.

  The man continued. “The tapes themselves are at DF Blackton in Cambridge. Their computer is not fully operational, but they’ve been able to read one of them and contrary to the word ‘blank’ on the sleeve here, it contains height readings from a recent flight. And yet it doesn’t exist as a logged tape anywhere in the system.”

  “Yes, the boss explained all this.”

  Hoskins gave Rob an appraising look.

  “I’m told there was simply no scope for a logging error. Would you agree with Wing Commander Kilton about that?”

  “I suppose there isn’t. It was a well organised process.”

  “You see, the lettering on the sleeves, ‘F1’ and ‘F2’, doesn’t match the way the official tapes were logged. One theory is there was a parallel project going on. A separate set of tapes generated during the Guiding Light trial flights.”

  Rob put on a look of surprise. “How would that be possible?”

  “Oh, it’s quite possible,” the man said, with a confident look, “with the right help.”

  Hoskins stayed quiet for a while, then continued. “And if these are ‘F1’ and ‘F2’, where are the A, B, C, D and E tapes, do you suppose?”

  “You think there might be more?”

  “I just told you, we’ve found just two of the sixty-four missing reels.” He paused. “So you have no idea where they are?”

  Rob shook his head. “Why would I?”

  “Well, that brings me onto the flight information we were able to glean from one of the reels.”

  He turned some sheets over.

  “You may not know, but the information captured by the reels includes the geographic position and time elapsed. So, with the help of Wing Commander Kilton, we have been cross-referencing with your logbook entries.”

  The investigator produced a chart of the north of England, with a route marked by a thick red line. Every so often along the legs between waypoints, a black cut had been drawn across, presumably where one tape ended and the next began. Rob recognised the track; it was the route they’d taken home after a low-level run that ended near Carlisle.

  “The tapes produce a track that runs from a point in the Irish Sea just off the coast from Cockermouth, running south, coasting in at Rhyl and then a left turn east toward home.” Hoskins placed a pen on the chart just above Shrewsbury. “This is where the tape change happened.” He looked up to Rob. “Do you recognise this route?”

  Rob screwed up his face in thought. “Maybe one of the northern low-level runs we did?”

  The investigator nodded. “Spot on. Wednesday 22nd June. You and Speedy Johnson at the controls.” He turned over a piece of paper that had all his Guiding Light flights noted.

  “Well, yes, that makes sense, but the Guiding Light run ended at Carlisle.” Rob leaned forward and pointed to the chart.

  “I’m aware of that. So why do we have two additional tapes of data from that flight? And who decided that a simple exercise in running the Guiding Light equipment involved a long transit north and south when, according to Wing Commander Kilton, you could have flown straight from the airfield and run the trial locally?”

  Rob glanced behind Hoskins at the frosted glass that marked Kilton’s office. He could see a dark shadow, occasionally moving, and assumed it was the boss at his desk.

  “Anything you know could help me, Robert.”

  “I didn’t get involved in the planning. Millie ran the project. Speedy and I just flew the routes.”

  The officer made a note.

  “Squadron Leader Johnson had a conversation with Lieutenant Brunson later that day. Apparently, you quizzed Milford about exactly how many tapes he would produce. That seems like an odd conversation to have if your only job was to fly where he told you.”

  “I recall being a bit frustrated that we had such a long trip, when, as you say, we could have flown it locally. That’s all.”

  “Anything else to add?”

  “No.”

  Hoskins made further notes and Rob shifted in his seat.

  “Finally, we have the conundrum of the missing reels. Part of that is discovering exactly how they were smuggled out of West Porton. I don’t suppose you could shed any light on that aspect of this case? Did you for instance ever see Squadron Leader Milford making any unusual adaptations to his car? Perhaps creating a secret compartment that would fool the guards?”

  Rob laughed.

  “Something amusing about that concept?”

  “Millie could barely operate the indicator in his Rover.”

  There was another pause. Hoskins closed the paper file and placed the tape sleeves back in his case.

  “Right. Well, please continue to give it your thought.”

  Hoskins stood up; Rob quickly followed suit. The security officer held out his hand. As Rob shook it, Hoskins gripped it and stared at him again. Rob wondered if this was some ploy the man had seen in the movies.

  “This is no time for misplaced loyalty. If anything transpires that reveals you haven’t been completely forthcoming, you will be the man who takes the fall and, believe me, it will be a very, very big fall.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  After an uncomfortably long time, Hoskins released Rob’s hand. He turned and made for the door.

  “One thing occurs to me,” Hoskins called after him.

  Rob reluctantly turned back.

  “You haven’t attempted to defend Wing Commander Milford, and you don’t appear particularly surprised about these accusations. Did you suspect this was happening all along?”

  “I think I’m still in shock, to be honest. But no, I don’t think there is any way on god’s earth that Christopher Milford was a traitor, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Rob left the room, and loitered for a second, just outside the door.

  He needed to talk to Susie, but it wasn’t even 2PM.

  Five and a half hours until his next arranged meeting with his new partner. Before that, he needed a drink.

  He sat at Millie’s desk and willed time to speed up.

  Finally, in the bar with the returning crews, Rob recognised JR from the Maintenance Unit with a few of his colleagues. In another corner were the air traffickers. It looked like a special occasion, but then he noticed one woman with puff
y eyes.

  “Bright’s girl,” Brunson said. “Steve Bright. He was walking out with her. June’s her name. I think.”

  The enormity of the crash washed over him again. A young woman, whose name he didn’t know, in tears, her life torn apart.

  The smell of the beer and smoke made him nauseous.

  He was an interloper. He shouldn’t be there.

  “I have to go. Sorry.”

  He got up and hurried to the door.

  After dinner, when Rob had left for the mess to plan Millie’s wake, Mary finished the washing up and prepared to go out for a walk.

  She needed to clear her head.

  As she folded her apron and put it into a drawer, there was a polite tap at the kitchen door. She opened it.

  “Hello, Mary.”

  It took her a moment to place Janet Laverstock. But the bouffant of blonde hair, without a strand out of place, triggered her memory.

  “Hello, Janet. Is it my turn for the flower rota at church?”

  Janet smiled. “No. I just wondered if we could have a chat.”

  Mary made Janet a glass of squash and they sat in the garden. Janet looked nervously around, as if checking they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “How are things?” she asked. “How is Rob coping?”

  Mary sighed. “Honestly, I don’t really know. He’s clammed up a bit. I think he’s still in shock and maybe… I think it’s affected him more than he wants to admit. Admit to me, anyway.”

  Janet sipped her drink. “Does he have any other confidants who might help him through this?”

  “The fellows at work, I suppose. He’s at the mess now, as a matter of fact.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yes, he is. Janet, what is this all about?”

  “Does he have any female friends? I mean, beside Georgina and the other RAF wives? Someone younger, perhaps?”

  “Janet, I don’t know what you mean. If you have something to say—”

  “Look, I didn’t want to be the person to tell you and Mike and I have wrestled with it, but—”

  “But what, Janet?”

  “Mary, on Thursdays, Mike and I sometimes go to The Bell at Wyle.”

  Susie left the B&B and headed into town. She wandered past red brick terraced houses, some with front doors open. Children played in the scraps of front gardens.

  An elderly man sat outside one house, on a faded wooden chair. He had sharp creases in his trousers, a moustache and side-parted wisps of hair. His eyes followed her. She gave him a smile and he nodded in return.

  Susie let her mind wander. Where was the man a couple of decades ago? Did he have a good war?

  As she got to the busier part of Salisbury, she found a phone box and called the Service.

  “It’s our very own Twiggy in the field.”

  “Can we dispense with the nicknames, please, Roger? I was never in your rugger team.

  Firstly, I’m about to meet May again. Secondly, anything from Blackton’s in Cambridge?”

  He rustled around with some papers.

  “Your hunch is wrong. Their computer was out of action until the crash. According to our man, they resurrected it from deep maintenance to read one tape. But, as I say, that was after the crash, so it’s unlikely to be your man on account of him being dead.”

  Her heart sunk. “Are we sure?”

  “Yes, we’re always sure, dear. The place has been on annual shutdown since 8th June, which means your theory doesn’t work.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Time to come in from the cold. Or the warm.”

  “I’m about to meet May. He might have something for me.”

  “Well, it had better be good. All things being equal, I expect to see you in the canteen the day after tomorrow.”

  Rob arrived early and parked on St Ann Street before walking along the cobbled road toward the cathedral spire.

  As he entered the manicured grounds, he looked up. The tallest church in the UK made even him, an experienced pilot, feel dizzy.

  Scanning the area, he saw couples holding hands, a group of children kicking a ball. The sporadic benches were only sporadically occupied.

  To his right, a demure figure walked casually toward him.

  Still with her blonde hair, today in fawn miniskirt and a red blouse, she both stood out and blended in. Susie could have been a department store worker who had just finished for the day.

  “Hello, Mr May. Shall we walk?”

  She set off, he followed.

  “Shall I start?” he asked, but she made a shushing noise without looking at him.

  They walked on around the cathedral toward a quieter walled area on the far side. They sat down on the grass. Susie took out a cigarette and offered him one. She lit the cigarettes, using the movement to scan the surrounding space.

  “I need to tell you, we were wrong about the tapes going to Cambridge. The computer’s been out of action since the last official batch at the beginning of June.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Certain. Sorry. We’re back to square one. So, I’m afraid unless you bring news of a breakthrough, I’m probably heading back to London.”

  “I thought we were going to do this together. You can’t leave me on my own.”

  “We don’t have anything, Rob. One sheet that hints at something, nothing more.”

  “Kilton’s sped up the project. It will be signed off on Friday.”

  “As in four days’ time? Shit.”

  “Yes. And they think Millie produced sixty of the tapes, not the twenty we thought. Kilton is using that as the reason, actually. They obviously have no idea where they are. They want to rush it out the door before it loses commercial and military value. Get the American contract signed.” He shook his head and looked down. “It was awful. I had to sit there and listen to it all. He more or less accused Millie of being a traitor. And everyone’s just going along with it.”

  Susie sighed. “That’s the military way, right? All Kilton’s done is ensure he’s not properly supervised. He’s talking directly to ministers in a government that’s running out of money, desperate for foreign orders. No-one above him really knows anything.” She took a long draw on her cigarette. “So you can see how this happened. You can’t blame your colleagues, Rob. They’ve been brought up to trust and obey. Kilton says Guiding Light wasn’t to blame and somehow has the investigators fooled and… you’re the only one left with any direct experience of it going wrong the first time. No wonder he’s finding it easy.”

  “Only Millie was standing up to him. But that’s why we’ve got to continue.”

  “Rob—”

  “No. I can’t just go home. I can’t just say goodbye to you and let this lie. I couldn’t live with myself.”

  Susie put her hand on the back of his. “You might have to. We can’t fix everything.”

  He sat up. “But we’ve got four days, right? Let’s at least bloody try.”

  Susie stubbed her cigarette out on the grass and shrugged. “What have we got to go on? The trail’s run cold.”

  She pulled out a notebook covered in what looked like Arabic letters.

  “What is that?”

  “A type of shorthand. We had this strange guy in training who taught us a technique to access parts of our subconscious memory. It’s not that strange, really. If I ask you to name as many prime ministers as you can think of, you’ll miss a few.”

  “More than a few.”

  “Right, but when I tell you the names of the ones you couldn’t remember, you’ll recognise most of them.”

  “So?”

  “So… they were in your mind all along, otherwise you wouldn’t have recognised the names. You just couldn’t access them when you were trying to. The theory is, if you let your mind wander freely, it sometimes goes off into those areas. It can work, believe me. It’s a way of recalling something you may have thought odd but then forgot. I tried it this afternoon and came up with two things we might have overlooked.”<
br />
  “What?”

  “The tapes, especially now that we know there’s sixty of them. How on earth did Millie get them out? If we crack that, we might find an accomplice.”

  “That’s funny, it’s exactly what Hoskins said.”

  “Hoskins?”

  “The security officer Kilton has investigating Millie. What was the other thing?”

  Susie looked down at her notes. “Someone gave Millie our number. Someone who was authorised to do so.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There’s a system. The caller’s given a name to ask for, so we know they’ve gone through a handler. He used ‘AW Strutthers’. It’s an older name, been knocking about for years. Could have come from anywhere, which isn’t hugely helpful.”

  “Do you think this could be the accomplice?”

  “Maybe. But no-one’s contacted us since the crash, which doesn’t make any sense.”

  After a moment, she turned to him. “Why don’t you try it?”

  “Are you going to hypnotise me?”

  She laughed. He noticed her freckles in the setting sun.

  “It’s closer to meditation, but yes, it’s a little like self-hypnosis. Most of my colleagues are sceptical about it, but like I say, it works for me. There’s a lot of interest in eastern transcendental meditation and, frankly, we should try everything.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “First, you have to be silent and completely relax. Allow your mind to wander. Allow it to go wherever it wants. Don’t think of anything specific to start with.”

  Rob sat stiffly, with his knees up.

  “Lie down, for goodness’ sake.”

  He shuffled forward and lay back.

  “Just let your mind wander. Tell me what you see in the sky.”

  “Cumulus. Scattered, maybe two eighths. Could coalesce into an overcast.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant. Let’s try with your eyes closed.”

  The air was warm. Rob was aware of heat reflecting off a wall behind them. Susie remained silent. Minutes went by. He noticed distant sounds. Boys playing football. A woman talking. The birds. One bird in particular with a beautiful sing-song call. He saw Mary in the kitchen, pinny on, washing up. She looked unhappy. He was neglecting her. Red Brunson in the bar. He should have talked to him.