Point of Impact

by Point of Impact (retail) (epub)

  Drew nodded. ‘I know, but I might get to talk to one of the computer engineers.’

  ‘Why do you have to keep putting your head on the line?’

  ‘Because I owe it to Nick. He’d still be alive if I’d found the answer. The AIB didn’t shoot him, but they let him go up in an aircraft they knew was unsafe.’

  ‘So what can I do to help?’

  ‘It’s a big favour.’

  ‘What’s one more among so many?’ Michelle said, smiling.

  Drew squeezed her arm gratefully. ‘I need someone to phone Russell’s office and pretend to be a neighbour of my father.’

  ‘And that someone might just be me?’

  ‘Can you do a Scots accent?’

  ‘Och aye, laddie. When do you want me to do it?’

  ‘Now would be fine. That way I can get on some transport in the morning.’

  ‘You just can’t wait to get away, can you?’

  Drew spun her around to look into her eyes. ‘I don’t ever want to get away from you.’

  She allowed herself to be drawn in to his chest and kissed him. ‘If you’re going back to England tomorrow, we’d better make the most of tonight. Come on, let’s go and phone Russell and then I’ll buy you dinner downtown.’

  She dialled the main switchboard from the payphone in the foyer of the Mess. After a couple of minutes she was put through to Russell’s extension. ‘Squadron Leader Russell?’ she asked, putting on a gratingly nasal accent.

  ‘Wing Commander,’ Russell said. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Jane Docherty. You don’t know me but I’m a neighbour of Drew Miller’s father.’

  ‘Yes?’ Russell said, a touch of frost in his voice.

  ‘I’m afraid Drew’s father is seriously ill. He’s been rushed to hospital this afternoon.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘It’s his heart,’ Michelle said.

  ‘I was rather under the impression that Flight Lieutenant Miller was estranged from his father.’

  ‘I know,’ Michelle said, improvising desperately. ‘They haven’t spoken for some time, but it really looks serious and he’s asking for him. You wouldn’t want to stand in the way at a time like this, would you, Squadron Leader?’

  ‘Wing Commander,’ Russell said mechanically. ‘This really isn’t the way we go about things in the Royal Air Force, Mrs erm… There are procedures laid down to cover precisely this kind of eventuality. However…’

  He sighed. ‘Very well. I’ll see that Flight Lieutenant Russell is on the first available aircraft. What hospital is his father in?’

  ‘What hospital? Er… the infirmary.’

  ‘Which infirmary?’ Russell said with exaggerated patience.

  ‘There’s only one round here. Thank you, you’ve made an old man very happy. Oh, and Squadron Leader?’ Michelle added, ignoring a dig in the ribs from Drew. ‘Isn’t it a clear line? You could almost be in the next room.’

  Drew silently pleaded for Michelle to stop pushing her luck, but it was Russell who cut the conversation short. ‘Er, well thank you, Mrs er…’

  Michelle couldn’t remember what name she’d used and so left him hanging on in silence.

  Russell finally added, ‘Er… thank you for your call. I must be getting on, but please convey my good wishes for a speedy recovery to Mr Miller and reassure him that his son will be home to see him within twenty-four hours. Goodbye.’

  Michelle hung up. She was still chuckling and dabbing her eyes when Russell came hurrying into the Mess.

  He stopped as he saw Drew and Michelle together. ‘I’ve had a call from England. I have some news for you.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘It’s of a personal nature,’ Russell said, looking meaningfully at Michelle.

  ‘It’s all right, sir, I have no secrets from Flight Lieutenant Power.’

  Russell hesitated. ‘Very well. Your father is ill and has been taken to hospital, the infirmary apparently. I hope that means something to you?’

  Drew nodded, putting on an expression of concern. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  ‘His heart. A neighbour phoned to say that it’s serious and that he’s asking for you. In these exceptional circumstances, I can allow you compassionate leave. There’s a Herc returning to Brize Norton to pick up supplies in the morning. Briefing 0530 hours.’

  He glanced at Michelle, who was doing her best not to smile. ‘Good night.’

  Drew kept his face expressionless until Russell was out of sight, then raised an eyebrow at Michelle. ‘Christ, you certainly like to sail close to the wind.’

  ‘You’d better believe it.’ She smiled. ‘Let’s forget about dinner downtown. I’ve a frozen coq au vin and a few other gourmet delights in my fridge.’

  ‘I’ve got some champagne in mine. See you at your place in five minutes.’

  When Drew knocked on her door, Michelle opened it wearing a blue silk kimono. The only light came from three candles flickering on the mantelpiece. She gave him a lingering kiss as she pushed the door shut and he felt the heat of her body through the thin silk.

  ‘Dinner?’ he asked, as he slid his arms around her waist.

  Michelle shook her head. ‘Later. Maybe.’

  She ripped the foil from the champagne and popped the cork. Foam bubbled over her hand and she licked it away, never taking her eyes from Drew’s face. She took a swig from the bottle and kissed him again.

  His tongue tingled as she let the champagne dribble slowly into his mouth.

  She stepped away from him for a moment. ‘This one’s for me,’ she said, as she took another swig. A trickle of champagne ran down her neck and over the soft curve of her breast. She gave him a slow, burning smile.

  There was a rustle of silk as she let her kimono fall to the floor and stepped out of it. Then she moved towards him, wrapping her arms around him and moulding her body to his. She kissed him hungrily, unbuttoning his shirt and running her hands down his chest. From the moment she touched him, he gave himself up to her.

  They sank down to the floor together and he moved over her, tracing every curve of her body with his hands, his lips, his tongue. As he moved into the soft, dark heat of her, she moaned and writhed against him.

  She pulled away from him for a second, eyes unfocused, breathing hard, then stripped him naked as she covered his body with kisses. He gave a low groan as she lowered her head and he felt the warmth of her mouth on him.

  Her whole body caressed his as she moved upwards, then straddled him, pushing him down again onto his back. ‘Uh-uh,’ she said, a slow smile spreading across her face, ‘I’m flying this one, not you.’

  Her nails dug into his wrists as he sank deep into her. They made love with urgency, not speaking, each taken to the brink over and over again. As she at last gave in to the waves coursing through her, Drew cried out and was swept away with her.

  They lay back, their legs still entwined, bodies glistening in the candlelight. He held her gently, kissing her and whispering in her ear. Then they made love again, slowly and tenderly, gazing into each other’s eyes as they moved together. When it was over, she lay with her head on his chest and he could feel her tears wet on him.

  * * *

  When Drew woke in the morning, Michelle was already showered, dressed and sitting at the dressing table sipping a cup of coffee.

  ‘I thought it was the bloke who was supposed to sneak out of bed and bugger off in the middle of the night,’ he said sleepily.

  ‘It’s a new idea they’re testing – equality of the sexes.’

  He sat up, yawning. ‘It’ll never catch on in the Air Force. Come back in here a minute,’ he said, reaching out to grab her as she put a cup of coffee down by the bed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, dancing out of range. ‘I’ve got a briefing in forty minutes.’

  * * *

  After the flight to Brize Norton, Drew scrounged a lift into London with one of the crewmen on the Hercules. On his way to King’s Cross he sto
pped at a security shop. He smiled patiently through the impenetrable jargon of a nerdish sales assistant and emerged two hundred pounds poorer, carrying a tiny, voice-activated tape recorder.

  He bought a sandwich and a stewed coffee in a polystyrene cup at King’s Cross, then joined the line of passengers shuffling down the echoing platform to his train. He chose a half-empty carriage and stared morosely out of the window as the train began to move, rumbling through the dark tunnels and out into the sunlight.

  Drew caught a taxi to Finnington from the station, picked up his car and hurried back to the flat. It was cold and musty-smelling and he felt an intruder in his own home, picking up his books and possessions with the curiosity of a stranger. He sat down at the table and picked up the phone.

  He was still there three hours later, tired, frustrated and unsure where to turn next. Every attempt to make contact with one of the computer engineers at Barnwold Industries had been frustrated.

  Secretaries and personal assistants gave him the brush-off, messages to return his calls were left unanswered and the only programmer he got through to heard him out in silence, then said, ‘As a pilot yourself – if that’s really what you are – you must surely realise that I won’t discuss any aspect of classified work, either on the telephone or in person. I am bound by the Official Secrets Act. If you have any queries about the aircraft, you should direct them through the official channels.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘And I must warn you that I shall be reporting this conversation to my superiors. Goodbye.’

  Drew hung up and gazed out of the window, trying to think where else he could turn. Abruptly he picked up the phone again and dialled international enquiries. ‘Brussels. NATO headquarters.’

  When he got through, he asked for Tom Marshall. There was a long pause. ‘I’m sorry,’ the telephonist said. ‘We have no one of that name working here.’

  ‘You must do,’ Drew said. ‘He was posted a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘The computer lists everyone here from the cleaner to the Secretary General. If they’re not listed, they don’t exist.’

  Drew hung up and immediately phoned the AIB at Buckwell. ‘I’m looking for Flight Lieutenant Tom Marshall.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the operator said, ‘he no longer works here. Can I put you through to someone in that department?’

  ‘No, it’s a personal matter. Can you tell me where I could find Tom?’

  ‘We don’t give out personal information over the phone.’

  ‘I’m a serving officer myself. Tom told me he was being posted to Brussels, but NATO say they’ve no record of him. I really do need to get in touch with him.’ Drew lowered his voice. ‘To be honest with you, I borrowed some money from him a while ago and I want to pay him back. I just need to know where to send it.’

  ‘Well that’ll be the first bit of good news he’s had in awhile,’ she said. ‘He’s been posted to the Falklands. BFPO 655 would reach him.’

  ‘Poor Tom,’ Drew said, pushing his luck. ‘Could you give me the number as well, so I can ring him up and commiserate.’

  After he had hung up, he thought for a moment, then dialled the number. He waited as an interminable chain of relays clicked and rattled, then there was a faint ringing tone. The line was terrible, but he heard a voice answer through the haze of static. ‘RAF Mount Pleasant.’

  ‘Tom Marshall, please.’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  ‘Ops room.’

  He recognised Tom’s voice. ‘Tom. It’s Drew Miller.’

  There was a long silence. ‘What do you want?’

  Drew took a deep breath. ‘To apologise first of all. The fact that you’re in the Falklands rather than Brussels suggests they traced something back to you. I’m really sorry, Tom. The only people I gave any information to were my boss and my MP. I don’t know how—’

  Tom interrupted. ‘I don’t give a shit how it happened, Drew. All that matters is the end result. You’ve wrecked my career. I’m not in Brussels counting down the months till I can get back in the cockpit. I’m stuck in the arsehole of the universe instead, looking forward to another seven years of being shunted around the shittiest jobs in the RAF. I’m never going to fly Tempests again now, and to rub salt in the wounds, they’ve made me Ops officer here. As I sit here deskbound, I have to deal constantly with the guys who, unlike me, are going flying. Excuse me if I sound bitter about it.’

  ‘I still need your help, Tom.’

  There was an explosion of rage from the other end of the phone. ‘You what? You screw up my life and then phone up to ask if I’ll help you out again?’

  ‘Look, your career may have been derailed but at least you’re still breathing. My best mate and I had to eject over Bosnia because of that fault on the Tempest. I went through three days of hell there before I was rescued. I saw people raped, tortured and murdered and I was nearly killed myself. But I was lucky, Tom – I survived. Nick didn’t. He’s another one you can add to the Tempest death toll.

  ‘I’m going to see Nick’s wife tonight and I’m going to have to explain to her how her husband died and why her four children – one less than three months old – don’t have a daddy any more. Now I’m sorry for you, but I’m a damn sight sorrier for them. So I’m going to do my utmost to make sure no one else has to die because of that fault and I need you to help me this once more.’

  There was a long pause. ‘I’ve told you everything I know already.’

  ‘Not quite. I need to know more about Brushfire. Who told you about it?’

  ‘This is an open line…’ Drew had to strain now to hear Tom above the static.

  ‘And it’s an open secret. Who can I go to?’

  ‘The only lead I can give you is a man called Robin Parr.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘An ageing computer whizz-kid at Barnwold Industries. Most of the other people there are the usual collection of suits, sharp accountants and retired generals, but Parr’s a bit different. He was their youngest executive at one time, head-hunted from a rival company to become head of development. There was a big stink about it, with the rivals screaming about foul play, but Parr was smiling all the way to the bank. The glittering career hit a brick wall a couple of years ago, however. Since then he’s been moved sideways, off development work, and he was passed over for the headship of the skunk works they’re building.

  ‘I was his liaison at the AIB before everything to do with the Tempest was collated by head office. I got a definite sense that he knew a fair bit more than he was telling me.’

  Tom paused. ‘It was pretty intangible, but I felt like he was two steps ahead of me in the conversation and would have liked to say more than he did. If you can get him away from the office, you might get more out of him.’

  ‘Thanks, Tom. If there’s anything I can do to help you…’

  ‘Get promoted to Air Vice-Marshal and you might be able to. Goodbye Drew. Don’t call me again.’

  There was a click as Tom put the phone down. Drew listened to the hiss of static as he thought for a moment, then he dialled Barnwold Industries again.

  He was put straight through to Parr’s office. ‘Mr Parr? I’m a friend and colleague of Tom Marshall. I wondered if you could spare me a few minutes.’

  ‘I’ve a fairly heavy schedule Mr…?’

  ‘Russell,’ Drew supplied at random. ‘Mike Russell.’

  ‘Well, Mike, what did you have in mind?’

  ‘I wondered if you might be free for a bite of lunch tomorrow. Somewhere quiet, away from Barnwold.’

  ‘I see,’ Parr said. ‘What exactly was it you wished to discuss?’

  ‘Something you mentioned to Tom a little while ago. I don’t know if it’s wise to go into too much detail on an open line.’

  ‘Very well,’ Parr said. ‘What about the Pheasant at Robintree? It’s about fifteen miles from here, off the Cambridge road. Shall we say one o’clock?’

  Drew wan
dered around the flat for another hour, postponing the visit he had to make. He weighed Nick’s silver locket in his hand, debating whether to throw away its bloodstained leather thong. Then he turned and hurried out, determined to make the familiar journey before his nerve failed him again.

  His heart was heavy as he turned off into the tree-lined road leading to the house. The usual tangle of bikes and toys lay in the garden. He walked round to the back of the house, knocked and opened the door.

  The house that had once been a bedlam of noise and laughter was now silent. Sally stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding the baby in her arms. She was death-white, with deep shadows etched under her eyes. The other children huddled around her, sullen and bewildered.

  Drew hugged her to him and they stood in silence holding each other. After a few seconds, she pulled away and called, ‘Rachel, can you take the children upstairs and get them ready for bed? I need to talk to Drew alone.’

  As her sister shepherded the children upstairs, Sally turned to Drew and said, ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sally.’

  Her expression did not change. ‘Where is his body?’

  ‘I buried him in a forest near Banja Luka.’

  ‘How did he die?’

  ‘Serb soldiers shot him.’

  She held his gaze. ‘I need to know everything, Drew.’

  He began a halting recitation of the events that led up to Nick’s death, telling her about the missile, the ejection and Nick’s parachute catching in the trees.

  As he hesitated, she pressed him. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘He, er… The Serb soldiers shot him as he was hanging there. I’m sure he didn’t know much about it. He must have died pretty well immediately.’ His voice tailed off.

  Suddenly he felt a stinging slap across his cheek. He looked up to see her standing in front of him, eyes blazing. ‘You’re lying to me. I need to know what happened to Nick. I can’t lay him to rest in my mind until I know everything. I don’t need you to protect me – I want to know the truth.’