Skinner's festival

97

The airfield was just where Martin had said it would be. It lay a few miles north of Milngavie – 'T' UK's least pronounceable town', as Arrow had dubbed it – on the A81 to Blanefield, and ultimately to Aberfoyle, just where the flatter landscape gives way finally to seemingly endless hills.

Skinner had committed the helicopter as soon as the trace showed that the Senator had taken the fork to Milngavie.

Swinging wide round the car, the pilot had outpaced it easily.

Now, the dead screen showed that they were well in front of it, but Skinner was unworried. He knew that there were no other forks or turn-offs on the road for their quarry to take, but if he was wrong, and this was not to be the stopping place, he still had fuel in hand for the gambler's last throw which he had contemplated earlier.

'What was this place used for, then, Andy?' he asked as the helicopter hovered low over the strip.

Martin did not answer for a moment, as he watched the searchlight beam follow the entrance road from the A81, sweep along the short grey tarmac runway, and finally pick out the hangar, the only building in the field.

The University Flying Club used it in my day,' he said eventually. 'They ran three planes out of here. A few private pilots flew from here as well. Then some of them played silly buggers and got too close to the Glasgow flight-path, so the CAA had it closed down. After that somebody rented it for a while and ran it as a go-kart track, until mountain-bikes and video games came along and killed that business stone dead. Since then it hasn't been used at all. As far as I know, the University still owns it, but they can't think of anything to do with it. They can't get planning permission for houses, and so they can't sell it. The last I heard of it was when I saw in a graduates' association circular in the spring that it was going to be used for a charity Bungee-jump.'

'Who'd be likely to know about this place, other than the locals and students?' Skinner asked.

'Just about any pilot with access to the right charts. It'll still be marked on them – like for emergencies only.'

As he spoke, the helicopter touched down, facing the hangar.

The pilot switched off the engine and, as the craft settled, raised the beam of the searchlight and played it on the rusting doors.

They stood slightly ajar. The policemen, the soldier, and the pilot jumped from the Jet Ranger and walked towards the hangar, their shadows on its doors growing smaller as they neared it.

They saw immediately that it was impossible for the doors to be pulled fully shut because of thick grass which had sprouted in their runner. One by one the men squeezed through the gap, although for Arrow, who seemed squatter than ever, it proved a tight fit.

Martin's torch had a wide beam adjustment. In the broad light it cast, they saw, in the centre of the hangar, its propellers facing the doors, a small twin-engined aircraft. Martin shone the torch into the aeroplane. It had four seats, two in front, two to the rear, with storage space behind. What make is it?' Skinner asked the pilot.

'Could be some sort of Fokker.'

'Range?' 'Depends on the load, but if it's fully tanked up, quite a way:

Southern Ireland no sweat, well into France, the Benelux countries, Scandinavia even. And this one is fully tanked up.

Look at the way she's sitting on the suspension.'

'That says it all,' said Skinner. He reached inside his jacket and took a Browning automatic from its holster. 'Right. We haven't got all night. We must get that chopper airborne again, now.

Adam, you and I are the reception committee. You in that corner over there, against the wall and beyond the door. I'll take the other side.' He turned to Martin and the pilot. 'You two, get the hell out of here, and do what you have to.' He paused, then a strange look came into his eyes: a look with fear, hope and determination all mixed in.

The, I have an appointment with my daughter – and with one or two people who are going to wish they had never met her.'