The Final Flight

¹⁹ SATURDAY 25TH JUNE

An elderly woman pushed an upright shopping trolley as she headed toward the newsagents. A tradesman drove by in a Morris Minor van. Two men passed each other walking their dogs.

Susie noted that both men had military haircuts.

Amesbury was busier than she expected for an early Saturday morning. Not ideal.

She glanced at the two military men again. Both slim. Neither matched the description of Squadron Leader Christopher Milford.

The church clock bells tolled 7.45AM. Susie kept close to the stone wall that ran around the elevated graveyard and dipped into the path that ran to the porch. Lifting the heavy metal latch, she slipped inside the Norman building, taking a pew immediately to her left.

She lowered herself into a praying position and monitored the entrance.

It was cool in the church. After a few minutes, her knees hurt, and she shifted back onto the wooden bench.

Another glance at her watch. 7.55AM.

Milford might arrive early.

She imagined a nervous man unaccustomed to stepping outside strict military protocols.

A copy of The Book of Common Prayer sat on a wooden ledge on the back of the pew in front. She browsed it, keeping the doorway in her peripheral vision.

Most of her field training anticipated the briefest of exchanges with other agents, or distanced observation of a mark. This was different; she’d been authorised to speak to an outsider.

An informant.

The CND sting had given her a taste for field work.

As the seconds ticked toward the appointed time, she went through her pre-contact checklist a final time.

Had the contact been followed? Would they be overheard? How reliable is he?

The bells tolled for 8AM.

The church stayed silent.

She frowned. She didn’t expect him to be late.

The standard operating procedure was to abandon a meeting the moment the mark failed to show, but she gave Milford some allowance. After all, he wasn’t an intelligence professional.

A bird flapped high up in the rafters.

After a few minutes, the door latch made a sharp metallic scrape which echoed around the empty church.

She startled as a man in a dog collar and long black cassock swept in.

He walked straight to the centre of the church and headed up the aisle, without glancing. She had chosen her position well.

Once his flowing frock disappeared into a room by the organ, she slipped out.

8.12AM.

Susie cursed her luck at the failed meeting, already anticipating the grief from Roger.

She crossed the road outside the church. More Amesbury folk were up and going about their Saturday morning. She walked over to the newsagent, picking up a copy of The Daily Telegraph from a rack outside before entering.

A man with a labrador was chatting to the ancient shop owner. She stood in line, occasionally glancing toward the church, just in case she saw a balding, slightly plump man who looked as if he was running late for a meeting.

“Not good. Not good.”

The man in front shook his head, gossiping with the owner.

He tapped the newspaper on the counter. “Happened in Wales, apparently, but they were all from around here.”

Susie ignored them. She might go home and snuggle down in an actual bed tonight. The thought made her feel warm.

“See you later, Peter.”

She set her paper down on the counter and pulled the change out of her pocket. As she did so, she noticed the picture on the bottom half of the front page: a grainy shot of twisted metal and the smoky remains of an RAF jet. The headline sat beneath the photograph.

“Thruppence please, love.”

She held out the money as her eyes continued to scan the article. Below a brief paragraph describing the barest details were three pictures, each one an RAF officer in his peaked cap, looking proudly into the middle distance.

She read the names of the dead.

“Oh, shit”.

“I beg your pardon?” The shopkeeper looked shocked.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, it’s thruppence, love.”

She stared at the man.

“Thruppence. That’s tuppence.” He pointed at Susie’s open hand. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a twelve-sided thruppence coin, dropped it onto the counter and hurried out of the shop.

Breaking into a fast walk, she headed back past the church, to the bench.

She unfolded the paper and stared at the face of Squadron Leader Christopher Milford.

Deceased.

He was more than just late for their meeting.

The article had almost no information.

A routine flight… the cause under investigation.

“Christ alive.”

The clock tolled for half past the hour.

Susie entered the phone box outside the newsagent and called Roger.

“My dear, how are the flower people?”

“We have a situation.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Christopher Milford, the RAF officer I was due to meet?”

“Due to meet? Don’t tell me you missed it. Did you oversleep in your tent?”

“Roger, he’s dead.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“How so?”

“He’s been named in the Telegraph as one of the crew killed in a crash, yesterday.”

“The Vulcan in Wales?”

“Yes.”

She heard shuffling and rustling on the other end of the line.

“Well, well. That’s interesting. Of course, it could be a coincidence.”

“Roger, we spent three years in training being taught the Service doesn’t believe in coincidences.”

“True. On the other hand, it could actually be a coincidence.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I obviously need to follow this up,” said Susie. “Who brought him in?”

“Stand by.”

She waited while he disappeared, presumably to dig out the file. Outside the phone box, a young woman with a pram had appeared. Susie smiled at her and made a motion with her hand to indicate that the call had some time to go. The woman pushed the pram off toward the newsagents.

Roger’s voice came back on the line. “He called us.”

“Really? No-one brought him in? That’s unusual, isn’t it? It’s not like we’re in the Yellow Pages. Someone must have given him a number and codename.”

“Well, whoever received the call didn’t ask him, unfortunately. I have the transcript. It was brief.”

“Damn.”

More rustling at the other end of the line.

“There is something here, though,” Roger said. “Have you read the report in the Express?”

“No. What does it say?”

“Check out the last line. It’s not much but might be a start. Meanwhile, I’ll send this up the pole. Give me an hour or two to find out what I can and call back.”

She replaced the handset and pushed the door open.

In the shop, she tapped the young mother on the shoulder.

“I’m all done.”

The woman gave her a wan smile. It looked like she might have been crying.

It was a small community and three people were dead.

She picked up a copy of the Express and took it to the counter.

“Ah, it’s sweary Mary,” the shop owner said when he saw her. “Can’t get enough of the news today, dear?” Susie passed over a tuppence coin.

As she walked out, she scanned the report, which was on page two. Again, it had little detail, but Roger was right. The last line was of interest.

There was one survivor.

ROB AWOKE.

He entered a twilight between sleep and consciousness, where yesterday’s events were neither real nor unreal. As if it was a story he’d been told in the mess the night before.

As he fully awoke, the reality set in and the weight of grief settled on him again.

He lay still, facing the open window.

The birds tweeted merrily, reminding him of the few minutes spent on the Welsh hillside.

He closed his eyes and saw Millie in his kitchen eating breakfast with Georgina.

Planning their Saturday, looking forward to dinner with the Brunsons.

Millie faded from view. Now he saw Georgina, sitting alone.

Robbed of the love of her life.

“Are you awake?”

Mary’s hand appeared on his shoulder. He turned over but kept his eyes closed, curling up against her.

“It’s OK. It’s OK.” He felt her breath as she spoke.

“It’s not OK.”

“We’ll get through this and we’ll help Georgina get through it.”

IT WAS breezy on the small dock, as it was every year.

Professor Belkin inhaled a lungful of air and let it out slowly.

He looked across the Bristol Channel to the faint outline of his destination.

Ahead, the small Lundy ferry approached, the bow rising and falling in the gentle swell.

“Leonard!”

He turned around to the sound of a familiar voice.

“Callum! How the heavens are you?”

“Aye, still alive. And you, I see.”

Belkin smiled and held out his hand. “The Lord has spared me for at least one more Lundy fortnight.”

“Aye, well, here’s your ham and a few other provisions.”

The bearded Scotsman, exiled in Devon, handed him a brown bag. Belkin opened it and sniffed.

“Smells excellent.”

“And there’s a wee present from Mrs MacPherson and me when you get to the cottage.”

“Really, Callum, you shouldn’t have.” Belkin thought for a moment. “Is it Ruth’s sloe gin?”

“Indeed. Careful, though. It’s a strong one. If you don’t like it, take it home as paint stripper.”

Belkin laughed. “I’m sure it will be quite delicious. I also have a couple of bottles liberated from the college cellar, so I think I’ll survive.”

The ferry gingerly approached the dockside. Callum held out a set of keys.

“It’s not locked, but just in case you want them. I’m afraid we still have no telephone and the electricity is very patchy. Best light a candle in the evening before it goes off. There’s plenty of firewood.”

A young man in a thick sweater jumped from the ferry onto the dock and caught a rope as it was thrown from the boat. The diesel engine chugged and spewed black smoke that wafted across, causing Belkin to cough.

The Scot took a step closer and put a hand on Belkin’s arm. “How long’s it been now?”

Belkin smiled. “Twenty-four years.”

“Aye, well, we remember Winifred like it was yesterday. I hope you have a pleasant fortnight, Leonard.”

He helped Belkin down the steps toward the small passenger craft. “Oh, I’ve put the paper in there as well, in case you fancy a read.”

Belkin peered into the bag to see a copy of The Daily Telegraph wedged between the side of ham and a large loaf of bread.

“Now, that would spoil my splendid isolation. But I might use it to light the fire.”

Callum laughed. “So be it, Leonard, so be it.”

A couple of families with day bags traipsed past them.

The ferry tooted its horn.

“Thank you again, Callum. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

Belkin turned and made his way along the short boardwalk until the young man in the sweater took him by his arm and helped him onto the ferry.

Minutes later, he sat at the front of the open deck, the wind in his face, headed across the twelve miles of water for two perfect weeks of solitude.

ROB HELD Mary’s hand as they walked the short distance to Georgina’s.

Inside, Georgina took Rob’s hands and gazed into his eyes.

“Was it the same for you, waking up this morning and hoping it was all a nightmare?”

He nodded.

“He adored you, Robert. I know you had your difficulties recently, but that doesn’t matter.”

She looked around the room, apparently to make sure their son Charlie was out of earshot. “He loved Charlie, of course, but he would have loved to see him join the Air Force. I think that’s why he liked you so much.”

Rob screwed up his eyes and willed the tears to stop.

“I’m sorry, Georgina.”

Georgina hugged him. “It’s OK to cry, whatever they tell you.” She kissed him tenderly on his forehead.

Rob sat on the sofa. He took some deep breaths and regained his composure.

A strong shaft of sunlight streamed through the front window; again, he found himself mesmerised by the swirling particles of dust.

He was once told that dust in a house is discarded skin cells.

So, in a way, Millie was with them in the room.

The image of the outstretched arm pushed its way back into his mind.

Why had he gone to look?

He wondered if the fire had consumed the bodies after he’d left.

Mary sat down next to him.

“You alright?”

He shook his head.

Across the room, Georgina laughed.

“How does she do it? She’s stronger than me.”

“Nonsense, she’s just better at putting on a show. Plus, it’s different for her, isn’t it? You were there. It must have been awful, Rob.”

He turned to her and whispered. “It’s worse than anything you imagine. And there’s something else. Something truly awful about it all.”

“What?” Mary asked, her face etched with anxiety.

He bowed his head and whispered. “I’ve got this awful feeling, like I’ve been handed a life sentence to carry out in secret.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone else is dead, but I know the truth.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mr May?”

A wiry, ginger haired twenty-year-old stood over them.

“Charlie.” Rob stood up and offered his hand to Millie’s son. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. You must be devastated.”

“Thank you, Mr May. Yes, it was a terrible shock. If you don’t mind, I’d like to know what happened. My mother has warned me not to ask.” He glanced over nervously toward Georgina.

Rob smiled. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

In the small dining room, they sat close to each other at one corner of the polished oak table.

"We were at low-level. A routine trial flight, I suppose, but in our business, your father’s business, there really is no such thing as routine.

“We were about ten minutes into a run through central Wales, the hills higher than us both sides.” Charlie looked alarmed. “I’m making it sound more daredevil than it really is. Much of the RAF’s flying is at low-level now, even lower than the three hundred feet we go down to in the Vulcan.

“Anyway, something went wrong. A glancing blow from an outcrop, we think. It damaged the left side of the aircraft, left us with no ability to control it.” He paused, picking his way through the most delicate part. “It happened quickly. The aircraft dived. We had no option, we had to eject or stay with the aircraft.”

“And father?”

Rob looked down at his shoes.

“The Vulcan. The emergency egress for the rear crew was designed by men who believed it would be used at high level. If something went wrong at thirty thousand feet, they would have minutes to release the hatch and bale out. But at low-level… I’m sorry, Charlie. Your father and Steve Bright, they had no chance. No chance at all. At least it would have been instant.”

Charlie screwed his eyes closed, then opened them again.

Rob held out his hand, clasping his shoulder.

“Why did they fly at low-level if the men in the back couldn’t get out?”

Rob had no answer.

“I’m sorry, Charlie.”

They sat in silence for a while as Charlie dabbed his eyes with a blue handkerchief.

“I am so pleased you got to see your father a couple of weeks ago.”

Charlie looked confused. “But I haven’t seen him since Easter.”

Rob furrowed his brow. “I thought he visited you in Oxford the Saturday before last?”

Charlie shook his head. “No.”

“Ah, there you are!” Georgina appeared in the doorway. “Charlie, darling, there are people here who want to remark on how much you’ve grown since you were four years old.”

“Thank you, Mr May.” Charlie followed his mother into the living room.

Rob rose to rejoin the group just as Georgina popped her head back into the room.

“Rob, I think you should take Millie’s work bits, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course, I can come back with the car later.”

He and Mary left the house as more of Georgina’s relatives and old friends turned up.

“You accumulate a lot of friends in the RAF,” said Mary, as they walked back toward their own quarter.

“Yes,” replied Rob, “and you lose a lot as well.”

IT WAS A WARM DAY, and Rob fastened back the soft canvas top of his Healey.

He ached from the ejection, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength for meetings with anyone, let alone Kilton.

The low car barely skimmed over the surface of the single-track road that led to the main gate.

He slowed for a group of walkers ahead. They held banners, and tatty white sheeting painted with black CND symbols.

The group ambled toward him; clearly, they had no intention of letting him pass. He put two wheels on the verge and pulled on the handbrake.

They drifted past. He was conspicuous, sitting in his open-top car, in his Royal Air Force uniform. From the group of stragglers at the back, a young woman approached the car. She was pretty, with short, dark hair and wearing a thin top which was loose and open.

She walked up to the Healey and leant forward, placing her hands on the bonnet. His eyes automatically followed the line of her neck to her small breasts.

There were jeers from the others, laughing at his obvious discomfort.

He snapped his eyes up, mortified that she should have trapped him like that. The woman had a sweet smile; her eyes scanned the car, taking everything in.

She looked directly at him, held eye contact for a few moments, then straightened up and walked on.

Rob watched the group meander away in his wing mirror.

He put the car into first gear and pulled off toward the main gate.

The car search was tediously long. It was a quiet Saturday, so everyone received maximum attention from the security guards.

Rob got out of the car and waited. His eyes tracked back along the road, but the protestors had disappeared from sight.

“They give you any trouble?” the sergeant asked, following his gaze.

“No. No trouble.” A corporal continued to comb his car. “Must be nice, though.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“To be so free and easy. They didn’t look like they had a care in the world.”

“They didn’t look like they’d seen a bath recently, either. You can carry on now, sir.” He stepped back and gave a smart salute.

At TFU, Rob was faced with a new barrier, manned by a group of West Porton Security Police.

He edged toward the temporary bollards, assuming the officers would pull them aside for him, but a security man stepped out, raising the palm of his hand.

“Sorry, sir. This unit is out of bounds. If you’re after TFU staff, they’re in the station headquarters building.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

THE HQ BUILDING WAS QUIET.

A corporal sat at a desk in the station commander’s outer office.

“Mr May?”

Rob nodded.

“Wing Commander Kilton is expecting you. You can go in.”

In the office Mark Kilton sat at a small conference table; Periwinkle was behind his desk.

“Sit down, May. I’m afraid I have some very serious news.”

Rob took a seat.

“In clearing out Millie’s locker, we have found something very disturbing.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We found extensive evidence that Millie was stealing information about Guiding Light. Data tapes, records of previous trials, part of a manual with his own handwritten annotations. And that’s just for starters.” Kilton stared at him. “You look surprised, May, but I’m not.”

“You’re not, sir?”

“Millie was bad with money, May. We all know he lost his savings on that stupid investment. This project was worth millions. He was nearing retirement. I’m afraid it all adds up. And to think I charged him with the investigation into who leaked Guiding Light to the outside world.”

Rob glanced at the station commander, who so far had said nothing.

“It was probably an oversight. I mean, they were still in TFU, weren’t they? So he hadn’t actually stolen anything?”

“We don’t know that, May. The locker was probably just a staging post before he smuggled them out. We’ll find out everything. Dead men have no secrets.” Kilton stared at him. “Is there anything you need to tell me? It will be a lot better for you if you speak now.”

The phone rang. The station commander answered it, said a few curt words and hung up.

“Well, May? Anything we need to know?”

“Millie worried about the system,” said Rob. “I’m sure that’s what this was all about.”

Kilton didn’t look convinced. “What does that mean, though, Rob? Did he tell you he was up to something?”

Rob shook his head.

“Of course, he might have used his supposed concerns as a cover for something else entirely.”

Rob could only stare back at Kilton, who stood up.

“Fine. We’ll know more once they carry out a full search. They’ll turn his house and car upside down.”

“But Georgina’s at the house.”

“So? This is simply too serious to delay.”

Realising he was being dismissed, Rob got to his feet.

“Have you written your account of the crash yet? May?” Kilton had to raise his voice to get Rob’s attention back.

“No, not yet.”

“Well, find a table and chair and do that now.”

Rob left the office and walked back down the corridor, out of the main doors and straight to his car.

Once through the main gate, he put his foot down and sped quickly along the lane. The protestors had moved on.

He came to a halt with a squeal of the tyres.

Georgina opened the door; he stepped toward her and put both hands on her shoulders.

“Are you alone?”

“They’re all in the garden, apart from Charlie. Why?”

“No-one else has called? No-one official?”

Georgina shook her head. “No. Not since Mark yesterday. Should I be expecting someone?”

“You said earlier that you wanted me to come back? You had some things for me?”

She looked blank for a moment. “Oh, yes. Just some work stuff. What’s going on, Rob?”

“Can you get it now?”

“If you like.”

She headed upstairs.

Charlie was in the kitchen to his left, staring at him. Rob gave him a weak smile.

A moment later, Georgina tramped down the stairs in her slippers carrying an open vegetable box.

He glanced in, relieved to see Millie’s flying logbooks and nothing more sinister. He picked them up and handed them to Georgina. “You can keep these. Maybe Charlie would like them?”

“Thank you,” Charlie said from the kitchen.

Rob looked back in the box. A large brown envelope filled the bottom. It looked new.

He pulled open the top and peered inside.

Guiding Light – Data Output May 1966 – Page 12.

“Oh, Christ.”

“What is it?” Georgina said, staring at him.

Underneath the envelope were two reels from the project.

“Oh, no.”

He looked underneath the tape sleeves.

More and more. Each document stamped with a red TOP SECRET.

Outside, a car turned into the road. Rob pulled the front door shut.

“What’s going on, Rob?” said Georgina, peering over his shoulder to see who was arriving at the house.

“Don’t open the door.”

“Why ever not?”

He pushed past her to the small porch window.

Two green RAF security police Land Rovers, complete with blue flashing lights.

One other car, unmarked.

Several serious looking men climbing out and heading toward the house.

He turned back to Georgina and, still holding the box in one hand, grabbed her wrist.

“Listen to me. These men, they will search the house. They think something’s missing. Millie wasn’t doing anything wrong. You have to believe me.”

“Rob, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about?”

“Do not mention this paperwork. Do you understand? Don’t tell them you gave it to me.”

Footsteps and voices.

“There’s more upstairs.”

“Christ! Georgina, get it quickly. All of it.”

She ran upstairs.

Charlie looked panicked.

“It’s going to be OK,” Rob said.

He moved to the sitting room door, away from the porch window.

There was a knock at the front door.

Charlie moved as if to open it, but Rob shook his head.

Georgina appeared with a stack of papers in her hand. “I think this is everything.”

“Let’s hope so.” Rob placed them in the box.

He spoke in a whisper, “Both of you. Please listen. Do not tell them you gave me this material.”

They nodded.

“What has my father done?” Charlie said, his voice wavering.

Another sharp knock at the door.

“Nothing wrong, Charlie. Your father has done absolutely nothing wrong.”

Rob hurried into the living room and out of the French windows into the garden.

Half a dozen women milled around with cups of tea. He walked through the middle of the lawn, nodding and smiling, before disappearing through the firs.

With clumps of greenery in his hair, he broke into a trot along the path that ran down the back of the married quarters, where he was shielded from the houses by the trees.

Ahead, the CND marchers continuing their circumnavigation of the station. He stopped running and tried as best as he could to look normal, avoiding any eye contact.

There were a few jeers as he pushed past them, but eventually the small group disappeared behind.

At the end of the row of houses, he made his way along the far side of a group of garages, and ran until he got home.

He burst through the kitchen door, staring at Mary, looking wild.

“What on earth?”

“Millie’s in trouble.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I can’t tell you why, but I need to hide this stuff.”

He brushed past her into the hallway and threw open the door to the understairs cupboard. He stashed the box inside.

“Rob, what are you doing?”

He backed out of the cupboard, closed it and stood up.

“Never look at the contents of that box, do you understand?”

“Is that an order, sir? Why would I?”

“Look… They think Millie may have stolen something.”

“What?”

“Kilton’s launched an investigation. Georgina could lose her pension. She might even be dragged into it. I mean, people could go to prison. I’m not exaggerating.”

“But that’s ridiculous. Millie wouldn’t steal anything, would he?”

“No, of course not. But it’s complicated.”

Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead.

Her eyes went to the cupboard.

Mary stepped forward and put a hand on his chest. “Rob, are we in danger because you’ve brought this into the house?”

His breathing settled. He looked calmer, but now lost in his own thoughts.

He shook his head and disappeared upstairs without replying.

“HE BROUGHT nothing here that looked like this?”

The plain-clothes security man held up a cardboard sleeve in front of Georgina’s eyes. He tipped the contents into his hand, revealing a reel of tape.

She shook her head. “No. We have a record player, but not a tape player.”

He studied her.

“And no other papers that you know of in the house?”

“I’ve already told you, no. I’m sorry, officer, can you please tell me what this is all about?”

Next door, she could hear one of the man’s uniformed colleagues moving furniture about. Charlie stood in the kitchen doorway looking agitated.

“As I explained, your husband was involved in highly sensitive projects and this is a routine operation to ensure the security of those projects is maintained throughout this incident.”

“This doesn’t feel very routine.”

He ignored her and tapped his foot, apparently waiting for his searchers to find something.

Noises from upstairs suggested they were being thorough.

MARY SAT on the arm of a sitting room chair and waited for her husband to reappear.

Eventually, she heard his footsteps on the stairs; he had wet hair and carried a change of clothes.

He sat on the sofa, looking anxious.

Before she could ask him anything, he began to talk.

“Millie and I were both working on a project that was Top Secret. Officially ‘Top Secret’. It’s not just an expression.”

“What does that mean?”

“What it sounds like. It’s the highest level. It means that in theory, at least, we can’t discuss it with anyone, even our own colleagues. Although many people at TFU knew of the project’s existence, they cloaked everything about it in a security blanket. That’s why they search cars going on and off, just in case someone has some paperwork they shouldn’t have. Even if it’s inadvertent, the consequences can be severe.”

“OK,” she said. “I assumed that’s the sort of thing you did. But why the sudden panic?”

Rob’s eyes searched the carpet.

“It looks like Millie was stealing it.”

“What? Rob! That’s ridiculous.”

“Of course it’s ridiculous and of course he wasn’t, but it looks like he was.”

“So, what was he doing?”

Rob exhaled, screwed up his eyes and covered his face with his hand. She got up and moved in close, wrapping an arm around him.

“I let him down. I should have been listening. I’ve been the worst friend and now he’s dead.”

“I don’t understand, Rob. What should you have been listening to? What did he say?”

Rob took a few moments to recover himself. He wiped away his tears. “I can’t tell you, I’m sorry. I can’t involve you.”

“But the box, Rob. It’s in our house. You’ve already involved me.”

“The less you know, the better. Please.”

Behind Rob, something caught Mary’s eye: a figure crossing the lawn. It was Jock MacLeish from next door.

Rob looked at her. “Say nothing about the box.”

She went to the front door; MacLeish looked anxious.

“The police are at Georgina’s. They’re searching the house.”

“Goodness me, what are they looking for?”

Jock gave her a quizzical look. “No idea, but I thought you should know. Georgina might need some support. Rob’s car’s outside the house. Is he over there?”

Rob emerged and stood behind her.

“Hello, Jock. No, I left it there earlier.”

“Oh, right,” Jock said. He looked at Rob. “Are you OK, friend?”

Rob nodded. “Yes, thank you, Jock. Just a bit of delayed reaction, I think. Look, we’ll go over now.”

MacLeish loitered for a moment, looking uncertain, as if he was going to say something before moving off. Mary closed the door and turned to her husband.

“Jesus, Rob, what exactly is in that bloody box?”

His eyes turned to the cupboard.

“It was an impulse. I need time to think.” He turned back to her. “Can you go to Georgina’s? But you don’t know anything, OK?”

“Rob, it’s true. I don’t know anything.”

ONCE MARY HAD LEFT, Rob skulked around for a while, until he was sure the coast was clear.

He retrieved the box and brought it into the kitchen.

After pulling down the window blind and switching on the single bulb lamp that hung from the ceiling, he spread the contents out on the table.

He recognised the data sheets; the mainframe computer produced them at DF Blackton. Lists of height readings from the laser. He had seen them earlier in the trial.

Each sheet was labelled GUIDING LIGHT DATA FEED EXTRACTION.

It was shocking to see the project name in black letters anywhere but inside the four walls of TFU.

As he leafed through the data, he could see hand-drawn rings around some of the figures.

At the bottom of the pile was a single sheet of data, separated from the rest and used as some sort of scratch pad. Millie’s handwritten notes filled it and spilled onto the back.

He scanned the black ink scrawl. Numbers, percentages, and a few equations.

None of it meant anything to him.

Beneath the data sheets were two tapes.

Under those were two tasking sheets for the project.

He lifted them up, revealing the most incriminating document of them all: a schematic. It was a single sheet, straight from the blueprints, showing the flow of electrical signals and data.

This is what terrified Kilton, and rightly so. It revealed the project, what it was, and more or less how it worked.

“Jesus Christ.”

He put the schematic back at the bottom of the pile and turned to the sheet of Millie’s handwriting.

Millie’s ponderous voice floated into his mind, as his calculations shifted from disconnected numbers to an equation, and at the end, on the reverse side of the data sheet, what looked like a conclusion.

The phone rang.

He hurried into the hallway and snatched it off the cradle.

“Hello?”

“May. Mark Kilton. We have carried out an initial search at Milford’s house.”

“Yes, it was noticed.”

“Well, we can’t hide this. I just need you to know that the investigation is ongoing. I need you all to be careful with how much contact you have with Georgina.”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“May, we don’t know how much she was involved. It’s more important than ever that you do not share any information with her. We have no idea where it might end up.”

“You don’t seriously believe she and Millie were doing anything sinister? Surely there’s a more logical explanation.”

“At the moment, May, we have no alternative but to treat this as a most serious breach of project security.”

“What about Mary? Can she still talk to her?”

“It’s best to keep your distance. Things could get tricky and I don’t want them to get tricky for you.”

Kilton hung up.

Rob’s feet felt heavy as he wandered back into the kitchen.

He shuffled the notes back into the box.

As he pushed the handwritten paper deep into the middle of the pile of papers, the black ink letters and numbers disappeared into the fold.

There was something pleading and urgent in the scrawls.

Kilton wanted him to stay away.

But Millie’s notes said something else.

DESPITE THE STUFFY heat inside her tent, Susie pulled the entrance flaps together and sat cross-legged, out of sight from the dwindling group of protestors.

She pulled out a small notebook and annotated her observations, using a shorthand that couldn’t easily be deciphered.

It had been an extremely interesting day.

Firstly, an encounter with the survivor, Robert May. She’d recognised his car from the information Roger had provided. He looked younger than his twenty-nine years, but was pale and drawn. Not surprising.

She noted the time of the sighting and added ‘nothing out of the ordinary’ following her cursory scan of the vehicle.

But the second sighting was altogether more strange.

The same man, an hour later, running, then walking fast, with a box in his arms, for all the world looking like a thief escaping from the scene of a crime.

She couldn’t break off from the march around the perimeter fence without arousing suspicion, so she noted the exact location of the back garden from where she believed he’d emerged.

Later, on her own, she walked past the end of Lancaster Close and noted the address.

She folded the notebook, slipped it into her shorts pocket and headed into the village.

Roger was waiting for her call.

“My dear, we have some interesting news for you.”

“I have some for you, too.”

“Well, let me go first. Your initial contact, the now deceased Christopher David Milford, is posthumously under investigation.”

“By who and for what?”

“That’s the thing. The RAF Test Flying Unit is covered by a new branch of the military police, rather vaguely called the West Porton Security Police. It seems to have been created along with TFU and reports directly to the Ministry of Supply. So, we can get hold of the odd bulletin, but not much else. Now, what about the survivor?”

“Robert May. I’ve seen him, twice. On his way to the airfield this morning. And this afternoon he left the rear of a nearby house with a box under his arms. The address…” She pulled the notepad from her pocket. “8 Lancaster Way.”

“That’s Milford’s house,” Roger said.

“Bloody hell.”

“All rather peculiar. But you are not to contact him.”

“Why not?”

“They’re jumpy about this upstairs. Too many eyes, including Number Ten’s, on the project.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Operate in the shadows, of course. If you feel you need to approach him, you’ll need authorisation from above. And you’ll need very good cause if the director’s to agree.”

“The director’s taking a personal interest in this?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, darling. Maybe he thinks you need babysitting?”

Susie sighed. “Fine, but it won’t be easy if I can’t talk to anyone.”

“If you wanted easy, you should have signed up for MI6. You’d be sipping a G&T in Raffles by now. Of course if you need help, I can always recommend we dispatch a more experienced officer—”

“No.” She relaxed her tone. “No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up, my dear. There’s no actual evidence of wrongdoing and you yourself have said the CND thing has lost its threat. I suspect they’ll pull you out any moment.”

Susie left the phone box and walked past the church, cursing her luck at Milford dying the day before they were due to meet.

She could divert past Lancaster Way and Trenchard Close, but it was still light.

An image of May formed in her mind: hurrying down the path, cardboard box under his arm. Had it said VEGETABLES on the side of the box?

The road split into two: left to the West Porton main gate, right to the peace camp.

Susie looked up.

The sky was alight with fiery red colours as the sun set.

Operate in the shadows.

“KILTON WANTS US TO REMAIN ‘DISTANT’ from her,” said Rob. Mary stood in the living room doorway, having just returned from Georgina’s.

“This is all too much to take in, Rob.”

He shrugged.

“Well, surely I’m not subject to your silly orders? I can still see her?”

Rob stood up and walked over to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed at her face, glowing in the soft, warm light. “Yes. And to hell with Kilton if he thinks otherwise.” He kissed her forehead.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak about anyone like that before.”

“It’s not right, is it? And I think it’s all part of something else.”

Mary’s head turned to look at the understairs cupboard.

“Tread carefully, husband.”

“I’m minded to go to the dinner party tonight and hope Georgina comes.”

“The Brunsons’? It’s still on?”

“Apparently.”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

AS THEY ENTERED THE BRUNSONS’ lounge, Sarah walked up to Rob, put a hand on his chest and kissed him on the cheek. “You OK, honey?”

Rob nodded, but avoided her eyes.

She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, hun. I didn’t mean to upset you. Come on, let’s get a drink in you.”

She found him a beer, Mary had a lemon and port.

They took their seats at dinner and talked about the warm weather, the protest camp, the new department store in Salisbury, and the evening’s glorious sunset.

Rob finished his beer quickly, and moved on to red wine.

Sarah cleared the main course away, and there was a gap in the conversation.

“Aren’t we going to talk about Millie?” Rob said. “And Steve and Speedy?”

Test pilot Rory Davies looked down at his lap. His wife smiled at him.

“Rob,” Mary said, with a hint of admonishment in her voice.

“No, it’s OK,” said Red. “Of course we can. What do you want to say, Rob?”

“I don’t know, but we can’t just chit-chat like nothing happened.” His words were slurred.

“Honey, it’s just our way of coping,” Sarah said. “God knows we’ve been here before, right? At Edwards we had some pretty bad days. It’s awful. And hard. But, y’know, I’m not sure dwelling on it is the answer either.”

“I don’t want to dwell on it, but it’s like it didn’t happen.” He drained another glass of wine. “I mean, where’s Georgina?”

No-one answered; Rob sensed he was missing something.

Sarah Brunson was the first to answer. “It’s not like it would have been appropriate, anyway. She lost her husband yesterday and she’s got family over.”

Rob looked at Red. “Don’t tell me you uninvited her?”

Red put his hands up. “We had no choice, buddy. Orders from the top.”

“What the hell? Why? Because Kilton’s trying to pin something on Millie even after he’s dead?” Rob raised his voice.

“Rob, we mustn’t discuss it,” said Red. “You know that.”

“Of course we mustn’t. We mustn’t discuss anything, right? We can talk and talk and bloody talk, but for god’s sake DON’T SAY ANYTHING!”

The guests shifted in their seats as Mary’s hand reached across the table toward him. Rob glared at the guests, one by one.

“Will none of you stand up for Millie?”

“It’s not a case of standing up for him, Rob,” said Jock MacLeish. “We simply have to let officialdom take its course.”

Rob continued to stare at Red.

“Do you agree with that? We sit back and do nothing?”

“We have no choice, Rob. We have to trust the system.”

Rob stood up.

Sarah Brunson got to her feet and walked around the table. “Honey, you’re still in shock. It must be so hard.”

Hands appeared on his shoulders; he turned his head and was surprised to find they belonged to Red Brunson, not Mary.

He whispered, “Buddy, now’s not the time, OK?”

“Then when will it be the time?”

“Why don’t you sleep it off tonight, huh? Let’s talk tomorrow, just the two of us.”

He lowered his head. “I just want to talk to Millie.”

Sarah produced a hanky and Rob dabbed his eyes.

Red patted his shoulders. “Come on, buddy. This is not good for you. Why don’t you get some rest?”

Mary appeared by his side.

“I think we both need to rest.”

“You know where we are, buddy.” Red stood in the doorway as Rob and Mary made their way out.

Outside, it was dusky, with the first stars appearing overhead.

They walked along Trenchard Close, arms locked together.

Mary stopped. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Did you see a light in the house?”

Rob looked up at their semi-detached quarter. In was in darkness.

“No.”

They carried on and up to the front door. As they did so, a distinct torch light flashed across the window and they heard a noise inside.

“Someone’s in the house, Rob,” Mary whispered.

He stiffened next to her and took the key from her hand. He inserted it into the lock as quietly as possible. He eased open the front door and paused, listening.

Another noise.

“Who’s there?”

They waited for a response.

Another noise from the living room. Rob ran through in time to see a figure exiting through the back garden toward the firs and the fence at the end.

A slim woman with short hair.

“Hey!” he shouted and immediately set off after her.

He tripped on the door frame and went sprawling onto the patio.

“Rob!” Mary ran toward him, but he recovered and set off again.

Once through the fir, he ran along the path between the garden and a field of wheat. Beyond that, the orange sodium glow of RAF West Porton.

The girl was nowhere.

He stopped, panting at the sudden exertion.

She was gone, and he had no idea which way she’d turned down the track.

After getting to the end of the row of garages, he checked up and down the streets of neat lawns and brown fences.

Nothing.

The burst of adrenaline seemed to have sobered him up. He trudged back home, reappearing in the garden to see the house lights switched on and Mary opening the drawers to the Welsh dresser.

He entered the living room. She looked expectantly at him, but he walked straight past her to the understairs cupboard.

It took him a few seconds to confirm the worst.

He reappeared in the living room to see Mary scrutinising the fireplace, where a couple of silver candlesticks lived.

“She wasn’t after the silver,” said Rob. “She’s got what she came for.”

Mary stared at him. “The box?”

He nodded.

“It was a woman?”

“I’m sure of it. I recognised her.”

“What?”

“I don’t know her name, but she’s one of them, from the camp.”

IN THE GLOOM of her tent, Susie switched on a torch and shuffled through the contents of the open box.

She had given herself a few minutes to calm down; the couple had appeared home unexpectedly early.

Luckily it hadn’t taken her long to find the box.

“I hope you’re better at flying than you are at hiding things, Flight Lieutenant May,” she whispered as she leafed through the contents.

She read the title on one of the sheets.

GUIDING LIGHT.

She flicked through quickly. Lots of numbers, some sort of handwritten calculations, and what looked like a wiring diagram.

None of it meant much to her, though there were repeated references to a Vulcan bomber.

Susie reached the end of the box and examined two cardboard sleeves containing reels of magnetic tape.

She retrieved her notebook and wrote a description of the contents.

The key thing was the TOP SECRET stamp on virtually every sheet.

Highly sensitive military documents, in the hands of a junior test pilot, apparently retrieved from the house of a recently deceased engineer, currently the subject of a security investigation.

A recently deceased engineer who had contacted the British Security Service shortly before his death.

It was getting late, and she was shattered. She piled the paperwork back into the box and covered it with some clothes.

She rested her pillow against the box and lay down.

Had May recognised her? Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to leave a lasting impression on him with her loose fitting top. At the time, she thought it might be useful.

She used the few minutes before she was ready for sleep to allow her mind to flow freely. It was a technique learned from an eccentric former MI6 type in training. She’d sensed the other newbie agents, including Roger, had dismissed him as a lunatic, but Susie felt the logic in his thesis that our minds hold more than we can readily access, and some things only rise to the surface when our thoughts are elsewhere.

A few minutes later, Susie reached for her pad again and made a final note.

May=Milford.