The Final Flight

⁵ SATURDAY 11TH JUNE

Susie woke next to David. She lay still on her back for a while as the tent grew lighter.

Friday evening had taken an unexpected turn; they had shared a long conversation away from the throng around the camp-fire, and at some point he had leant in and kissed her. The sudden feel of his bushy beard around her mouth took her by surprise. But the conversation was excellent, and she felt she’d made progress.

She allowed his advance to unfold.

The sex was predictably disappointing. Perfunctory, was the word she would use if she was back at Cambridge reporting to her girlfriends. But that was neither here nor there.

She quietly pulled on a pair of shorts and a thin jumper, and crawled out of the tent. She glanced back; David was awake and looking at her. She flashed him a smile and left.

The camp was quiet.

She made her way out of the field, onto the main road. The dawn air was cool on her lightly covered body, yet she felt the odd pocket of warmth as the sun began another day of heating England beyond its wildest expectations.

The hot days felt alien to an Englishwoman, reminding her of a childhood camping holiday deep in the south of France where the climate felt as exotic as the foreign language.

A memory floated in. She played cricket with her brothers on the sand, to the bemusement of the locals. Later, she became annoyed with her mother, always pushing her to make friends with the other girls in the campsite.

She entered the village, casually glancing around to ensure she was alone before pulling on the heavy, cast-iron door of the bright red phone box.

MILLIE ROLLED out of bed and made his way to the spare bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

He slowly drew open the curtains, trying not to make any more noise.

The sun was climbing; he guessed it was about 6AM. A movement outside caught his eye: a figure wandering along the road from the direction of the peace camp. A slip of a girl. Somebody’s daughter. How would he feel if, instead of studying maths at Oxford, Charlie was living in a field?

He moved away from the window to a wonky filing cabinet that sat in the corner of the room. An untidy pile of paperwork, to be filed, lay on top.

He opened the top drawer and winced as the rollers complained at the lack of lubrication.

The file he wanted was nestled at the back.

CHARLIE – OXFORD.

Along with Charlie’s formal letter of acceptance from the college, were a series of introductory leaflets for the new student.

He scanned the first few, but saw only notes about college rooms with a heavy accent on the rules they must obey. NO FEMALE VISITORS seemed to be a recurring theme.

On the fourth sheet of paper, he found details of Charlie’s tutor.

Professor Leonard Belkin FRS, CBE.

It was too early to call.

Back in the bedroom, he placed the folded contact sheet under his Alistair MacLean novel and got back into bed.

He re-awoke to the sound of Georgina on the phone downstairs. Squinting at the alarm clock, he was surprised to see it was after 9AM.

Georgina’s conversation reverberated through the house. Some mention of a new department store in Salisbury.

“We’ll go together. What larks!”

He wondered what plans were being hatched, fearing they would involve him.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Georgina was climbing the stairs; she poked Millie’s spare tyre as she passed.

“Ow!”

“We’re going to have to get you a bigger towel.”

He put his hand on his tummy. “It’s all paid for.”

“Well, let’s get back into our Sunday walks.”

She disappeared back into the bedroom.

Millie followed. “Been making plans?”

Georgina adjusted her make-up in front of the dressing-table mirror. “We’re going into Salisbury with the Mays.” She spoke through contorted lips as she applied a red coat of lipstick. “There’s a brand new department store. Turner’s.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t be too excited, Millie. You and Rob can always disappear off to the pub early.”

She closed the lipstick with a flourish.

“Right, well, I’m going to get milk.” Georgina danced down the stairs. “Be ready by the time I’m back.”

Millie heard the door open and shut.

He retrieved the letter from under The Guns of Navarone. He shuffled down the carpeted stairs, holding the towel in place, leaving damp footprints in his wake.

He lifted the green telephone receiver and dialled.

The phone rang four times; Millie tapped his foot.

Finally, a woman answered. She spoke slowly in an ancient, shaky voice.

“Oxford, five-four-four-one. Professor Belkin’s residence.”

“Oh, hello. I was hoping to speak to the professor, please.”

“May I ask who is calling?” said the woman, enunciating every word.

“My name is Milford.”

She set down the receiver.

“A Mr Milford for you, Professor.”

Another age went by.

“Hello, young Charles. How can I help you on a Saturday?”

“Actually, it’s not Charlie. It’s his father here.”

“Oh. Hello, Mr Milford. What can I do for you? I hope everything is well?”

“Yes, it’s all fine. This is all rather unusual, but I wonder if I could speak to you about a matter of some urgency to me and one which is, I’m afraid, rather sensitive.”

“Is this to do with Charles? Is everything normal at home?”

“No, I mean yes, everything is normal but no, this is not about Charlie. It’s about me. I need your help.”

“My help? Goodness, this sounds exciting. Please ask away.” The professor had a warm, whimsical quality to his voice.

“As I say, it’s rather sensitive, but in simple terms I need to do a lot of repetitive mathematics. Rather too much for the human mind. I don’t think it’s too complicated, just beyond the normal powers of a human. At least it would take an inordinate period of time. And I recall you have a bombe. Is that what it’s called?”

“We used to have, as you say, a bombe, but I’m afraid it has recently completed its last calculation. It’s currently dismantled and I believe in a skip behind the mathematics department. Such a shame. The old girl had a hand in winning the war, you know.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that.” Millie sat down on the small bench next to the telephone table.

“I’m sorry about that,” said Belkin. “But it’s all about the computer now and we needed the space.”

“You have a computer?”

“Yes, we do.”

“That might be even better.”

“Might it? It’s an IBM mainframe. It uses different methods of inputting the numbers from the bombe. I’m afraid it’s all rather specialised. Punch cards and magnetic tape.”

“I have magnetic tapes.”

“You do?”

“Yes, but they’re for a different computer. Will yours be able to decipher them do you think?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I have a small army of technicians who do all that stuff. I have a vague notion of how the numbers are laid out. Something called ASCII. But beyond that I can’t really say.”

“I see.”

“Perhaps we could try it. If you would find that helpful?”

“That would be wonderful. Maybe I could drop the tape off for you today?”

“Today? You are in a hurry, aren’t you, Mr Milford?” The professor paused. “Am I right in thinking you are an officer in the Royal Air Force?”

Millie heard the car pulling back into the drive.

“I am, Professor, and I am very much in need of some help. I must ask for your absolute discretion, and that you don’t mention this conversation to anyone, including my son. Can I visit you today?”

“Why not? Rhodes Cottage, in Merton Street. It should be easy to find.”

Millie scribbled down the address and directions next to the telephone number, just as the door opened and Georgina breezed into the room.

“Goodbye.” He hung up.

Georgina stared at him. “Millie, you’re not even dressed, for goodness sake! And who on Earth was that on the telephone?”

“Charlie.”

“Our Charlie?”

“Yes. Look, I feel bad that I missed dropping him off at the beginning of term and he called to ask about my cricket bat. I thought I would deliver it to him. Give me a chance to see his new rooms.”

Georgina put down the car keys on the sideboard in the hallway.

“You’re going to deliver your cricket bat to Charlie?” She tilted her head at him.

“Yes.”

“In Oxford?”

“Yes. He has an end-of-term match, and he wanted to borrow it.”

“But Charlie gave up cricket at school.”

Fishing rod. I should have said fishing rod.

“I know. But they’ve invited him to play and he wants to and I said yes.”

She pulled a silk headscarf from a coat hook and draped it over her hair. “I see. So you won’t be coming to Salisbury with Mary and Rob? And you’ll need the car.”

“Please don’t make a thing of it to Rob. Tell him I’m very sorry to miss it and that we’ll see each other at the cocktail party tonight. Tell him I’ll drive.”

“OK,” she said, and finished tying the scarf under her chin. “Well, give him my love. Of course, we’ll see him in three weeks.”

IN HIS COLLEGE COTTAGE, Professor Leonard Belkin sat at the kitchen table with a copy of The Times, folded to reveal the cryptic crossword.

After solving one clue, his mind wandered to the unusual telephone call.

“Mrs Lazenby,” he called out.

A small woman in her eighties appeared at the kitchen doorway.

“We are expecting a guest, Mrs Lazenby.”

“Tomorrow?” she asked, looking at the kitchen clock.

“Today.”

“Today?”

“Today,” he confirmed.

He watched as she turned this news over in her mind.

“What time are we expecting this guest?”

“This very afternoon, would you believe?”

“Shall I fetch some tea from Danbury’s?”

“I think a selection of cakes from Danbury’s would be most excellent.” He thought for a moment. “I think it best not to mention this visit to anyone.”

“Anyone?”

“No-one, perhaps I should say.”

“I would never—”

“Mrs Lazenby, I know you would not. I’m just being cautious.”

She nodded to the man whose house she had kept for thirty-seven years. “Of course, Professor.”

As she left the room, Belkin picked up his pen to continue with the crossword.

He read the clue—An amble in Provence (4)—and entered the letters r-o-v-e into the empty boxes.

Too easy. He tapped his ballpoint pen on the newspaper.

An RAF officer requiring statistical enquiries in absolute secrecy. A little more tricky.

AS HE PASSED the turn to Abingdon, Millie spotted a lay-by ahead and pulled the car over.

He took out the instructions again and checked the AA road map.

He pulled away again, having memorised the route.

Twenty-five minutes later, he drove along Oxford High Street, slowing for distracted shoppers as they stepped into the road. He thought of Georgina, Mary and Rob, doing the same in Salisbury, although he had no doubt that they had probably found themselves in The Haunch of Venison for a little pick-me-up and a sandwich by now.

He turned into King Edward Street and drove to the end before turning onto a narrow, cobbled lane, passing an ancient sign announcing Merton Street.

Small cottages hugged either side of the road as he slowed to a crawl and read the names. He stopped the car outside a set of closed wooden double gates marked RHODES COTTAGE.

He was suddenly aware that Charlie’s college rooms were nearby. Hopefully, his son had found his way into a pub for lunch.

He got out and approached the faded green front door. There was no immediate response to his knock, but eventually, the door opened, and an elderly woman stood in the shadows.

“Do come in, Mr Milford. I’m Mrs Lazenby.”

Millie glanced at his car. He imagined Charlie cycling past and stopping in surprise at the sight of his father’s distinctive red Rover.

“Do you think it would be possible to open the gates such that I might park there?”

Mrs Lazenby slowly closed the front door. Millie stepped back and looked up at the low building. It was a sweet little place, but on closer inspection, the window frames were rotting and the paint was peeling from the door.

He heard a noise to his left and saw the brown gates opening inwards.

Moving them back was a short man, with wisps of grey hair, baggy beige trousers, a white shirt and, despite the heat, a cardigan and tie.

“It’s best to reverse in and drive forwards out,” said the professor. “You are statistically less likely to kill a student on a bike that way, although I have never run the actual numbers on that.”

Millie got back into the Rover and pulled forward before loudly crunching the gears in search of reverse. As he backed in, he was glad to see the professor close the gates in front of him.

He picked up one of the reels of tape and secreted the remaining five under the passenger seat.

As he climbed out of the car, the professor beckoned him toward a side entrance. Although only five feet ten, he had to lower his head to pass under a wonky beam with more peeling paint.

The cottage was cool. The ancient wattle and daub walls were crumbling, and it smelled of damp. A grandmother clock ticked in the hallway.

He squinted at a souvenir plate on the wall. His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee 1910 – 1935.

The place was a time capsule; a world away from the bustling, modern environment of TFU.

Mrs Lazenby, complete with flowery pinny, showed Millie into the kitchen where he and Belkin sat opposite each other around a small square table.

She poured the tea with great care.

The professor regarded him. “How was the drive, Mr Milford?”

“Fine. I got a little lost at Abingdon, but soon found my way back.”

Millie’s hand shook as he raised the teacup to his mouth.

Mrs Lazenby left the room and closed the door behind her.

“So, Mr Milford, what branch of the Royal Air Force benefits from your service?”

“I’m an engineer by trade. I used to keep various fighters and bombers in the air, but about ten years ago I found myself working on the electrical and now electronic side of things.”

“Interesting. Do you work with innovations like Autoland?”

“I’m impressed you know the proper name. In fact I did some work for the Blind Landing Experimental Unit just after the war and then worked with Philips to develop autopilot technology. Quite satisfying to see it in civil airliners today.”

“I’m sure it is. I see where young Milford gets his prowess from.”

Millie laughed. “I’m no match for Charlie when it comes to maths, I’m afraid. I’m much more of a practical type.”

The professor smiled. “And that is why you need some help with the numbers from us?”

“I’m not sure even Charlie could decipher these figures. It’s the sheer volume of sums needed. I think only a large computer will do.”

“Well, that’s what they’re best for. It’s frightening, actually, how quickly they can rattle through calculations. They can perform in an hour what a human would take many weeks to complete. Maybe months, actually.” Belkin clasped his hands together on the table. “So, Mr Milford. Exactly how can we help you?”

The professor spoke with a soft Scottish burr, possibly Edinburgh. Much clearer in person than on the telephone. He looked kindly and had a gentle manner.

Millie replaced the teacup on its saucer, knowing he was about to gamble with his own freedom and possibly much more.

“I need to be very careful about what I tell you. Do you think it is possible for you to treat this as an academic exercise, unrelated to anything physical, as such?”

“I see. I think so. Academic exercises are what we do best at Oxford.”

Millie delved into his sports jacket pocket and retrieved the tape. He placed it on the table between them.

“On this tape are numbers. The numbers represent distance, in feet, I think. I’d like to know if you can read it, and whether your computer could look through the readings and spot any imperfections.”

“Imperfections?”

“What I mean is, anything that makes little sense. A sudden jump in the numbers that seems implausible.”

The professor appeared to think about this and finally removed his half-moon glasses, waving them in his hand as he spoke. “You’re talking about variance, I think. A mathematical term for deviation from a datum. With the right parameters, then yes, as long as we can extract the data, we can create a routine to trawl through and highlight any sets of data that deviate outside of parameters we set. Something like a percentile scale. Do you see?”

“I think so. Basically, what I’m looking for is a pattern unlikely to exist in reality. So, for instance, you might get ten minutes of height readings in a range of say three hundred to four hundred, followed by a second or so of height readings that show one thousand two hundred, then it goes back to the original range. Do you think that’s possible?”

“I think so, yes. How many height readings are we talking about?”

Millie thought for a moment. “The tape records twenty-seven every second, and each tape runs for fifteen to twenty minutes.”

“Twenty-five thousand numbers on the tape,” said the professor. “It sounds like a lot to you and me, but to the machine, it’s just a few hours of whirring.”

“If you can read this tape, I am hoping to deliver one hundred more.”

The professor put down his tea and clasped his hands together on the table.

“Mr Milford, may I ask whether this is an official visit from an RAF officer? Or are you doing some freelance work?”

Millie looked around at the kitchen. Faded cupboards and yellowed ceiling. One door to a lower hung off its solo hinge.

“It’s not official,” he said, watching Belkin, “but it is Royal Air Force business.”

“I see. And yet I don’t. Which, I suspect, is your intention?”

“Professor Belkin, I do very much appreciate the delicate position I am placing you in. I think I can only appeal to your good nature to help an RAF engineer who needs a dose of modernity in, shall I say, a neutral environment.”

The professor seemed to consider this before giving a brief nod. “Very well. I do not operate the computer myself, I’m sure you appreciate that, but I do set the tasks for the boys in white coats and I believe I can enlist some help from the team.”

Millie exhaled.

“Wonderful.”

“Our first task is to read the tape. And I make no promises about the success of this. Lord knows if this tape will even align with our computer, but there’s only one way to find out. ”

A clock in the hall struck midday.

“If I can get you some more tapes in, say, ten days’ time, would you be able to read them before the end of term?”

“It depends on how long the processing takes, but in principle, yes.”

“When will you be able to let me know if you can read this tape?”

“I’m not sure. They are a keen lot, your son’s cohort, and the department is open on a Saturday. I may wander over later today and try my luck. But it might have to wait until Monday. Would you like me to call you at your work?”

“No,” Millie snapped back, more harshly than he intended.

The professor laughed. “Silly me, of course not. We are to move in the shadows, are we not? Perhaps you would leave a suitable contact?” He finished his tea as Millie wrote his home telephone number.

“You’re nervous,” Belkin said as he took the note.

There was a quiet tap at the kitchen door.

“I am. This is rather out of the ordinary for me and not without risk. But needs must, I’m afraid.”

Belkin studied him for a moment before calling to Mrs Lazenby.

“Do come in.”

The old woman appeared with two brown paper bags. She fussed about with plates on the kitchen top before placing a generous pile of cakes and sweets between Belkin and Millie.

“The chocolate eclairs from Danbury’s are nothing short of sensational.” Belkin pushed a plate toward Millie.

Mrs Lazenby left the room and closed the door.

The professor gave Millie a wink. “I suspect clandestine operations will take it out of both of us. Best to stock up on energy, Mr Milford.” He pushed a long eclair into his mouth.

EARLY AFTERNOON HAD BECOME siesta time at the peace camp.

Susie rather liked it.

But something stirred her from her sleep.

The earth trembled. She raised her head to see her fellow campers walking toward the airfield fence. The sound grew louder.

They were used to the noise of aircraft, both propeller and jet engines, but this was different. A more familiar, prosaic sound.

Lorries.

She stood up.

In a cloud of dust on the southern taxiway, a stream of large, double-axle vehicles trundled toward them. Tarpaulin covered their loads.

“This can’t be good,” she said to herself.

She joined the others as they stood in a row up against the wire fence that separated them from the military world beyond.

The first lorries came to a stop, a few yards in front of them.

She counted at least twenty vehicles, with more coming.

Teams of camouflage-clad soldiers emerged and got busy pulling the covers back, revealing stacks of metal posts, and large rolls of what looked like knotted silver wire.

A man with a clipboard climbed out of the lead vehicle. He counted the lorries as they arrived.

David and a woman called Megan arrived by her side.

“Here to evict us?” David said.

“They’re on the wrong side of the fence for that,” replied Susie.

She stared at the silver wire, wound like hay bales. Narrowing her eyes, she could just make out the jagged surface of the material.

“Razor wire.”

The first men marked out the ground a few yards inside the existing fence, and a team appeared with a pneumatic drill. They pushed a generator into place.

“If you want proof we’re in the right place, here it is,” said Megan. “This is all for us. They’re frightened.”

“Maybe we’ve missed our chance?” said David.

“No. We haven’t.” Megan wandered off.

Susie thought about the exchange for a moment.

“So, Megan’s in charge?” She looked at David.

He smiled. “Of course she is.”

The military men worked with military precision. The existing fence looked weedy and pathetic compared to the new menace.

Some protestors shouted at the men in uniform. They got no response, not even a glance.

“This is a well-planned operation,” said Susie.

“We’re organised as well. Don’t worry about that. It takes a lot to defeat Megan.”

A clanging rang out behind them and they turned to see Megan standing outside the wigwam banging a wooden spoon on a saucepan.

They joined the others converging on the central meeting tent.

As they assembled inside, Susie noted the hierarchical structure, with Megan and David at the front, preparing to address the throng. Someone she didn’t recognise stood near the entrance. Tall, with a full blond beard.

It was hot and people set about pulling up the tent sides to let some air in.

Megan began her address.

“Our information was right. There’s something secret at this base. Something nasty they are hiding from the world and they’re going to great lengths to keep it that way. It’s time for us to act.”

The group murmured its approval. Susie exchanged looks with those around her. Some looked scared, others eager.

She turned back to the front; the bearded man was gone.

David spoke up, looking at his notes. “For a while we thought that an old Maintenance Unit, number 207, was a cover for something else. But now we know that most of the aircraft we see belong to a different squadron. A squadron that has no name and does not officially exist. We may be the first people outside the RAF to notice it.”

“That will be our target,” Megan said. “You won’t all be involved. I will keep the details secret to protect the raiding group. But everyone can play their part. The preparation begins today.”

The watchers applauded, and some pushed out into the cooler air.

Susie loitered back in the tent, edging her way through to David and Megan.

“I want to volunteer,” she said as she got to the front.

“So does everyone,” David replied.

Megan looked across at her. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”

“This is Susie,” said David. “She’s alright.”

“I’m small. I can fit through small windows.”

Megan appraised her again and nodded before going back to the keen volunteers in front of her.

Susie put her hand on David’s arm. “This is the only reason I’m here. I think I’ve made that clear.”

“I know.”

MILLIE FUMBLED with the buttons on his suit shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror and practised holding in his stomach. It was the best way to avoid Georgina proposing a new fitness regime.

Georgina called from downstairs. “Come on!”

He was grateful it was a cocktail party, for which civilian suits were the dress order; it would have taken him even longer to squeeze into his mess kit.

He brushed the shoulders of his jacket and paused in front of the mirror. Since leaving Oxford, he’d been asking himself if he was doing the right thing. Wondering if there was another way, an official way, that would circumvent Mark Kilton, ensure the safety of future aircrew and not land him in prison.

The reflection staring back at him had no answers.

“Millie!”

He headed downstairs.

Georgina stood in front of the door, car keys in hand.

“Well?” she said.

“Well, what?”

“Millie! My frock.”

He looked at her dress. It was black velvet with transparent sleeves. New. She must have bought it in Salisbury.

“It’s lovely, dear.”

AT THE MAYS’, Millie got out so he could greet them properly. Mary emerged first; she looked beautiful in her red dress, but Millie thought better of mentioning it.

Mary galloped up and kissed Millie on the cheek, with Rob just behind her, grinning.

“Roberto! How was the shopping expedition?”

They shook hands.

“Delightful, naturally. You must let me know your secret for getting out of it.”

They climbed into the car. Millie glanced across at Rob in the passenger seat. “Sorry I wasn’t there to help you through what must have been a difficult afternoon.”

Rob laughed. “I won’t say you weren’t missed. Anyway, how is Charlie?”

“He’s very well, very well.”

He heaved the heavy vehicle around the final bend, onto the straight that ran up to the main gate, and immediately had to brake hard.

A line of stationary cars ran along the main road.

Millie craned his neck to try and get a better view of what was happening. A car door was open at the front of the line. Had there been an accident?

He spotted two uniformed security officers, one of them leaning into a vehicle. The driver—an RAF colleague in his suit—was out, standing on the grass next to the road.

The officers appeared to be searching his car.

The tapes were still under the passenger seat.

A prickly heat rose up Millie’s body and his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“Is this about the new fence?” Mary asked.

“Looks like it,” said Rob. “Security chaps have upped their game.”

He turned to the women on the back seat.

“This gives me time to debrief you on your dress selection procedure.”

They laughed.

“It’s a very inefficient process, if I may observe.”

“Oh, is it, Mr Dress Expert?” said Mary.

“Yes. You see, I watched you put on that dress, Mary. I made a note of the time. 11.02AM. I think it was the second dress you tried on. Do you know what you said when you tried it?”

The car crawled further forward. Millie could see more clearly now; the officers were opening boots and back doors. One man had a torch.

He could grab the cardboard sleeves containing the tapes and throw them into the bushes. But how could he? How would he explain it?

“I didn’t know you paid that much attention, husband,” said Mary.

Millie glanced at his rear-view mirror: smiles and laughing faces on the back seat.

“I was paying very close attention,” said Rob, “mainly because I didn’t have my partner in crime here to distract me.”

Millie tried to smile, but his heart was pounding.

They crept forward again. The security men were now three cars ahead.

Millie’s eyes urgently scanned the scene. How hard were they looking?

If they found the reels, they would arrest him.

In front of everyone.

He cursed his stupidity at leaving them under the seat. He’d simply forgotten.

“You said…” Rob waved his finger at the two women, who seemed to be enjoying the inquisition. “You said, ‘this is perfect’.” He shouted the word again. “Perfect.”

A gap appeared as the car in front moved forward.

He could pull out and drive home.

He could claim he’d forgotten something.

“And yet… you then tried on five more dresses. Five. Before, guess what? You bought the one you had tried on at 11.02. Two hours earlier. Because, and I quote, it was ‘perfect’.”

The car in front stopped; the gap wasn’t big enough to get out cleanly. Millie willed it to move on, to give him space.

“Of course,” said Georgina. “She tried on five more dresses. It’s an essential part of the process.”

“Is it?” said Rob, with more than a hint of doubt in his voice.

The vehicle in front was on the move again, but just as Millie prepared to pull out, a security man appeared and walked directly toward them.

He felt his hands become slippery with sweat on the steering wheel.

Rob settled down from his goading of the woman and put on a more serious expression.

“Here comes the plod. I do hope you two paid for those dresses.”

The officer leaned down and motioned for Millie to open the window.

“Good evening. We need to search the car, please. Can you open the boot?”

The women stifled giggles in the back.

Millie could barely breathe. He nodded, afraid to talk in case it came out as a croak.

He opened the door and stepped out, glancing back at the bottom of the passenger seat, where Rob sat inches away from stolen Top Secret information.

As Millie got to the boot, he realised he didn’t have the keys and went back to the driver’s door.

His hand shook as he reached in to the ignition.

“You OK, Millie?” asked Rob.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice just about holding.

He opened the boot and the security man looked in at the spare tyre, jack and rusty foot-pump, before walking around to the far side of the Rover.

The man arrived at Millie’s open driver’s door, glancing back at the long queue of traffic caused by the delays. He leant in to the car, where the women were still giggling.

Millie took a step closer as the officer reached in and retrieved something from between the two seats.

Millie froze as the officer backed out and turned the object over in his hands.

It was Millie’s tatty AA road atlas.

“There you are, sir. Sorry for the delay.” He handed the map book to Millie and moved quickly on to the car behind.

After he’d climbed back in, Millie made deliberately slow movements to start the engine again, put it into gear and drive off.

He could feel Rob watching him.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No. Just annoyed at all this palaver.”

Rob nodded and turned back to face the road. “Yes, it’s silly. They’re getting their knickers in a twist about this peace camp. Paranoid that one of the hippies is going to get smuggled in, I suppose.”

“Well, they’re just doing their jobs,” said Millie.

“I think the peace bunnies add a touch of glamour to the place,” announced Mary in the back.

“For god’s sake, don’t let Kilton hear you say that,” said Rob.

Millie turned into the main gate and wound down the window; he had his identification form ready and handed it over for inspection.

His hand was still shaking.

The corporal glanced at the paper and lifted the barrier.

THEY JOINED the throng in the large mess ante room. The furniture was pushed back against the walls with suited men and gowned women filling the space.

A waiter arrived with a tray of glasses containing room temperature white wine.

Millie enjoyed a long glug; he needed some fortification for the moment later when he would have to exit the RAF station.

The women headed over to an open window; Millie and Rob followed.

Red Brunson and his wife joined them.

“Howdy folks! Anyone else enjoying the warm wine?” Brunson said.

The group laughed. Georgina straightened her back; Millie realised she’d never been introduced.

“Red, can I introduce my wife, Georgina? Georgina, this is Red and Sarah Brunson. Red’s on an exchange with us from Edwards Air Force base in California.”

“California? Gosh, how glamorous,” she said while shaking both their hands.

“Don’t get carried away,” Sarah Brunson said, “this ain’t the California The Beach Boys sing about. We’re a hundred miles from the coast in Nowhere USA. Salt flats and shacks. That’s Edwards.”

“Well, it still sounds more glamorous than Salisbury.”

“Honey, I could not wait to get out.” She looped her arm through Red’s. “Just had to buy the right ticket.”

Millie wanted to enjoy himself, but he had a task to carry out first.

As the group got into conversation, he removed his wristwatch and dropped it into his jacket pocket.

Noticing the glasses were getting low, he tapped Rob on the shoulder.

“Sortie to the bar?”

Rob nodded and followed Millie through the crowd to replenish the drinks. Once at the bar, Millie pulled his sleeve up, revealing his bare wrist.

“Feel naked without it.”

“Your watch?”

“Silly thing. I left it in the office. Would you mind if I fetched it?”

Rob shrugged. “Fine. I’ll see you back with the girls.”

Millie marched out of the mess, climbed into his car and drove toward the main guardroom. He parked a short distance away—not so close that it would attract any further attention from the police—and got out, locking it behind him.

In the guardroom, he signed out the keys to TFU.

The sergeant asked to see his identification, which Millie couldn’t remember happening before, but then he was in his civilian suit.

With the keys secured, he got back into the Rover and drove through the centre of the station to the airfield fence.

A security officer stood outside the open gate to the TFU car park.

Christ, they’re everywhere.

He drove in, with the security man watching him but making no attempt to stop the vehicle.

For the second time that evening, Millie found himself sweating. He quickly retrieved the five cardboard sleeves containing the reels and climbed out of the car.

He didn’t look back, carrying the tapes in front of him as he marched up to the TFU front door.

Inside, he went straight to his locker and placed the tapes under his day jumper. Moments later, he drove back down to the mess and rejoined the group, feeling significantly more relaxed.

Georgina shot him a quizzical look.

“Rob says you’ve been off to fetch your watch.”

“Yes, dear. Left it in the office.”

“Do be careful. It was your father’s.” She pulled up his left sleeve; it was bare.

“Where is it, then?”

He retrieved it from his pocket. “Here.”

“Really. You are odd sometimes, Millington.”

He found his wine and topped up the alcohol buzz.

The Mays smiled and laughed with the Brunsons. Millie felt Georgina watching him.

“What?”

“Will you miss it?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Just think, we’ve stood in the corner at these events in Hong Kong, Nairobi, Singapore—”

“Church Fenton.”

“Ah, yes. Yorkshire. Not quite as exciting, but we’ve had some fun, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have. I’ll not forget the cannon battle in Tengah.”

Georgina laughed out loud. “Oh, god. That was something. Didn’t one of them explode and hurt someone?”

Millie laughed at the memory. “Rusty Brown. Set fire to his hair, as I recall. Quite exciting.”

“Dear old Rusty. Where’s he now?”

“Dead. Meteor ploughed in. Cyprus, I think.”

They stood quietly for a moment.

The Brunsons and Mays burst out laughing.

“Getting on great guns,” Georgina said. “It’s their turn to have all that fun now.”

“Lucky things.”

Across the room, Mark Kilton stood next to Gilbert Periwinkle the station commander, chatting to a man with a gold chain around his neck and a small, plump wife. He supposed it was the mayor and mayoress, invited to keep the peace with the locals.

Periwinkle looked uncomfortable, as he usually did. The man lacked charisma and authority. Probably the qualities Kilton looked for in his own commanding officer.

The evening wore on. The Brunsons, Milfords and Mays stayed together, getting progressively more tipsy.

“Now here’s a conspiratorial little group, if ever I saw one.”

Kilton.

“Hello, Mark. How are you?” Georgina leant over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Now, Georgina, I need your help. Who do you think we should appoint as the new mess secretary?”

“Well, someone you trust, as I assume you’re still president of the mess committee?”

“Indeed I am. But I need a number two to do all the work.”

“Well, don’t look at Millie, for goodness sake. He falls asleep in the evenings as it is.”

“Yes, well, I believe this is beneath his dignity. How about you, May?”

Rob straightened his back.

“You think my husband’s undignified enough to do the job?” Mary asked, and the group laughed.

“Yes,” Kilton replied and drained his wine.

“I’d be honoured,” Rob said.

“Well, I haven’t made my mind up yet, May. Just keep your powder dry and you might just make it.”

Kilton moved off. Georgina raised her eyebrows at Millie and leaned over.

“That man doesn’t do anything by accident. Looks like young Rob has caught his eye.”