Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

Just beyond the buildings, they set to work with the wire cutters. Susie sat back in the bushes with the others, listening to the cracks and pops as the fence wires gave way. The first fence had been easy, but the second, newer fence was putting up more of a fight.

Eventually, the cutting team called softly to the waiting group.

Megan moved forward in a crouch. The cutting team held the wire up as the four of them crawled under. Susie had to remove the rucksack and push it through ahead of her.

Across the runway, orange lights flooded the bare aprons.

They ran.

No sooner had they crossed the peritrack, than Megan fell and cried out.

She had tripped on something; it looked like a light housing protruding from the ground.

“Airfield lights,” said Susie, “they’re everywhere.”

Megan put some weight on her ankle and winced.

“You won’t make it across. Give me the camera.”

“No. I’m fine.” She set off ahead, limping.

They came to the wide runway and scampered across. All the time, Susie and the others scanned the areas in front of them for any sign of movement.

Susie could hear David wheezing. He was clearly not fit enough for this run.

As they crossed the taxiway on the other side of the runway, they came closer to the boundary of the floodlighting.

Megan changed direction. The others followed as they headed for the eastern corner of the field. It was as far as possible from the domestic side of the station, and the darkest area close to the hangars.

They reached the internal fence that separated the airfield from the rest of West Porton, and moved along its line, approaching an enormous hangar from its rear, bathed in shadow.

At the bottom corner of the vast building was a door marked TOILETS .

“Rucksack,” said Megan, clicking her fingers at Susie.

Megan rummaged around and produced a huge set of keys.

“Apparently there are only seven different keys for each hangar door across the entire RAF,” David said.

“We’re about to find out if that’s a myth,” Megan replied.

Susie watched as the first key refused to budge. The second was the same and the third.

The fourth key slipped in and easily turned with a satisfying clunk.

It was a large, cold space; clammy, even on a June evening. It stank of urine and toilet cleaner.

On the right hand wall were a row of urinals; on their left were three cubicles.

In front of them sat the two internal walls, but neither had a door.

Susie walked forward and ran her hand against them.

“They’re pretty solid.”

“No internal door,” said David, pointing out the obvious. “What kind of arrangement is this?”

“Doesn’t matter, we have more keys,” said Megan, and she went back outside.

They followed her along the side of the hangar, hugging the building in the shade, but it was getting brighter. The car parks on the other side of the fence were lit by street lamps.

Susie was at the back and couldn’t see where they were going.

Samantha halted in front. Susie bumped into her and whispered an apology. Ahead, she could see Megan looking back and holding her finger to her mouth.

Then Susie heard it.

Men talking.

No, not talking. Singing.

They pressed themselves against the hangar and silently shrunk to the ground.

The men appeared at the far side of the car park. Arms around each other, three of them.

With horror, Susie realised that two of the three cars directly opposite were facing them.

“We’ve got to move,” she hissed at Samantha.

No reply.

“The lights. The car lights!”

Slowly, Samantha shuffled forward, stretching out on the ground, following Megan and David’s lead.

She did the same, lying as flat as she could on her front, arms stretched out along her side.

The drunks were close now. The singing had been replaced by a chirpy discussion.

“I’ll drive,” announced a slurred voice.

“No way,” replied the other two in chorus. “Americans can’t hold their drink.”

The first man protested, but appeared to give in.

The car started, followed by a grinding of gears. Susie raised her head. The car was facing them, but the headlights were off.

The car backed away, did a clumsy three-point manoeuvre and drove out of the car park, lights still off.

She let out a breath.

The others took off again, and she leapt up to follow.

The next door yielded to another key and once inside they found an unlocked internal door that opened into a corridor. They turned left, but this led only to another enclosed office. Turning around, Susie found herself at the front of the band of activists. As she moved forward, she came to an additional door, but this had a glass panel which revealed the inside of the actual hangar.

Her eyes stared at millions of pounds worth of modern military aircraft.

A Victor faced them with its sad eyes; beyond that, under its tail, a Hawker Hunter. Beyond both of them: a huge white Vulcan. Aircraft took up every inch of the hangar.

She tried the door; it was locked.

Megan appeared and ran through her collection of keys.

The fifth one she tried made another clunk as the lock sprung open.

The four of them entered.

“They’re huge,” Samantha said. “I hadn’t realised.”

“Shhh!” Megan hissed.

Susie watched as she retrieved the camera.

Megan turned to Susie and Samantha. “Find the offices. Remember, anything that looks secret.”

They set off and walked past a yellow ladder hanging down from the underbelly of the Vulcan.

The internal door between the hangar and the offices that ran along the front of the building was unlocked.

After walking down a corridor lined with pictures of experimental aircraft, they came to a large room with high desks.

The orange light from the apron threw strange shapes on the walls.

Susie read the sign on the nearest office door.

CO ‘TFU’.

And above a hatch at the far end of the room: ROYAL AIR FORCE TEST FLYING UNIT.

At the opposite end of the room was a bar, complete with tea urn and kettles. On the left side ran a wide corridor. Susie investigated.

It contained rows of lockers, each with a name. Bryan Dillain, Chris Milford, Frank Vansertima, Speedy Johnson.

Two of the wooden doors were unlocked and half open. She peered inside and saw only jumpers and odd items of clothing.

Susie moved on, monitoring Samantha across the room.

She walked between the map tables, back toward the hatch.

Alongside the internal wall that enclosed what appeared to be an admin area were a row of padlocked cabinets. Each was labelled SECURE CABINET with a number.

“Bingo,” said Samantha.

Susie examined the flimsy padlock. None of the keys they had would fit it.

She retrieved the bolt croppers from her rucksack and handed them to Samantha. But the teeth were too big for the small metal loop.

Susie examined the lock again; it was held on by four screws that had been painted over.

She rummaged in the rucksack and produced a couple of screwdrivers.

It only took a couple of minutes before the fastening fell away and one side of the cabinet opened.

Inside, in the gloomy light, there were folders and a pile of cardboard sleeves. Samantha picked up a wad of folders and leafed through them. She held one up for Susie to see.

GUIDING LIGHT – TOP SECRET

Susie nodded, and Samantha stuffed it into the rucksack.

Susie picked up one of the cardboard sleeves.

Inside was a reel of magnetic tape.

“Do they make music here? Is that their secret?” She slung the tapes into the rucksack and moved to the next cabinet.