Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

“I need to go back to my cell. The same as everyone else, please.”

“Oh. OK.” He looked uncertain. “So, are we to be told what this is all about?”

Before Susie could answer, the man in the car called out,

“In here please, sergeant. I need you to make a delivery.”

“MARK, this is extremely serious. They will soon take it out of our hands.”

Group Captain Gilbert Periwinkle’s office was spacious. He spoke from behind his desk, leaving Kilton to pace the room. “We need to tell people what’s missing. Group for a start.”

“No,” Kilton snapped. “They don’t need to know. They don’t have the full picture, anyway.”

“What about the Ministry? And Blackton? At least let’s tell Ewan.”

“I’ll talk to Ewan. But we’ll lose the project if we lose confidence.”

“How can we be confident? You heard the police. They’ve found nothing at the site. Just some wire cutters. None of the material. For all we know it’s sitting on a newspaper editor’s desk, or halfway to Moscow by now.”

Periwinkle looked stern. “I’m just trying to be realistic here, Mark. I think you’re hoping for a miracle that won’t come. We’ve lost the material and we need to alert the proper authorities. We haven’t even told the police we’re missing anything. We can’t just pretend.”

Kilton slumped down at a chair against the back wall.

“The flimsy bloody cabinets. I told Johnson to beef them up.

What about a D-Notice?” he asked. “We need one. If the documents are in the hands of the press, we need to stop publication.”

“D-Notices are extremely hard to get, Mark. Telling newspapers they may not cover stories is not the politicians’ favourite pastime. I think this government in particular will be reluctant. Having said that, it would be a first step to inform the Ministry.”

“Not yet.” Kilton softened his tone. “Let’s be sure of what’s missing. I’ve got the men going through everything.”

“If we sit on this, it will only get worse for us.”

“Worse? How?”

The phone on Periwinkle’s desk rang.

The station commander picked it up and listened for a moment. “Yes. I see. Please escort him straight to my office.”

He hung up and looked at Kilton. “The police are here.”

Kilton stood up. “Remember, we tell them nothing.”

The door opened. A corporal ushered in a short police inspector. His hat was under one arm and in the other he clutched a large leather satchel.

“Officer, how can we help you?”

“Regards to the break-in you’ve had at the fence. You believe nothing was stolen?”

Periwinkle glanced at Kilton. “Well we can’t be a hundred per cent certain…”

“Right, only this has been passed to us, to pass to you.”

He put the satchel on the desk.

It had an elaborate seal with two loops of metal wire.

The station commander stood up and peered over his half-moon glasses.

“Looks like the old diplomatic pouches we used to take through civil airports. Do you know what’s in it?” he asked, looking up at the policeman.

“For your eyes only, was the instruction.”

“Who gave the instruction?” asked Kilton.

The policeman shuffled on his feet. “The gentleman worked for the government, is about all I can tell you.”

“Excuse me, inspector,” Kilton said, “if this is our property I think we deserve to know where it came from.”

“That’s the thing, sir, I don’t actually know. All I can tell you is that he worked for Her Majesty’s government. And he returned stolen material, which, he informed us, belongs to you.”

Periwinkle smiled. “Security Service, Mark. Don’t expect a calling card.”

Kilton stared down at the satchel, clearly itching to open it.

He looked back at the policeman. “And you have no idea what’s in here?”

“No, sir. It’s sealed.”

“Thank you then, officer. Is that everything?”

The policeman looked disappointed, but said his goodbyes and left.

Kilton picked up the satchel, but Periwinkle emerged from behind his desk and took it from him. He snapped the black seal on the table and the metal wires sprung out.

He emptied the contents onto his desk: the secret Guiding Light files, a collection of magnetic tapes, a box marked ILFORD PHOTOGRAPHIC PAPER and an Olympus OM-1 camera.

Kilton stared.

“It’s everything, plus this camera.”

The station commander sat back down behind his desk. “Don’t expect an explanation, Mark. My experience with these types is that they rarely tell you anything. But it looks like you have a guardian angel.”

He looked up to Periwinkle. “This was a warning. The longer Guiding Light’s held at the trial stage, the greater the risk of it being blown wide open.”

“It’s time to bring things to a conclusion.”

The station commander stood up to see him out. “Well, let’s not rush anything, but yes, I agree. I’ll be rather pleased when it moves on.

“See you at the ball tonight, Mark? I think we’ve earned a stiff drink.”

“We’re still going ahead with the ball? After all this?”

“Of course. The show must go on.”

THE OFFICERS’ mess dining room was adorned with orange ejection seat parachutes and packed with loud chatter and laughter. The RAF West Porton Summer Ball was in full swing.

Millie sipped his gin & tonic, venturing away from his usual tipples on this special occasion.

It had been a strange day. Seeing Kilton go from a state of fury to light-hearted banter was quite something.

But there was a look on his face Millie didn’t much like. A new determination seemed to fuel him.

He looked around the room. Catching JR’s eye, he raised his glass across the sea of heads.

As usual for West Porton, very few people knew the truth of what was happening. The break-in was public knowledge, but that was about it.

The gong sounded; people cheered. Millie couldn’t see him, but he imagined Rob with the hammer in his hand.

He found Georgina, and they walked arm in arm through to the dining room.

After the meal, they stood for the loyal toast, and the cigarettes and cigars came out.

Mark Kilton rose to his feet.

The TFU commanding officer launched into a lecture on national security and loyalty.

He began with the debt they owed their grandfathers, who fought in the trenches, moving on to their duty to protect their loved ones.

“But foul play of the worst kind will undermine all our efforts. Make no mistake, gentleman, we are under attack.”

Georgina whispered in Millie’s ear. “This doesn’t apply to the ladies present, then.”

Everyone listened politely, but this was not the time or place for a Churchillian rant.

Kilton, though, was oblivious to mood. “I will meet treachery with swift and vicious justice. Changes are already in place to ensure our work continues uninterrupted.”

People shifted in their seats.

He came to a loud conclusion. “We will not allow our freedom to be lost in the name of naivety or deliberate treachery. We will do what is required, however unpleasant that may seem to the outsiders, such that those same people can sleep peacefully at night.”

A few men greeted the speech with rapturous applause, while others put their hands together politely.

Millie glanced over to see Speedy Johnson start a standing ovation; others joined in, including Rob.

“Is he feeling alright?” Georgina asked.

Millie shook his head.

“No. He’s getting worse. The man has too much power.”

“He’s a bit manic, that’s for sure.”

“And that’s a dangerous combination, my dear.”