Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

“Well, permit me to make a suggestion.”

“By all means.”

“I will give you a telephone number. You should call it, I suggest sooner, rather than later.”

Millie noted the number and a name on the bottom corner of his sheet.

Leconfield Ho. Ger. 6672

Ask for ‘A W Strutthers’

“And who is this?”

“That will be a matter for them to tell you, should they wish. But I promise you, the fact you have this number and name means you will be taken seriously and given a hearing at least. You may know the Oxford Maths Department has rather useful connections with some of the less well-lit areas of government. I have never given this number out to anyone who I didn’t consider a candidate for employment in such a place. But in your case, I believe this is warranted. I wish you good luck.”

Georgina opened the living room door and walked past Millie as he finished the conversation.

“Boring work thing,” he said and disappeared upstairs.

Next to the old filing cabinet in the spare room, he pulled out a cardboard box labelled VEGETABLES . Under his old log books were the Guiding Light materials he had initially smuggled out of West Porton. He added his precious page of notes to the box, hiding them in the middle of the pile. He could study the statistical conclusions later.

He stayed on his knees with the box in front of him for a moment, before digging the sheet out again, and tearing off the corner containing the number and name Belkin had given him.

Millie left the house and headed down the hill toward the village.

He entered the red telephone box, dialled 100.

“Operator, how may I help you?”

“Ah, yes. Could you connect me to the following number, please? Ger. 6672.”

“That’s a London code. Hold the line, please.”

After a few whirrs, the ring tone sounded, followed by the pips demanding money. He inserted tuppence.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

“May I speak to AW Strutthers, please?”

There was a pause and the sound of rustling papers.

“Please hold.”

The phone clicked.

“Hello? May I help you?”

“Hello. Mr Strutthers?”

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“My name is Squadron Leader Christopher Milford and I think I need to report something.”

“I see. A serving officer or retired?”

“Serving.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m stationed at RAF West Porton in Wiltshire.”

“I see. And are you calling us from a public telephone box?”

“Yes.”

“Can I call you back in one hour?”

Millie looked at his watch; it was 6.17PM. He didn’t think he could get away with being out that long.

“Would it be OK to call me on my home number?”

“As long as you are not overheard. Please have a pen and paper ready when we ring.”

Millie gave the man his number and he hung up almost immediately.

He walked back home, calmed by the assertiveness he had heard at the other end of the mysterious line.

At home, he sat down in the living room, unsure of what to do with himself.

Georgina breezed in.

“Oh, hello. What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Millie snapped back.

“Oh. It’s OK, Millie. I wasn’t accusing you of anything. Just wondered…”

“I’m sorry. Have you had a nice day, dear?”

Georgina dropped into an armchair. “Fine. A little boring. It has made me wonder what we’ll fill our days with, come retirement.”

Millie studied his fingernails.

“Millie? Are you listening to me?”

“Sorry, yes. What were you saying?”

Georgina rolled her eyes. “Really, Millie, sometimes you are off with the fairies. I was just saying, I don’t know how we’ll fill our days when we retire. I mean, you want to sail, but what will I do?”

“I’m sure you’ll find something. You enjoy shopping.”

“But with whom? We’re moving to the south coast. Mary will be up here, busy being an officer’s wife. Everyone we know who’s retired is scattered to the four winds. They don’t think about that when they post us all over the place, do they?”

“I’m sorry, who’s being posted?”

Georgina threw her hands in the air. “For goodness sake, Millie. I might as well be talking to the bloody wall.”

The phone rang. Millie leapt up.

Georgina stared at him.

“Whatever’s got into you?”

He looked at his watch.

7.17PM exactly.

“It will be for me.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.

The caller spoke first.

“Squadron Leader Milford?”

“Yes.”

“Someone will meet you. Will that do?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know St Mary and St Melor Church in Amesbury?”

“Yes, I do.”

“8AM on Saturday morning. You will meet one of our staff members who is located close by. She will be instructed to wear blue and sit toward the rear of the church. A young woman with short dark hair. Please come alone and do not discuss this or any aspect of your concerns with anyone else.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Actually, I can’t be certain she has something blue to wear, so don’t be put off if she’s wearing something different.”

Millie had no sooner agreed than the man hung up.

The living room door opened and Georgina stood, one hand on the frame, with a bemused look on her face.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re hiding something from me, Christopher Milford.”

Rob woke early.

The sun streamed through a gap in the curtain, illuminating a swirl of house dust. He watched the slow rotation for a while.

The sound of an early morning engine run drifted into the room.

He still found it hard to believe that he was a part of it all. West Porton, TFU. Secret projects the outside world would be amazed to learn about.

And not just a part of it, but an important part.

Mary was in the kitchen in her nightie when he came down the stairs.

“Will I see you tonight?” she asked.

“Happy Hour on a Friday. I’m expected to be there.”

“But it’s not a formal do, is it? Do they need the mess secretary to help them drink?”

“We’ve been over this, Mary. The boss will probably be there and at the moment, yes, I think I should, too.”

He decided against a bowl of cereal and made for the door.

“We can do something tomorrow,” he said as he left.

“With Millie and Georgina?” Mary called after him, following him out.

Rob pulled back the canvas top of his Austin Healey.

“What is it, Rob? Why are we suddenly not friends with Millie and Georgina? You and Millie were so close.”

“It’s complicated.” He climbed into the car and drove away before Mary had a chance to reply.

IN THE PLANNING ROOM, Rob spotted Speedy Johnson at a desk. As he went over, he also checked for Millie. No sign.

“Speedy. Now might be a good time to see the boss about our suggestion?”

They headed over to Kilton’s office.

The boss was head down in paperwork as usual.

“Yes?” he said, without looking up.

Rob cleared his throat. “Speedy and I think it might be a good idea to take Guiding Light back down to three hundred feet.”

Kilton stopped writing and looked up. He tapped the pen on the table and leant back.

“Obviously, you’ll want to clear it with the station commander,” Johnson said, “but from our point of view it’s behaved impeccably and there’s no reason for the safety margin.”

“No abnormalities?” Kilton asked.

Both men shook their heads.

“We’ve only got a few flights left, boss,” said Rob. “I think it would be a display of our confidence in the system.”