Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

The rest of the line read:

Rob tapped the desk for a moment. MT only stood for one thing as far as he knew.

He completed his own entry in the log, adding ‘X-Country Navex’ as a vague reason for his visit.

He pushed the book back toward the sergeant. “I wonder if you could point me toward MT?”

“Have you booked some transport, sir?”

“Actually, no. I was hoping they’d be able to help me?”

“I can ask.” The sergeant picked up the phone. “Where are you headed?”

“Just local.”

The sergeant furrowed his brow.

“Got an officer in need of car at 47 Squadron. Can you oblige? No, I’m not sure.” He cupped the receiver and looked at Rob. “Do you have a requisition?”

“Yes,” Rob lied.

The sergeant finished the call. “Someone will pick you up from here shortly.”

He pointed at an old sofa that lined the wall opposite the desk. Rob walked over, but before he sat down, he removed his flying coveralls and folded them into the holdall.

He crossed his legs and did his best to hide his nerves.

After a few minutes, a corporal appeared at the desk holding his cloth beret. The sergeant pointed at Rob and the man came over.

“You need a transport, sir?”

“Yes, please, Corporal.”

Rob stood up and walked out. A grey Austin 10 staff car sat next to the entrance. Rob winced; it was the sort of official vehicle normally reserved for senior officers.

As the corporal opened the door for him, he tried to summon his most casual tone.

“Actually, Corporal, I have a slight problem, in that I’ve only gone and lost the actual address I need to visit. I wonder if you could help?”

“I’ll try, sir. Do you know the name of the person? Or is it a company?”

“My colleague visited the place at the beginning of last week and I think the MT section provided the transport. Maybe you have a record?”

The corporal didn’t look best pleased. “We have records in the office, sir. Do you know exactly when this took place?” He spoke slowly, clearly reluctant to have to go back to his office and rifle through the cards.

“20th June, in the morning. Wing Commander Milford.”

“Right. Perhaps you could write that down?”

The driver sat behind the wheel and turned, handing Rob a notepad and pen. Rob wrote Millie’s name and the date, and they made the short journey to the MT office.

KILTON FIDGETED while Red brought the Vulcan onto a short final.

By the time the last engine had shut down, he was out of his seat and disembarked through the hatch, leaving the others scratching their heads.

Still in his coveralls and Mae West, carrying his helmet and oxygen mask, Kilton marched into the planning room and headed straight to his secretary’s office.

“Get me security, now.”

At his desk, he fell into his seat, crashing a fist onto the table.

The phone rang; he snatched at the handset. “Kilton.”

“Squadron Leader Hoskins for you.”

There was a click.

“Hoskins, Rob May called in sick this morning, but I’ve had a report he entered the station with a dinosaur from the Maintenance Unit. I don’t know what he’s up to, but there’s a good chance he’s trying to interfere with the project. I need him tracked down and arrested immediately.”

“OK. Are you sure? Shouldn’t we check his house first?”

“Check everywhere!”

Kilton hung up and stared at the phone for a moment.

He left the office and walked through the planning room out onto the apron.

Looking across the airfield, his eyes rested on the ramshackle nest of huts and hangars that made up the Graveyard.

“Damn this.”

AFTER A SHORT TRIP in the TFU Land Rover, Kilton marched into the MU crew room.

Two men—one slumped into an old sofa and one standing at a desk—stood up as he entered.

“Who’s in charge? Where’s JR?”

“He’s flying,” said a pilot by the sofa.

“Where? Who with?”

Furtive glances between the men.

“Tell me!”

“He’s taken an officer to a meeting, I think.”

“Which officer? What meeting? Come on, don’t you keep records?”

The man by the tea bar pointed at a sheet on the wall.

“It just says ‘transport’. Not sure of the destination. But he’ll be back at some point. I can have him visit TFU if you like, sir?”

Kilton walked up to the sheet and scrutinised it.

Anson – TX183 – Transport

“Who was the officer?” he barked.

“Not sure.”

Kilton turned and walked toward the man; he wore squadron leader stripes.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? Now, I’ll ask again. Where have they gone?”

“I’m sorry, Wing Commander Kilton. I don’t know. As I say, I can send them over when they return.”

“You won’t need to.”

AS THE CAR pulled away from the MT compound and toward the exit from RAF Abingdon, Rob turned a small square of paper over in his hand.

Rhodes Cottage, Merton Street, Oxford

The main gate was a lot more relaxed than West Porton’s. He wound down the window and sat up.

If Susie was watching, he needed her to see him.

They passed through the gate. A blue MG turned in, blocking his view. The corporal swung left onto the main road and sped up.

Rob shifted in his seat, craning his neck to look back at the entrance.

Susie was at the wheel of her Herald, parked about fifty yards away from the airfield entrance. She was reading a newspaper.

As they left her behind, he willed her to look up.

She didn’t.

They reached a roundabout, maybe half a mile from the gate. The Herald still hadn’t moved.

“Everything all right, sir?” said the corporal. Rob looked forward to see the man staring at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Fine, thank you.”

Rob kept his eyes fixed ahead. Why the hell hadn’t she spotted them leaving?

Thirty seconds after they navigated around a roundabout, the distinctive blue car flashed across the wing mirror.

He whipped his head around and saw Susie, with her black bob of hair returned, about fifty yards behind.

Before long, they were on the outskirts of the city.

Rob had never been to Oxford; he felt like they were driving onto the set of a film. Sandstone college buildings as far as he could see; spectacled men in corduroy jackets on bicycles, gliding around the car.

The car slowed to turn into a narrow road. Rob looked back and could just see Susie’s car two vehicles behind.

“Are we close?” Rob asked.

“It’s just down here, sir. Next left.”

“Actually, Corporal, I think I might walk the rest of the way, as it’s a nice day.”

The driver pulled over and looked back at him. “Are you sure, sir?”

“Yes, it will be good to get some fresh air.”

“What time should I collect you, sir?”

“I won’t need a lift back, thank you, Corporal.”

“Very good, sir.”

Rob climbed out and watched as the Austin drove off in a cloud of smoke.

He turned to see Susie walking toward him.

“Nice hair.”

“So, I assume you’ve spotted some breadcrumbs, Flight Lieutenant May?”

Rob pointed ahead. “Merton Street. It’s along here. The address Millie was taken to.”

RHODES COTTAGE WAS a terraced Tudor house with a gated drive to one side. The ancient walls were crumbling in places.

Rob and Susie stood at the front porch.

“Let’s see what’s behind the green door,” Susie said, as she knocked.

It was a quiet street; the odd student cycled past.