Джеймс Блатч - The Final Flight

“Do you think he’s going to do something?”

Georgina shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’s sniffing about.”

They sat for a while. Susie turned the events of the day over in her mind.

Rob was behind bars. Belkin had told them as much as he could.

Chris Milford was dead.

That only leaves one person, whose name had suddenly entered the conversation.

She looked at Georgina. “How would I get back to Porton from here?”

Georgina smiled at her. “We have a lumbering old red car, if you’d like to borrow it.”

“Your husband’s? Are you sure?”

“Well, I suppose it’s mine now. And yes. I think I am sure. Mr Kilton has arranged official cars for us tomorrow, although now I come to think of it, I wonder if that’s so we don’t hang about afterwards and talk to the wrong people.”

“Possibly. You really wouldn’t mind? It would be tremendously helpful.”

“It’s a tank to drive, I’ll warn you now.”

At the front of the bungalow, they shook hands and said their goodbyes. Susie stepped out onto the road and with a scrap of paper and a scribbled address, she set off back to West Porton.

As she pulled out of Totton, she glanced around the car. The red leather seats were worn and tatty, and the engine complained at every use of the accelerator. And yet the car had warmth to it. She inhaled the smell of the interior; how much of it was the scent of Christopher Milford, a man she had never known. Yet somehow, they were now colleagues in the same fight.

AT 7PM MARY told the Laverstocks she needed to pick a few bits up from her married quarter, waving off the overbearing offers of help.

As she pulled into the drive, it was clear their quarter was dark and empty.

She looked down the road. The street lights were just coming on. Her eyes settled on a row of cars parked directly outside number 27.

The Brunsons.

She walked the hundred yards or so and approached the front door.

Men’s voices inside. She hesitated, but then took a deep breath and knocked.

Red answered quickly. He was in his USAF uniform, looking anxious. Beyond him into the kitchen, she could see Jock MacLeish and a gaggle of other officers, each man with a serious look on his face.

“Mary.” He said it as if he was expecting her. “Come in.” He glanced up and down the road as he ushered her over the threshold.

“Has there been a crash?” she asked as she stepped into the kitchen, crowded with Rob’s colleagues.

“Have you heard from him?” asked Jock MacLeish.

“From Rob? What’s happened, Jock?”

Red stepped forward. “Have a seat, Mary. Jock, get this woman a glass of scotch.”

Jock stood up and offered Mary his chair.

She looked around the grave faces. “What’s happened?”

“We assumed you knew.”

“Knew what? What’s going on, Jock?”

“The details are sketchy, but Rob has commandeered an Anson, flown it god knows where and back, and has been promptly arrested.”

Around her, the men ran through their theories.

Mary listened, bewildered. Something radical had changed. These men, usually so concealed and secretive, were talking freely in front of her and Sarah Brunson.

The room filled with smoke, and Sarah opened some windows.

It dawned on Mary that a secret war had been taking place around them.

First between Millie and Kilton, and then Rob and Kilton.

No-one had discussed it with anyone else.

The men had ignored the signs, but they reserved some blame for Rob. Why had he not enlisted their support? Why had he acted alone?

Her heart ached at the thought of her husband languishing alone in a cell.

She spoke up. “I think the time for keeping secrets is over.”

The voices in the room stopped. All eyes turned toward her.

“Rob found something at Millie’s. After he died. I don’t know the details, of course. But he was frightened. Secret details of a project. He protected Georgina by removing the evidence from the house, but I don’t think he knew what to do next. Then, matters were taken out of our hands, literally.”

“What do you mean?” Red asked.

“The box was stolen. By a young woman. She was in our house when we returned from the dinner party.”

“The night Rob got drunk?”

“He sobered up pretty quickly, I can tell you. He chased her over the fields. But lost her.”

“A young woman?” said Jock. “Are you sure?”

Mary nodded. “He said he recognised her. She was from the peace camp.” She suddenly put her hand to her forehead.

“Oh, bloody hell. Christ, I’ve been an idiot. That’s who it was! I’ve been so stupid not to see it.” She looked around the room. “Some silly woman from the village spotted Rob and a young woman in a pub and she convinced me he was having an affair. But it must have been her. They must have been working on something together. Rob told me it wasn’t what it looked like. A likely story I thought, but now… now I believe him.”

“So who is she?”

“All I know is she goes by the name Susie.”

Mary suddenly felt hot and faint.

“I need some air.”

Sarah rushed to her side, scooped her up, and led her out of the room.

She opened the front door, and Mary stepped into the garden.

“I’ll put some tea on,” Sarah said, and disappeared back into the house.

Mary walked to the small wooden fence, unsteady. Her eyes ran down the uniform row of married quarters. Even in the street light, the grass looked yellowed and thin after the heatwave.

Each lawn had the same dimensions and the same borders cut, with the only variation being the choice of flowers.

Was this outward impression of uniformity and order just an illusion?

Her eyes settled on a car a few doors down.

A red Rover she knew well.

A car she’d last seen outside the bungalow in Totton.

“What on earth?”

She looked up and down the street, searching for Georgina.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

Mary clutched her chest.

“You scared the life out of me.”

The young woman looked directly at her.

“Mrs May?”

Mary stared back.

“Susie, I presume?”

SUSIE FOLLOWED Mary to the kitchen.

“Gentlemen, we have a visitor.”

Mary stepped aside.

Susie took her cue and walked into the small, smoke filled space. The men in uniform parted, their mouths open.

A woman at the sink let a tap overflow into her kettle, apparently unable to take her eyes off her.

“Well, well,” said a man in an American accent.

“You must be Red Brunson?” Susie said.

“And you, my dear, must be the mysterious Susie.”

She surveyed the room: a short, plump man with red cheeks; another who looked a couple of years older than Rob; another who was closer to Millie’s age; three more younger men, one with a classic handlebar moustache.

“Gentlemen, ladies. Mrs May tells me there is discontentment in the TFU ranks? Just so I know, can we all agree that we have a friend in need and a senior officer of dubious method, out of control?”

“I think that about sums it up,” Red said.

“Good. My name is Susie Attenborough. I work for a department of Her Majesty’s government. I can’t tell you any more, so you’ll have to take my word for it. If it helps engender your trust, you might like to know that I was due to meet your colleague Christopher Milford on Saturday 25th June. A meeting he requested to pass on certain information. Subsequently, I have been assisting Robert May to uncover what it was Milford found. Because of his diligence and commitment to his late friend, he is now under arrest, with little prospect of being believed. Unfortunately, we don’t have hard evidence, because Millie ensured it was destroyed to protect others. But we know the results. Under normal circumstances, that would be enough. But in Kilton we’re up against an operator who has been one step ahead throughout this process.