The Final Flight by James Blatch (fastest ebook reader .TXT) 📕

few in the country. Plus, I’m not sure why you would need a second opinion.”

“Because DF Blackton have a vested interest in failing to find a fault.”

Stafford harrumphed, with his shoulders twitching. “What are you suggesting, Mr Milford?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, but let’s be clear. Blackton is playing both gamekeeper and poacher in this scenario, and—”

“I said that’s enough.” Kilton looked straight at him. “No-one respects you around here more than me, Chris, but this has to stop. I’ll remind you that DF Blackton is a distinguished firm and subject to the Official Secrets Act. The very suggestion you are making is slanderous. I’ll also remind you that at TFU we make decisions based on the evidence.” Millie opened his mouth to speak but Kilton held up the palm of his hand. “Actual evidence, not stories. That’s why we carry the data recording unit, Millie, and I might say it is your responsibility to operate that system to the standards required.”

Millie removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes.

He placed his specs on the table and sat in silence.

Kilton picked up the pace again. “Now we have fewer than a hundred hours left to fly. We can split that between the Canberra and Vulcans, so I’ll think about bringing in additional crew.”

He turned to Millie. “And we can stay above one thousand feet if you’d recommend it, Millie. You are after all the project leader.”

Millie shook his head in disbelief.

“Am I?”

“You’ve done good work on this project, Millie. Don’t let us down at the final hurdle. I want you and Rob to get up to Woodford to check on the next installation. It needs to be identical so we can move crews between the Vulcans. OK?”

Millie glared at Kilton, who stared back. Eventually Millie shrugged.

Kilton sighed. “Good. Well, that’s sorted. Finally, security. You’ve no doubt noticed that we have unwanted visitors at the zero-eight threshold. A so-called peace camp filled with those who would undermine national security. Our own military security police are working with the courts to take eviction action, but in the meantime, it goes without saying that Guiding Light is the British crown jewels. The power of any new weapon or system is reliant on it remaining secret. If any aspect of the project gets out of the confines of TFU, I would expect arrests, criminal charges and prison for the culprits. It doesn’t matter if you are an air commodore or a junior technician, you will be prosecuted. Therefore, you will remain exceptionally vigilant. There will be no discussion with anyone outside of those directly involved with the system’s evaluation. And, of course, no paperwork or items relating to the project are to go past the front door without express clearance and police escort.”

The meeting murmured its agreement and broke up.

Kilton, Stafford, Johnson and the clerk stood up and headed out. Kilton trailed the group. Pausing at the door, he looked back.

“Millie, you’re months from retirement. Don’t do anything stupid. You need that pension, don’t you? Why risk everything you’ve promised Georgina? You’ve made your case, but it’s over.”

“You’re threatening me, Mark?”

“Just tow the bloody line, Millie. Now’s not the time for one of your displays of petulance.”

He left the room.

As the door swung closed, Rob looked up and made eye contact with Millie for the first time.

“I’m sorry. It happened in the bar. I’d had a few drinks and he cornered me. I felt like he wanted to explore all scenarios and I agreed it was a theoretical possibility.”

Millie looked at his friend. “I’m trying to work out whether you are naive or stupid. Do you understand what’s happening? This is where it starts, Rob. Meetings like this can save or cost lives, for god’s sake. Think about all those rear crews in the V-Bombers, lost because they sent the aircraft into low-level without a proper escape system. What we do here matters.” He banged the table.

Rob looked hurt, pitiful even, like a puppy who needed comfort. “Please understand my position, Millie. I had no choice. Let’s not fall out.”

Millie stood up and gathered his papers. “There’s more at stake here than our friendship, Rob.”

Kilton dropped into the seat behind his desk and studied the small square of paper handed to him by Stafford.

“I’ve bought us some time. Now tell me what all this means,” he said, laying the piece of paper face up on the desk.

Stafford shifted in place. “We looked at nearly two hundred hours of flying records. The problem is definitely there. On that piece of paper are the extrapolated results. The frequency and magnitude.”

“What does that mean in plain English? You said on the phone that in most cases, crews won’t even notice?”

“In most cases, the burst of incorrect height readings will be too brief for the autopilot to react in any meaningful way.”

“In most cases?”

“It’s possible, on very rare occasions, that the flutter could last long enough to affect the actual flight. But they’d have to be very unlucky for it to cause a serious problem. Typically, even if it did happen, they’d observe the deviation and intervene, just like they did two days ago.”

“Typically? What do you mean by that?”

“With a lot of bad luck, they might be in just the wrong position as the error occurs. At night, for instance, very low, fast, in a tight bank or maybe they’re not monitoring the flight at the time, but…”

“But what?”

Stafford took a seat on the other side of Kilton’s desk. “I don’t think we have a choice here, Mark. As I told you yesterday, we saw this in the lab, early on. The laser itself fluctuated briefly, but minutely. They called it a flutter. As we designed and built the full scale versions, the magnitude of the flutter stayed the same and so became insignificant. And we thought it had just gone, refined away by a better build. But apparently not. The problem, Mark, is that we don’t know what causes it. Our best option is to