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

what seemed an age, a second set of headlights came on and a car swung out behind the van.

The two vehicles disappeared from sight.

12

Saturday 18th June

“Where are they?” said Kilton.

“On their way, boss,” the adjutant replied.

Millie stood between the two, staring down at the broken door.

Secure Cabinet 3 had been cleared out. The small padlock discarded on the floor, along with the thin metal base plate.

The room was quiet.

They’d followed so much protocol to ensure it remained hidden from view. Not just from the public, but from the rest of the RAF and armed forces.

And yet someone had been inside TFU, forced open the cabinet and simply walked out with it.

Who was reading about Guiding Light now?

Kilton’s breathing grew heavier.

He kicked the cabinet; it rocked against the wall, flakes of paint fluttering to the ground.

The adjutant flinched.

Rob May and Red Brunson crashed through the doors.

Kilton set off toward his office.

“Follow me.”

He sat down as the men shuffled in behind him.

“It was targeted. They must have known about Guiding Light.”

Brunson and May looked at each other.

“We had a break-in last night,” Millie said. “One cabinet was accessed. Guiding Light material is missing. Tapes and project files.”

“Christ,” spluttered Rob. “Do we know who it was?”

“Who’d you think it was?” Kilton said. “It was obviously those bloody fairies at the end of the bloody runway.” He paused. “But they must have had help. There’s someone in here leaking. Someone on the inside. We have a traitor in our midst.”

“Or they just broke in to do some damage and got lucky?” Millie suggested.

“Don’t be so bloody naive, Millie. They knew what they were looking for. Nothing else is gone. The hatch to the Vulcan was open. Engineers are certain it was left closed.”

Millie had seen Vulcan hatches left open overnight before, but said nothing.

“They’ve stolen Guiding Light from the Vulcan?” Rob said.

“No. Everything’s still there. But they know it exists and that could be the end of the project.”

Millie could contact JR to stand down the flight to Abingdon. The peace protestors may have just done him a favour.

But Kilton continued. “We can’t let that happen, can we? We’ve come too far. There’s too much at stake.”

Kilton looked galvanised, eyes wide.

“We need to move quickly and surely. First, we find out who the traitor is. I need a list of everyone who has had any dealings with the project. Anyone who knew what it was, where the paperwork was, and which aircraft it was fitted to. And I want the list now.”

Rob looked at Millie.

“That’ll have to be you, Millie. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“That’s a lot of people, boss,” Millie said. “Only a few of us properly know about it, but others know of it.”

“Just draw up the bloody list, Milford.”

“May, Brunson, you can start by rounding up everything to do with the project now. This place is no longer secure. From now on, everything stays in the safe in the HQ building.”

The men stayed where they were for a moment, not sure if Kilton was finished. He looked at them, exasperated. “Go! Get on with it!”

The cell was damp. Condensation clung to the thick stone walls. Susie pulled her arms tightly around herself and tried to settle on the hard wooden bed.

The police had come for them just after 6AM.

A shout went up, and some of the girls shrieked as the men jumped out of their vehicles and marched toward the tents, truncheons drawn.

A few put up a token struggle, but most went quietly.

They knew it was coming, of course.

Susie expected Megan to brief them on how to say nothing and wait to learn what, if any, evidence they had against them. But that was not part of the plan. Quite the opposite, in fact. Megan wanted a fuss. Court appearances would be maximised as an opportunity to shout at the press.

Initially, Susie was in a cell with Samantha and two other girls, but shortly after names were taken, they came for the other three and moved them elsewhere, leaving her alone.

“Stay strong,” Samantha had said as a constable led her away.

It was 10AM.

A bolt clunked on the other side of the door.

A spindly police sergeant appeared. He said nothing, but beckoned her with his finger.

Susie lifted herself from the bed and walked behind him past two other closed cell doors and out through a rear exit into the daylight.

She shielded her eyes from the bright sun.

In front of her was a small car park filled with police panda cars and a black Vauxhall saloon with dark windows.

The rear door was open, and the sergeant gestured her toward it.

She climbed into the back seat alongside a middle-aged man, clean-shaven and wearing a suit and tie.

The camera and rucksack sat on the seat next to him.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’re going back in there.” He picked up the rucksack and opened it, removing a thick wad of papers, including three brown paper files.

“Is this everything?” he said.

Susie looked at the folders and camera.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? There was only one film and no prints.”

“That’s right, one film. I exposed it before he could develop it. There should have been some over-exposed prints?”

The man opened a cardboard box of photographic paper. She picked up the top three sheets, noticing the others were below a thin layer of brown paper.

“I think these are the attempts at developing the film.”

The man held them close to his face. “OK.”

Susie’s eyes went to the paperwork. Red ‘Top Secret’ stamps and the carefully written project name: GUIDING LIGHT.

The man produced a strange leather satchel with twisted metal wire running through a black clasp.

He inserted the folders, camera, film and the three over-exposed prints.

He showed her a box of cardboard sleeves containing the reels of magnetic tape.

“Is this all of them?”

“Looks about right.”

“You didn’t count them?”

“No. But I’m sure that’s it. Sampson took them all. None were left in the tent and they couldn’t be anywhere else.”

The man nodded. “The tents were searched. The plod