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

from Brunson and the others, that would surely prompt a stay of execution for the project.

But the equipment performed flawlessly, and they climbed out over the Rheidol estuary.

Rob banked the jet one hundred and eighty degrees and Brunson took over for the transit home.

Another forty minutes low-level ticked off. Another step toward the United Kingdom presenting the United States with a system to beat the Soviets and maybe even end the Cold War.

Rob flew a repeat of the track in the afternoon. This time Red supervised the low-level and he handled the transits.

At 4.45PM he walked the completed reels over to the safe, returned to his car and drove home.

He called the operator, who put him through to the Laverstock’s.

“Hello?” Derek’s voice.

“It’s Flight Lieutenant May. Can I speak to my wife, please.”

There was a pause.

“Mr May?” Janet Laverstock’s voice came on the line.

“Yes. Can I speak to my wife, please?”

“She’s resting.”

“Can you tell her I’m on the line? She’s my wife.”

“I’m sorry, she’s had a very difficult day and I don’t want to wake her. I’ll tell her you called and if she wants to speak, she will call you back.”

“Excuse me, Mrs Laverstock—”

The line went dead.

He kicked the telephone table; it collapsed to the ground, taking the phone with it.

For a change of scenery and because of the outside chance she was being watched, Susie walked all the way across Salisbury and found a different phone box for her afternoon call.

The greeting with Roger was more perfunctory than normal. He wasted no time in passing on the bad news.

“Sorry, my dear. They just can’t have an agent involved in such a flagrant breach of rules and with such flimsy evidence. Well. No evidence, in fact.”

“For Christ’s sake, Roger. Did you even try?”

“Of course I did. You know me, I can be very persuasive.”

 “I want to talk to them myself.”

“Why? They’ve given their answer.”

She should have gone back to London to present the case herself.

“Damn it, Roger. This is bloody ridiculous. We’re onto something.”

“You could have gone to Oxford to sniff about. But instead you’ve dragged this poor pilot into it. You weren’t even supposed to contact him and yet, here we are.”

“The answer’s most likely at RAF Abingdon. He can get in. I can’t get in.”

“Well, it’s academic now. They want you here tomorrow to debrief.”

“Tomorrow?”

“It is a Wednesday, my dear. Sorry, did you have plans? Oh, that’s right, you were going to commandeer one of Her Majesty’s aircraft. Maybe you could fly home?”

She slammed the phone down and closed her eyes, struggling not to scream.

Outside the phone box, a waiting young woman gave her a startled look. Susie pushed the door open.

“Men!”

She brushed past and walked along the river toward the meeting place with Rob. She was early. A few ducks swam hopefully toward her as she took a seat on a bench facing the river. “You’re out of luck,” she said to them. “If it helps, you’re not alone.”

For ten minutes, she watched the world walk by, trying her best to calm down.

But she was angry. Undermined.

Worst of all, she knew they were wrong.

She checked her watch and walked along to The Old Mill Hotel.

Inside the low-ceilinged building, she asked for two teas and found a table outside, overlooking the mill pond.

Rob appeared along the river path from Salisbury.

He looked terrible.

“You OK?” she asked.

He shook his head, looking as if he was about to cry.

“Christ.” She stood up and led him away from the hotel.

“What’s happened?”

“Mary left me.”

“What?”

“We were spotted, you and me. Some busybody from the church. Mary waited up for me last night. I think she’d spent the evening stewing, getting herself all worked up about it, and of course I was out with you.”

“God, I’m sorry, Rob.”

“What do I do?” He stopped walking and faced her. “You can fix this. You can tell her.”

“Haven’t you told her?”

“I said you were helping me, but she didn’t believe me.”

“Then what do you want me to say?

“Can’t you fix it?”

 “I’m not a marriage counsellor, Rob.”

His face fell.

“Please talk to her for me.” He sounded pitiful, in actual pain. “I don’t think I can go on Thursday unless she’s back.”

“Thursday?”

“We can’t go tomorrow. Has to be Thursday.”

“Shit.”

“Is that a problem? Maybe we should call it off?”

She studied him. “Let’s sit down.” She walked him over to the bench.

“You’ve changed your tune, Rob. Is this because Mary’s left you, or has something else happened?”

Rob looked across the river in the direction of the cathedral. The ducks fidgeted about in the water, diving for scraps. In the distance, the cathedral clock rang for 6PM.

“It just hit home today. At TFU, it’s just me. Everyone else is just carrying on as normal. Maybe I’m wrong. Is it worth it, Susie? Is it worth my marriage?”

“Rob, you’re the only one left because the others are dead. Or sent to the gulags by Kilton.”

He chewed a nail. Susie noted the dark bags under his eyes. It reminded her of those images of Battle of Britain pilots smoking after a flight; drained of energy and ageing by the minute.

“So many things can go wrong on Thursday, Susie. It could ruin everything and achieve nothing. And where would that leave me with Mary? I could be out of the RAF or worse.” He gave her that forlorn look again. “What if Mary never comes back?”

“And what if you don’t go? You stay and sign off the project and it goes into production with the same flaw that killed Millie. Can you live with that? You know Mark Kilton’s done his sums. He’s not an idiot. He knows people will die while this thing enters service. Even now, he’s probably planning how TFU will be involved in the inquiries, quick to rule out the secret technology and blame the crews. We’ve already seen it with Millie. That crash should have been the end of the project, but if anything, it’s emboldened him. It’s shown him he can get away with the worst case