The Final Flight by James Blatch (books to read in your 30s .TXT) 📗

results. You’re asking us to ignore the results?”

“What results, Millie? You forgot to run the tape, remember?”

“I didn’t forget. We’d come to the end of the low-level section and I assessed it wasn’t worth loading a new tape at that point. It was unfortunate.”

“Yes, well, the evidence we do have is of an effective and functioning piece of equipment. If you have any further issues, you are free to bring them up at the project meeting on Thursday.”

“I’d recommend we suspend the flying until then, boss.”

Kilton snapped forward on his chair. “No. Millie. Aren’t you listening to me? You will fly the hours as laid out in the trial.”

“I’m sorry, Mark. I’m going to say this again, but with respect, you have no alternative explanation for what happened.”

“Not true—”

“What was it, then?” Millie interrupted him.

Kilton ignored him. “You’ve flown more Guiding Light hours than anyone else, Millie. You know it’s safe. We can discuss yesterday’s events, along with all the reporting, on Thursday. In the meantime, we continue. Is that clear?”

Millie left the room.

As he made his way between the planning desks, he looked at the security cabinets that contained the hours of height readings from previous Guiding Light flights. In the early days of the project, he remembered seeing large green-lined sheets of paper from a computer. The readings from the tape turned into lines of small, typed numbers. Just a few minutes flying filled up a dozen sheets.

Poring through them would be a superhuman task.

He arrived back at the tea bar.

“Everything OK?” Rob asked.

“Mr Kilton doesn’t believe there’s anything wrong with Guiding Light.”

“Yes,” Rob said with a nod. “I got that impression last night.”

Millie drummed his fingers on the bar. He beckoned Rob away from other ears. They stood by the window, looking out onto the pan. The white Vulcan from yesterday’s flight was being towed out of the hangar.

“Look, I can’t change his mind today. He’s ordering us to continue flying. But Thursday’s meeting is crucial. He’s got some other explanation for the incident but wouldn’t say any more.” He looked at Rob. “You and I need to be crystal clear about what happened. Write down your account. I’ll get Brighty to do the same. You’ve heard about Brian Hill?”

Rob paused and spoke quietly. “Yes, I was there, but Millie…”

A corporal approached.

“Look,” said Millie. “It’s just us now Rob. What we say matters more than ever. We need to stick together.”

“I think I should—” Rob started, but the corporal was nearly upon them and Millie cut him off.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I’ve got your back, Rob.” He accepted the tasking sheet.

In the project box were the words ‘Guiding Light Low-Level Phase III’.

“Here we go, that didn’t take long.” Millie looked across to the waiting jet.

He checked the crew list.

May (Captain)

Johnson (Co-Pilot)

Milford (AEO)

Bright (NAV)

“Speedy Johnson,” he said looking at Rob, “one of Kilton’s gang.”

“Gentlemen. What a privilege. Time to let an old fart in on the big secret.” Johnson had appeared next to them, out of nowhere.

Millie turned to look across at Kilton’s office. The TFU commanding officer stood in the doorway, watching.

Kilton retreated into his office and closed the door behind him. He picked up the green telephone on his desk and dialled the operator.

“Ewan Stafford, please. DF Blackton in Cambridge.”

He doodled on his blotting pad while he waited to be put through.

He’d been a fighter pilot long enough to know that he had to take care of all the angles.

It was the one you never saw that got you.

“Good morning, Mark.” Stafford sounded chipper.

“What do I need to know about Guiding Light that you haven’t told me?”

The briefest of hesitations.

“What do you mean?” said Stafford.

“One of my crews is complaining that it nearly killed them yesterday. Are they overreacting?” Another hesitation. “Christ, Stafford. What do you know about this?”

“What happened?” the Blackton MD asked in a low voice.

“It tried to descend them into the ground in Wales, apparently, and now a couple of the girls have got their knickers in a twist. Something we could do without. What are you keeping from me?”

“I don’t know, Mark. Can we look at the data?”

“Apparently not. Christopher Milford failed to record it. Which is the only good news.”

“Good news?”

“Stafford, do you understand what’s going on here? We stall the project now, we lose it. Every bloody day we get one step closer to the Soviets finding out. Too many people already know about it on our side and I don’t trust half of them. Plus, I’m not sure you should trust the Americans, at least until they’ve paid for it. They’re already trying to build their own version, you can bet on it.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

“Don’t be naive. They would save themselves a fortune. And if they get close before the deal goes through, they’ll drop the purchase in a flash. Downing Street is counting on that investment and they’re counting on me to deliver it. The clock’s ticking, Stafford, so no more bollocks from you please. Is there something I need to know?”

Stafford paused and then spoke so quietly, Kilton had to press the receiver to his ear to hear him.

“We haven’t seen anything like this since early testing.”

“Like what?”

“In the early days we got short bursts of incoherent data from the laser, but that was months ago and on our test rig. The problem went away.”

“Apparently, it’s back. What do we do to eliminate it, without stopping the project? We’ve got nearly two hundred hours of tapes here. Can you take a look to see if this has happened before? Millie thinks there may be something buried in the existing readings.”

“He’s right. The answer will be in there somewhere. Send them over and we’ll take a look at them this week.”

“This week? I’ll send them in a car now and you’ll bloody well look at them today.”

“OK. And Mark, probably best to take some precautions, you know. Look after the men.”

Kilton glanced into the planning room and saw May and Johnson hunched