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

standing at a desk—stood up as he entered.

“Who’s in charge? Where’s JR?”

“He’s flying,” said a pilot by the sofa.

“Where? Who with?”

Furtive glances between the men.

“Tell me!”

“He’s taken an officer to a meeting, I think.”

“Which officer? What meeting? Come on, don’t you keep records?”

The man by the tea bar pointed at a sheet on the wall.

“It just says ‘transport’. Not sure of the destination. But he’ll be back at some point. I can have him visit TFU if you like, sir?”

Kilton walked up to the sheet and scrutinised it.

Anson – TX183 - Transport

“Who was the officer?” he barked.

“Not sure.”

Kilton turned and walked toward the man; he wore squadron leader stripes.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? Now, I’ll ask again. Where have they gone?”

“I’m sorry, Wing Commander Kilton. I don’t know. As I say, I can send them over when they return.”

“You won’t need to.”

As the car pulled away from the MT compound and toward the exit from RAF Abingdon, Rob turned a small square of paper over in his hand.

Rhodes Cottage, Merton Street, Oxford

The main gate was a lot more relaxed than West Porton’s. He wound down the window and sat up.

If Susie was watching, he needed her to see him.

They passed through the gate. A blue MG turned in, blocking his view. The corporal swung left onto the main road and sped up.

Rob shifted in his seat, craning his neck to look back at the entrance.

Susie was at the wheel of her Herald, parked about fifty yards away from the airfield entrance. She was reading a newspaper.

As they left her behind, he willed her to look up.

She didn’t.

They reached a roundabout, maybe half a mile from the gate. The Herald still hadn’t moved.

“Everything all right, sir?” said the corporal. Rob looked forward to see the man staring at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Fine, thank you.”

Rob kept his eyes fixed ahead. Why the hell hadn’t she spotted them leaving?

Thirty seconds after they navigated around a roundabout, the distinctive blue car flashed across the wing mirror.

He whipped his head around and saw Susie, with her black bob of hair returned, about fifty yards behind.

Before long, they were on the outskirts of the city.

Rob had never been to Oxford; he felt like they were driving onto the set of a film. Sandstone college buildings as far as he could see; spectacled men in corduroy jackets on bicycles, gliding around the car.

The car slowed to turn into a narrow road. Rob looked back and could just see Susie’s car two vehicles behind.

“Are we close?” Rob asked.

“It’s just down here, sir. Next left.”

“Actually, Corporal, I think I might walk the rest of the way, as it’s a nice day.”

The driver pulled over and looked back at him. “Are you sure, sir?”

“Yes, it will be good to get some fresh air.”

“What time should I collect you, sir?”

“I won’t need a lift back, thank you, Corporal.”

“Very good, sir.”

Rob climbed out and watched as the Austin drove off in a cloud of smoke.

He turned to see Susie walking toward him.

“Nice hair.”

“So, I assume you’ve spotted some breadcrumbs, Flight Lieutenant May?”

Rob pointed ahead. “Merton Street. It’s along here. The address Millie was taken to.”

Rhodes Cottage was a terraced Tudor house with a gated drive to one side. The ancient walls were crumbling in places.

Rob and Susie stood at the front porch.

“Let’s see what’s behind the green door,” Susie said, as she knocked.

It was a quiet street; the odd student cycled past.

An elderly woman with a shopping bag ambled along the pavement toward them.

They leant in to the door, trying to detect any sounds of life from within.

Rob knocked again.

“Can I help you?”

The woman with the shopping bag stopped by the door.

“Ah,” said Rob. “Yes.”

She put the shopping down and produced a small bunch of keys.

Susie leant forward and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Susie, and this is my colleague Robert. We were friends of Christopher Milford. I believe you may have met him?”

The woman gave them a puzzled look and shook her head.

“I don’t think so. You must have the wrong house.”

With that, she pushed her key into the door and picked up her shopping.

“I’m sorry,” said Susie. “Maybe he used a different name. Rob, why don’t you describe him to Mrs…?”

The woman shook her head again and pushed the door open.

Rob gabbled out a description of Millie. “Fifties, balding, bit of middle-age spread. Moustache…” He tailed off, before adding, “and the nicest person you will ever meet.”

The women hesitated as she crossed the threshold into the cottage. She turned and gave Rob a polite smile.

“I wish you luck in finding your friend.”

She closed the door.

Rob looked at Susie; she bent down and opened the letterbox.

“We won’t find him. He’s dead. And that’s why we’re here.”

She stood up again. After a moment, the door opened a crack.

An eye appeared in the gloom of the doorway.

“Maybe you had better come in then.”

Inside the dark kitchen, the woman unpacked her shopping. She paused and looked over her shoulder.

“How did he die?”

“In an aeroplane crash,” Rob said. “I survived, but I’m afraid the other three men didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. The professor liked him very much. I’m Mrs Lazenby.” She turned back to her unpacking. Rob watched as she piled up three jars of fish paste before opening a cupboard.

“Mrs Lazenby, can I ask you what your husband does?” said Rob.

The woman laughed. “Not much. He died in 1944.”

“Then who—”

“Professor Belkin lives here, and that’s who I suspect you need to speak to. I’m just the housekeeper.” She put away the last of the shopping as the clock in the hall struck the half hour. Rob looked at his watch; it was 10.30AM.

“But you’ll have awhile to wait, I’m afraid. He’s not here and won’t be back for another week.”

Rob’s heart sunk.

“We only have today, Mrs Lazenby. Perhaps you could tell us where he is?”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

Susie smiled at her. “That would be lovely.”

With