4th May
During the helicopter flight from Ash Springs, Leadbetter had drifted in and out of consciousness. He recalled the sound of the rotor blades, however, and a bump as the aircraft had landed. He then remembered being carried on a stretcher through the cold night air while looking upwards at the clearest night sky he had ever seen.
After that, he recalled being transported through a vast hanger and finally coming to rest in a windowless room.
His captors had allowed him to retain his watch, so he knew that his arrival in this room had been three days ago. He also knew that it was now just after midnight on the fourth of May.
Since arriving in this cell, he had been treated well. He had soon discovered that he was in Area 51 and that he was in the custody of the American Air Force.
When their questioning of him had begun, he had decided on a strategy of providing mostly truthful answers.
His inquisitors seemed to regard him as a rather strange eccentric, and he had played to this perception. As a result, it seemed to him, a very genial relationship had formed between him and those who had interviewed him. They certainly did not appear to consider him as a major threat.
It was definitely true that his attitude had led no one to expect an escape attempt – in any case, those responsible for his captivity had quite sensibly reasoned that no one in his right mind would contemplate an escape from a US Air Force base within Area 51 with no outside assistance.
In contrast, it seemed to Leadbetter that it was time to leave.
Admittedly, he did not have a plan, but that had not deterred him in the past. Experience had now taught him that, by the supernatural power of the Great Lord Morrison, things would just fall magically into place.
There was also little time to lose. After what Rycroft had revealed to him about the identity of Arkangel and ARK’s plans, he needed to reach the Reverend Adrian Holland as a matter of urgency.
Leadbetter sat on his bed and looked up at the CCTV camera that monitored the cell. Who, he thought, would be bothering to monitor that camera at this time of the morning?
He examined the manner in which his bed was constructed and noted that its circular metal sections were held together with bolts and wing nuts. It took him less than five minutes to remove a support from the headboard.
He was standing with the metal pipe in his hand, wondering what to do next, when he heard the sound of the cell door being unlocked.
When Corporal Joss Henderson had entered Leadbetter’s cell, he had not expected Leadbetter to be hiding behind the cell door. He had not expected to be hit over the head with a metal pipe. He had not expected to have his uniform and pistol taken, and he had not expected to be tied and gagged with bed linen. Neither had he expected to be left on the floor under, and out of the sight of, the room’s CCTV camera.
But then, life can be full of surprises.
Leadbetter left the cell and locked the door. He was now standing in the vast hanger that he recalled from his arrival.
At the far end of the building, huge doors were open, and he could discern the shape of an aircraft that was standing just outside the hanger – silhouetted by the glow of the night sky.
Leadbetter marched decisively towards the machine.
As he approached the aircraft, he could begin to see its entire profile. It looked very much like a Lockheed F-111 Nighthawk – a stealth aircraft he had seen on TV. It was, however, about three times as large.
Leadbetter continued with purposeful strides towards the craft and, upon reaching it, immediately ascended steps that led from the concrete apron into the underside of the vehicle.
Leadbetter sat down in one of four seats that were positioned within the cockpit. He then looked around him.
He might have expected to see dials, switches and other controls of the like that one might find in the cockpit of a commercial airliner. Instead, the compartment simply had featureless walls.
Suddenly, there was a metallic whirr. Leadbetter looked round and noted the closure of the hatch through which he had entered.
‘What is your target destination?’ Leadbetter was asked by a pleasant, American, female voice.
The primary rule of thumb that Leadbetter had abstracted from his period in the service of the Great Lord Morrison was to not think too hard about planning but to simply act upon whatever next turned up. ‘I want to go to the vicar’s residence in the town of Great Melford, Norfolk, England,’ he replied. ‘That’s the home of the Reverend Adrian Holland.’
Leadbetter felt a slight sense of motion as the aircraft taxied. He then felt the familiar sensation of taking to the air that he had experienced when flying to foreign holiday destinations. There was no physical sensation, however, while he was travelling at ten thousand miles per hour at the edge of space.
During the trip, Leadbetter found the guidance computer to be a very amiable companion. ‘How long will the journey take?’ he had initially asked in order to break the ice.
‘About thirty minutes,’ she said. ‘Would you like to formulate a flight plan or an engagement plan?’
‘What sorts of things are in a flight plan?’ asked Leadbetter.
‘The initial parameters relate to security issues,’ she replied. ‘Would you like to be invisible to all tracking, including American defences?’
‘Oh, yes please,’ Leadbetter replied.
‘Done,’ she said. ‘Would you like to disable any remote operation of this vehicle by its home base?’
‘Er … yes,’ Leadbetter replied.
‘Done,’ she said. ‘Would you like this craft to operate only by your commands?’
‘Yes,’ replied Leadbetter more decisively as began to adapt to the role of test pilot.
‘Done,’ she said. ‘Have you any special instructions for a route or for landing?’
‘It doesn’t matter about the route,’ answered Leadbetter, ‘this thing doesn’t have any windows.’
‘Would you like an exterior view?’ she asked.
‘OK,’ said Leadbetter.
At once, it was as if the walls of the craft had ceased to exist – it was as if he and his seat were flying in isolation. Above him was an unsurpassed view of the heavens. Below, ahead and behind shone the blue globe of the Earth, its atmosphere shimmering with an iridescent glow.
‘Wow,’ he said, ‘it would be brilliant to see London from this thing.’
‘Instructions for a pass over London have been fed to the guidance system,’ she accommodatingly replied.
‘Have you any special instructions for landing?’ she asked.
‘It would be good to hide the aircraft as well as possible when we land,’ Leadbetter suggested.
‘The best possible concealment will be attempted,’ she answered. ‘Do you have engagement instructions?’
‘What are engagement instructions?’ Leadbetter queried.
‘Do you wish to deploy weapons?’ she paraphrased.
‘What weapons do you have?’ asked Leadbetter.
‘There are two cruise missiles,’ she answered. ‘Other weapons can be launched on your command from ground bases or from orbit stations. The on-board missiles have no nuclear capability,’ she added, almost apologetically.
The unreality of the situation in which he found himself, coupled with the unreality that was already present within his own head, caused Leadbetter to consider his two cruise missiles as if they were the complementary soap and shampoo that he might find in a hotel bathroom – it would be a waste not to use them.
While he was pondering on potential targets, however, he noted that the craft was descending.
The lights of London were soon displayed below him – there was the Houses of Parliament; there was St. Paul’s Cathedral; there was the illuminated ribbon of the Thames, threading its way through the capital.
‘We will be landing in Norfolk in ten minutes,’ she announced as London, almost instantaneously, disappeared into the distance behind them.
It was clear to Leadbetter that no time remained to plan or launch an attack. He consoled himself with the notion that he was saving his missiles for later. ‘Where are we landing?’ he enquired.
‘On the beach at Mundesley in Norfolk, England,’ she replied.
‘Isn’t that a bit public?’ Leadbetter questioned.
‘We are within the hours of darkness, and there is no moon,’ she replied. ‘The beach at Mundesley is a mere ten minutes’ walk from your destination. After you have disembarked, this craft will conceal itself in the ocean. It will then continue to move, to avoid detection.’
‘Good plan,’ agreed Leadbetter. ‘How will I find you again?’ he added as an afterthought.
‘The craft will maintain surveillance of the location at which you disembarked. Simply beckon the craft with your arm.’