‘Follow me please,’ he said, nodding at the armed guard, who in turn raised the vehicle barrier. They walked to a nearby battered Land Rover Defender, which bore the same black-and-red RAF Police insignia.

‘Jump in and I’ll take you straight to the terminal. Someone is waiting for you there.’

The journey took no more than five minutes and was taken in absolute silence. Tom suspected that the sergeant had been warned to ask no questions, owing to the irregular nature of the encounter. His manner was not one of interest or excitement and it seemed that ‘Ask no questions’ visitors were not uncommon, given it was an airfield used regularly by Special Forces from varying countries. Tom himself had deployed over to Northern Ireland on more than one occasion from that base on SRR assignments.

The Land Rover pulled up alongside a low, white art deco building, which Tom recalled was the small terminal that housed passengers and processed the security procedures. As well as being a fully-functioning RAF base, Northolt handled a large amount of civilian flights, particularly smaller business jets, within the UK and Europe.

‘Gentleman to meet you is here now, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Have a good trip,’ he added, almost as an afterthought but with a smile touching his lips.

Tom nodded his thanks and got out of the vehicle, watching as his greeter approached. He was a tall, well-fleshed serviceman wearing CS95 fatigues bearing the chest-mounted rank insignia of a Squadron Leader. He wore no headdress and had a wide smile on his face.

‘I’m Roy McKenzie,’ he said in a light but confident Scottish accent. ‘I run 32 Squadron. I look after all the flights that come and go from this place. I’ve no idea who you are, Tom, but someone in a very high place wants you looked after and on your flight. Immediately.’

‘Thanks for everything, Roy.’

‘If you follow me, I’ll get you on your flight straight away, lucky bugger. You’re on a HS215.’

‘Should I be impressed?’

‘It’s the RAF business jet taxi. Whatever clout you have, mate, can you pass some my way?’ He smiled again, showing even, white teeth.

Tom said nothing but followed in the officer’s wake as he strode through the terminal building and straight to security.

‘No luggage or anything you shouldn’t have on a plane, Tom?’

‘Nothing: just a phone and driving licence.’

‘Right. Whizz through security and you’re on your way, mate.’

Tom passed through the metal detector arch, having put his phone, belt, and watch through the X-Ray machine. Having cleared security, the Squadron Leader led him at breakneck speed through to the exit gate and out onto the aircraft pan.

A small twin-engine business jet with red and white decals was waiting, engines already humming. A set of steps that were part of the cabin door were in position, with a suited attendant waiting at the top to greet him.