Over the next hour the pair of them got to work. As far as anyone on the outside was concerned, it had to look like business as usual at Le Val. Jeff arranged to leave all the training classes for the next couple of days in the capable hands of Richard and Serge, the two assistant trainers who’d recently joined the team. Meanwhile Tuesday guiltily searched through Ben’s personal phone and contacts book and copied out Grace Kirk’s address in Kinlochardaich, Scotland. If indeed she was being watched, and the watchers knew the identities of Ben’s colleagues at Le Val, then her home would have to be approached with extreme care.

With their arrangements all made, just after eight a.m. they jumped into Jeff’s souped-up Ford Ranger pickup truck and hustled the thirteen kilometres to the flight school where Jeff’s new pride and joy was kept in its own hangar, fully fuelled and ready for action. As Jeff explained en route, the old Cessna Skyhawk’s 800-mile range would see them easily across the Channel and as far inland across the UK as Wrexham in north Wales, a 330-mile trip each way.

‘Why Wrexham?’ asked Tuesday, who was losing the thread as Jeff babbled excitedly on.

‘Because that’s where Reaper’s place is.’

‘Whose place?’

‘Don’t you listen to a word I say? Reaper Rigby. An old SBS pal of mine. He’s got a farm with plenty of private land that we can use as an airstrip. I already called him this morning. It’s all set up.’

‘Don’t we need to notify someone? Paperwork to fly out of the country? What about border controls?’

Jeff grinned widely at him. ‘What border controls?’

‘Forget I asked. Anyhow, last time I looked, north Wales is a long way from the Scottish Highlands.’

Jeff elbowed Tuesday in the ribs with another ear-to-ear grin. ‘Hey, who’re you gonna trust? Your uncle Jeff’s got the whole thing organised. Reaper has a van he’s lending us for the road trip. It’s only a six-hour drive. Piece of piss, mate.’

‘It’s what happens when we get there that I’m worried about.’

It was 8.17 a.m. when they reached the flying school and Jeff screeched the Ranger to a halt outside his hangar. He quickly removed the padlocks securing the steel shutter doors, and rolled them up with a noisy clatter to reveal the blue-and-white high-wing single-engined aircraft stored within. The scuffed and battered machine showed every day of its fifty-three years.

It was the first time that Tuesday had ever laid eyes on Jeff’s new toy. He stood in the hangar entrance staring at it in dismay. ‘Hey, in all the rush I forgot to mention that the Wright brothers called. They want their flying machine back.’

‘Very funny. Come on and give me a hand getting her rolled out.’