Chapter 2: Journey

In the car, the Sergeant said, “Would you mind telling me what this is all about, sir?”

The response was, “I’m sorry, but yes I would.”

Huw dialled a number on his mobile ‘phone. After a long conversation, of which the only input from the old man was occasional brief monosyllables and acronyms such as, “Where?” “When?” “ETA?” When he finished the call he sighed and said “Cardiff International Airport at Rhoose, please. With all possible speed, Sergeant.”

“Before we move can...”

Huw interrupted him, “If you don’t like it check with your boss while we go.”

The Sergeant had had explicit orders that this man was to be taken anywhere he wanted, so he merely said to the Constable driving, “Rhoose. Put the twos and blues on and make it fast.”

Turning to the WPC, Huw studied her for a few moments. What he saw was a face and figure which could, if one were feeling generous, be described as ‘homely’. The eyes, however, were bright and intelligent. She wore no rings, nor did her fingers bear marks of their absence. The mousy hair was cut short in a neat, rather than fashionable style. She was, perhaps a little over-weight for her height, which he guessed at five feet eight. His first question was, “What are your orders?”

She looked at him for a second or two and then said, carefully, “I am to accompany you wherever you order, sir, and assist you in any way necessary, and tell no one anything, even my superiors. I understand that you may not wish to explain that in front of anyone not directly involved, and that parts of what is happening you may not explain to me.”

Then he asked, “Give me your life history in fifty words?”

She looked shocked for a moment and then reeled off, “Born 1980. Good GCSE, three reasonable ‘A’ levels, a law degree from Cardiff, second class. Then the Gwent police force three years ago as a graduate entry. Parents both alive, living in Bangor, North Wales. No entanglements.”

Huw said, “I won’t take you unless you volunteer, and so I shall tell you as much as I can now. First I must stress that this is highly confidential,” addressing the others in the car he added, “Sergeant, I want your assurance that nobody will hear from you, or the constable, what I am about to say, not even your Inspector until you are told you can speak.”

The Sergeant sighed. This was something he had never encountered before, and he felt very uneasy, “I’d rather you didn’t tell me, sir.”

“So would I,” Huw replied, “But I must explain to the WPC to give her a something of a fair chance of ducking this task, so you will inevitably hear. So will the driver. We don’t have time to stop for an out-of-car briefing, so you will unavoidably hear things which are beyond your remit. Those must be kept from anyone else, even your superiors, for, I would think, no more than twenty-four hours. Do your, and the driver’s, orders cover that?”

“Yes, sir,” chorused the driver and Sergeant.

Turning to the WPC Huw asked, “Do you know anything about UFOs, ... er, what is your name?”

“PC Jones, sir,” then softening her voice a little, “Bronwen Jones, and I thought Unidentified Flying Objects were fictitious.”

“They are, but Her Majesty’s Government saw fit to draw up contingency plans in case a real one ever appeared. The project is called Project Angel. I am the designated contact, or at least currently the nearest to this one’s expected landing point. There have been many objects tracked roughly on course for the Earth over the last ten years, and all of them were harmless lumps of rock. This one is different.”

“In what way?” she asked, all her attention on this man’s words, spoken with a quiet authority.

“As it approached the Earth it started to decelerate. It also sent radio messages which we did not understand. We have sent it guidance which, if they understand it, will land them at RAF Drwsnesaf. When it arrives it will be my job to establish direct contact, but my opposite number, the designated female contact is not available so, if you are willing, you will stand in for her.”

“Who is she, and why is she unavailable, sir? And why a woman? And does she not have a designated deputy?” asked the WPC.

“It doesn’t matter who or where she is, but since you ask, it’s no secret that she is in the Seychelles on honeymoon. It was decided long ago by the great and the good who plan these things that two contacts, one male and one female, would be the optimum. I don’t know their reasoning. UFOs are believed to be fictitious, so designated deputies are regarded as ‘gilding the lily’ or an unnecessary expense, depending on your point of view,” Huw replied, “If you want to refuse, do so now and we’ll find someone else. You just happened to be available when the alert started.”