Visitation - Reality (book 1 of 2)

“Ian, are you going to help with the packing?”

“Come on we have to be away very early tomorrow morning to make the airport on time. I’ve phoned for a taxi for six in the morning and I’ve been told that it was already booked.”

Hazel paused in 'reflection'.

“I didn’t book one or hear you do it, or did you and is this something else you have conveniently forgotten?”

The bullets from Hazel were starting to fly again, she was upset, confused and rightly so, but I didn’t mind. I could ride with their impact and they served the useful purpose of focussing my thoughts. I needed some sort of focus right now.

I awoke from my dreamy recollections and got to my feet, my legs a little less shaky than before.

Hazel had picked up the baton and was running with it nicely. Two days ago, I had known what to do; it had saved my life. Now Hazel, the organiser, was in charge. I did not mind, I needed to be a passenger for a while to let my head clear some more. I needed to remember in the midst of this confusion and worry, why, what and who.

It had not taken long to pack up to the 22kg limit. Hazel was having a problem deciding which of her many dresses to take and on the assumption that I would carry her hair tongs and make-up bag in my suitcase.

I packed now in typical male fashion. My suitcase was placed on the bed and it took me five minutes to fill it with everything I needed which was quickly folded and simply thrown in; two pairs of shorts, swimming shorts, half a dozen tee-shirts, a pair of trousers and a couple of shirts for the evening meals, socks, undies and my sandals.

Enough holiday clothes were in the drawers, including my Hawaiian shirts, and the sun tan creams that were kept in a plastic bag from last year were easily packed. We were running away from danger and were yet still concerned with taking the right clothes and swimwear. With Hazel’s regular extras added to my case I still had a couple of kilograms to spare, according to our weigh scales. I was finished and Hazel was still deciding on which clothes to take; every year it’s been the same.

This again had a surrealistic feeling about it, sleep and dreams had not come easily, thoughts were blurred but old habits were again coming to the rescue. Yet I did not really sleep too much that evening, just managed to doze here and there; power naps of sorts.

Monday's early morning came far too soon. I had learnt over many years how to stumble through the swirling, mind aggravating mists that come with waking too soon while still trying to pursue a degree of activity and purpose. That had simply been a part of my current busy engineering position and also, for certain, my earlier military service.

The alarm had gone off at five thirty and despite the initial struggle to get moving, with a quick shower as the head cleared, the day’s events kicked off nicely. I jumped into some travelling clothes of jeans, tee shirts and trainers, and was wolfing down coffee and toast when the promised taxi turned up. He didn't sound his horn at this early hour to disturb the neighbours, thank goodness, but came to the front door and politely knocked.

I took the cups into the kitchen and with a quick rinse they were put away. I stuffed the last piece of toast into my mouth while I quickly rinsed the plates and put them away. A quick run round to check that windows were shut and locked, the downstairs blinds half shut and the back door locked and I was ready to leave the house.

Our two cases, my laptop and my camera bags were swiftly taken and placed in the boot. Hazel carried her personal bag with the travel info in, and some bits and pieces for the flight. She also left a note and after locking the front door behind us, the house keys were left with our friends, three doors away in the close, as she posted them through their letterbox. She could not be persuaded otherwise, it was not an abnormal thing for her to do, and we had always done something similar with the same friends on previous occasions.

I was not at all happy about it, however, as I felt it could leave us open to whoever, or perhaps whatever, was threatening my well being and now, presumably, the both of us or even possibly our friends.

We had both made the decision not to tell the grown up children and especially not the grandchildren, so as not to panic them. Hazel had left a message on the dining room table for whichever of them came round first when one of the regular phone calls had gone unanswered; they all had keys to our 'open house'. By the time the message had been read and circulated, we would be somewhere across the Atlantic at thirty thousand feet.

Hazel was determined to make the appropriate calls to the family from her mobile once we arrived in Jamaica; this did not fit in with my sense of security or my thoughts of the bank balance. I considered that it was better to disappear for a short while until advised by ‘GB’, the mobile messenger, that it was safe to make contact.

Hazel had written a note and would be making the calls regardless; I simply could not dissuade her otherwise.

The taxi driver seemed strangely familiar, as they all do, made light conversation about holidays in general and moaned, don’t they all, of how he wished he could afford one.

These early hours and late nights were really tiring him out and he said he needed a rest urgently; Jamaica sounded the right place for that.

At the International Terminal of Manchester Airport, out driver unloaded the two cases out of the taxi boot and placed them onto a trolley for us.

He looked more familiar now but at this early hour of dim light and in the slight drizzle that seemed to permeate everywhere in Manchester in the early hours, it was easy to be misled. It was cold, wet and miserable but the numbers of holidays flying out of Manchester when it was fine and sunny, I could count on one hand. Perhaps it was because we always took our holidays late in the years when the prices came down as children returned to school.

The old grey cells had still not recovered fully from previous events and were not performing at full efficiency. I did not care, I was getting away from whatever we were being threatened by and in a short while we would be putting some real distance behind us and presumably, ‘them’, whoever ‘they’ were.

I thanked him, dropped some notes into his hand and told him that he could keep the couple of pounds change and then into the terminal we trundled. We headed for the check-in desks, which, at this early hour, were pretty well unattended and devoid of queues.

A couple of desks had a few people going through the check-in procedure and, correctly, we guessed which one of the few in operation was ours. It didn't really need much guessing as the airline's logo in large display was directly above the desk.

Despite the early hour and the awful feeling of tiredness that seemed to be swamping me, I had to wake up and become more attentive.

We joined the back of our queue where a half dozen couples or so were moving slowly forward towards the desk; we did not have to wait long to reach it. I parked the trolley ready for unloading the cases onto the scales and Hazel handed over the boarding tickets and passports.

The check in girl, “ummed and arred” to herself, then with a friendly, “Please wait a moment,” turned to pick up the receiver of her desk phone.

She said very little, nothing we could make out, but nodded her head a couple of times in agreement to something spoken by whoever it was on the other end of the line.

“What do you think the problem is Ian?” Hazel asked me in a worried and quiet tone. She was not firing bullets now but still asking questions that I could not answer.

“I’ve no idea,” I replied trying hard to sound unconcerned. “Don’t panic just yet, could be something simple.”

I was sure that it was not something simple but where could we run to now if everything turned pear-shaped. Why was I thinking about running? That was the wrong thing to do entirely.

The silent explosion and the messages had seriously disturbed me, in all honesty they had frightened me, but I must not show it, not yet. Keep calm until we have to act; try to figure out an exit strategy if one is needed and then act. I realised that I was considering exit strategies that included running in this huge, nearly empty, check-in hall; where could we run to?

Again I put some clear thoughts into my head, “running is not an option, appear calm and make sensible decisions.”

“Focus Ian, come on focus until we're on that plane, you have been in equally awkward predicaments, one or two them potentially life threatening, again in NI,” I reminded myself. “Stay steady, look calm externally but get the grey stuff working overtime, keep your eyes open and your senses on high alert.”

I had started to lecture myself, but why not? I sharpened my senses to the present, left my imagination parked somewhere for a possible later return and focussed.

The young checking-in clerk turned herself back towards us and smiled, oddly.

“Sorry for that Sir, Madam. It’s the ticket numbers. These were purchased in the last two days and at short notice. Is that correct?” she asked rhetorically, knowing the answer before she asked the question.

“Yes,” I replied with a forced casualness. “We just fancied getting away at short notice (I emphasised ‘short notice’), we were in need of a good holiday and booked though our local travel agent.”

I smiled back at her in as friendly manner as I could manage.

“What’s the problem with the numbers?” I continued in an off-hand sort of way, still trying hard to sound relaxed and casual.

“The computer appears not to have caught up with all the recent sales, Sir,” she continued “It looks as though the flight may be double booked but since you’re here bright and early, your seats are about to be confirmed.”

That didn’t sound right; since when have international, long-haul flights ever been double booked?

She managed another false smile in return but this was clearly disingenuous and poorly rehearsed; I recognised it for what it was and wondered what was going to happen next.

“This may take a few moments, I apologise if this seems to take for ever, please bear with me, Sir, Madam.”

She typed away at her keyboard, glancing at the screen as she did in a nervous manner and clearly trying to employ her false smile again. I didn't find her manner at all impressive. Maybe she had completed her training not so long ago and had been lumbered with these early shifts. She needed to be genuinely interested in her work and provide the service her customers expected. My tired mind was wandering again.

Her desk phone rang once more.

She barely lifted her eyes and with a curt, “Excuse me a moment,” lifted her receiver.

This time it was almost all “yes’s and no’s”, which we could hear plainly, and without the smiles. I was starting to get worried, this didn’t seem at all normal; for some reason she was clearly stalling. Fight or flight is all very well but if neither option is available the adrenalin simply builds up and the feet become restless.

“I think everything is ready now,” she said in a rather flat, cold yet nervous voice.

“These are the people,” she said, gesturing as she spoke to someone behind us.

We turned and two burly armed police officers were stood there in their blue/black uniforms, size ten boots, peaked caps, 'flak-jackets' and utility belts and with their weapons firmly in hand. Two more were a short distance away hurrying in our direction to assist their colleagues, no doubt. The two immediately behind us did not speak for a few short moments until these other two arrived to join them.

One of them barked out instructions.

“Do exactly as I say and no-one will get hurt. We are not arresting you, not yet, but we are moving you to a secure location. We don’t want to be using firearms in this public area but if you give us any reason to, like doing something you have not been told to, we will.”

“Am I being sufficiently clear?”

Why ask the last question, when we were being threatened with firearms, it didn’t make much sense but the general instructions were well and truly understood. Why would they consider using their firearms, did they think we were terrorists?

Hazel turned to me and her face was quickly draining of all colour. I had to be careful not to let the adrenalin take over; this was definitely not the time to be twitchy or do something foolish.

“It’s OK love,” I tried to lie reassuringly, although I was sure that I was failing and Hazel was picking up on that. “Just do as they say and we'll be OK, I'm sure.”

“Who said you could speak?” another of the officers barked at us while raising his weapon.

“You will do as I say and nothing else and that includes speaking. Turn to your left and push your trolley away with you. You walk in front Hazel.”

He knew our names. Hazel stared at me; I shrugged my shoulders and nodded slightly, again trying to function with an impression of reassurance. She managed to move despite her now wobbly knees.

“Don’t look at him,” the same officer barked in plain commanding tones “I am telling you for the last time, only do as I say and nothing else,”

I didn’t believe he would use his firearm just for glancing where we shouldn’t, but equally I saw no point in upsetting an ape clearly under some sort of orders. Pushing my luck with his obnoxious example might be more painful than it was worth. Hazel just kept going and I followed behind pushing the trolley steadily but slowly.

We were in the company of some very strange policemen who, I got the impression, seemed to have nothing better to do and were being entertained by the excitement at this unearthly hour. I also considered the possibility that they might indeed be responding to a perceived security threat but their approach was not the professional one I might have expected.

We were escorted along the check-in hall, Hazel leading with myself taking my time, deliberately, at pushing the loaded trolley behind her and feigning more tiredness than I actually felt. This didn't provoke any sort of reaction that I thought it might; they may have had some sort of civility in them after all.

We reached the end of the rows of check-in desks, to be directed through a door marked :-

 - then along a featureless corridor and into a similarly featureless room without windows. Once inside the door was shut behind us and we heard a lock being turned, only then did we find the nerve to speak to each other.

Hazel stammered, “What the hell was all that about? What is going on Ian, this doesn’t make sense. What have you been doing? You're not smuggling drugs or something, are you?”

I tried hard not to laugh; I guessed right that it would not have helped. Just more bullets of the verbal kind, which I guessed I should have allowed for but the last one completely uncalled for, yet from a voice with a tinge of fear and demanding in it.

I had no answer, I simply didn’t know so I shrugged my shoulders again, feigning calm and with a stupid smile. I was actually amused by this scenario; it reminded me of some of my military training many years back.

“Weren’t you afraid out there with those arse-holes in uniform pointing their machine guns at us?” she pushed at me.

“Loaded weapons don't frighten me, love,” I responded quickly. “They may make me more aware and a little nervous, but don’t forget, I served in uniform and messing about with loaded weapons is something we all did from time to time and got very used to.”

“How can you say that?” she retorted. “They could have shot us at any time, couldn’t they?”

“Not really love, that's the impression they wanted to give,” I responded, again as calmly as possible. “They were being loud and trying to look dangerous to frighten us into doing what they wanted. Not one of them had cocked their weapons or taken off the safety catches. I doubt they even had loaded magazines on the weapons. Those would have been inside the pouches on their belts,” I partly bluffed but my words were likely to contain a good element of truth.

No, they had not cocked their weapons, but the magazines may well have been filled, although even so I seriously doubted they had ‘one up the spout’, as we used to say. I wasn’t going to tell Hazel any of that though and see her more frightened.

I looked around the room, trying to check it out. There was nowhere to sit, except perhaps on a few taped and film-sealed cardboard boxes, but at least the light was on.

It was featureless, lacking furniture and may as well have been a storeroom except for the black spherical, glass dot up in the corner of the room.

“Smile for the camera love,” I said as I waved towards the black dot, “somebody’s watching us.”

“You are joking aren’t you?” Hazel queried in her well-practised sarcastic tone but edged with a seriousness of worry.

 “No,” I replied. “Would you like to see what happens if I set fire to one of the boxes, or how about I put a match underneath that little red bulb up there?”

I pointed towards a fire sprinkler head with its red glass bulb waiting for a fire. Familiarity with fire protection systems was commonplace in my profession.

“What good would that do, what on earth are you talking about?” Her voice was increasing in pitch.

“Watch this,” I said, “If I can make that sprinkler bulb break I can probably empty the whole terminal.”

I reached into my jacket pocket. “Have I got the matches or did you pick them up?” I asked out loudly, not expecting an answer as neither of us smoked nor carried the obligatory means of lighting a cigarette.

With that, the door burst open and in came one of the burly policeman pointing his weapon in my direction and his colleague close up behind.

“Up against the wall you, spread them, move yourself,” the first officer barked out as he landed a well aimed thump into my shoulder.

I spun round to impact with the far wall and replied gasping for breath but as cheekily as possible.

“Do you mean adopt the position, officer?”

I was trying to elicit some sort of response to weigh up these two and used as much mockery in my voice as possible. I did adopt the position; I knew it well, leaning forward with hands reaching for the wall against which they were placed and with my legs spread apart.

The one closest to me was clearly disconcerted that I anticipated what he wanted and was none too happy at being talked back to like this. For all he knew I could have been an experienced criminal, except for my obvious age, or perhaps something else.

I guessed they thought I was something else as the first officer's probing fingers went through the motions of a poorly executed outer body search. I guessed that he would be pretty well pissed off when he couldn’t find any matches or lighter. His incompetence was made worse by the fact that I turned my head, which he did not pick up on, to see that his weapon was loosely slung over his shoulder; he would not have lasted long in NI when I was last there.

The second officer stood watching a couple of paces behind us never changing his position, nor with his weapon properly held; he would not have lasted long either.

“I hope this is being recorded,” I proffered, again being deliberately cheeky, “because someone needs to tell you guys how to do this properly. If I had been an armed and trained terrorist, both of you would be dead by now. You’re a pair of bloody amateurs. I’ve trained thicker shit than you in getting this right.”

For that, I received a knee directly into the groin and down I went trying to find air through the deep aching pain. At least that was almost appropriate, this guy must have been watching late night movies, but responding to the words only and with a younger, fitter detainee it could also have been fatal for him and his colleague.

“Stop that right now,” I heard a voice call out through the mists of sickening pain and from somewhere near the door.

“Get out; that means you two, now move your arses.” A direct instruction was being issued with authority.

The style of command had ring of familiarity. I managed to turn my head out from beneath my knees and through my salty tears to see what this new turn of events was. If they had kneed me properly, at my age I wouldn’t be getting off the floor, or my hospital bed, for at least a week; a small mercy.

There, just stood inside the door, was that friendly face again, but looking quite stern now. I recognised the face, I knew the man but I still didn’t know where from. He was holding out in front him what I took to be some sort of encapsulated identification card.

The two officers, muttering dire oaths to themselves shuffled out past his unflinching presence; he had an authority, which showed clearly, and he was well practised at employing it.

“You deserved that Ian,” the once again smiling face spoke down to me, literally. “If you wind up a monkey with a sense of authority, eventually he will lash out. Come on, get yourself up.”

His hand was offered and he helped me to my feet although standing up straight was not as simple as it sounded. I needed time for sufficient of the pain to subside but still required to place my hand down inside my trousers to relocate what seemed desperately jammed in the wrong place. It helped as did the touching which always magically took away the severity of any pain, at least for a short while.

“He knows you Ian,” Hazel managed as she turned to my saviour. “Who are you and what’s going on here,” she demanded her voice now quite shaky.

His smile didn’t waver as he closed the door and put away his ID card.

“If I had been here sooner, this wouldn’t have happened; sorry. It took a little longer than I anticipated parking up the taxi and getting across from that difficult car park. You were supposed to be politely escorted to this side room with the minimum of fuss because of what was on your flight tickets. The management here seems to be hopeless and you have come off worse because of it. Still that’s behind us now, let's move forward.”

“Ye Gods, I don’t know about that,” I squeezed out between the slow, deep breathing as I tried to regain some sort of composure. “Can we leave the moving forward for a short while? I've just managed to find my feet and locate my swollen bollocks.”

He smiled, clearly familiar with this sort of talk.

Recognition of him was coming to me now. He was both the taxi driver and the figure that had waved at me as I had left the car park in town. I didn’t know who he was but something inside also told me that I did know him but from somewhere else, way back. His smile only increased slightly and I instantly returned to my military days where humour amongst pain was accepted custom and practice.

“I asked what is going on?” Hazel again demanded, her voice shaking.

“Easy, easy love,” I tried, moving into a mental comfort zone with the style of this guy. “I'm mending quickly because of him; he's OK.”

“Thank you Ian, but I must apologise again,” he said without the slightest hesitation in his voice, although anticipating, I guessed, the verbal onslaught that may be about to be unleashed by Hazel.

“It was intended from the bar-code on your tickets that you should be escorted to a side room,” he repeated calmly, “where I could catch up with you. This would ensure that you caught the correct flight out of here after a few words from me.”

“Your flight tickets for the last minute holiday were all arranged also by me. In fact, Ian collected them from me personally although he won’t remember it. Still I’m on the case now; please do not panic just yet.”

I put two and two together and was reaching five when the penny dropped. I needed to find out more.

“Was it you who sent me the phone message to get out of the interview room? Are you the person responsible for my memory loss and for the new phone message?” I queried.

“The answer is yes to all these things and much more beside although you are unlikely to become aware of most of that for some time. I have saved your life recently on several other occasions Ian, for a very special reason, which I cannot reveal just yet. You would not be aware of those previous occasions as you never became directly involved in events.”

“Please, both of you believe and trust in me and all will be well. No more wind-ups Ian or someone may become aware of not only where you are, but in whose company you are, and that could be dangerous for all of us, and I do mean dangerous.”

“This is James Bond stuff and cannot be happening,” Hazel sounded increasingly confused as the tone of her voice reduced. I stopped nursing my bollocks and put my arm round her. I told her that in the military such things sometimes happen and not to worry, the confusion will soon pass. I was lying.

“But you’re not in the bloody army any more and . . .”

“No,” I interrupted, “but I recognise what is going on, don’t panic, this will all turn out OK.”

I had lied again. I had no idea where this was going or how it might turn out.

“Go with the flow and try to stay calm even if you’re not right now and I promise you, it really will turn out OK.”

Our mutual friend continued his smiling and did not contradict any of my lies. That actually gave me more confidence in that our safety was genuinely uppermost in his priorities. I had no idea what I was saying; while it was all lies, it sounded good especially as I was not showing any signs of panic. This seemed to have the desired effect; Hazel was calming down as the new flush in her face subsided.

“Good,” our smiling friend said. “Please follow me, but please be as quiet as you can,” he stressed, “and that includes speaking.”

The words were similar to those directed to the two officers but spoken in an entirely different manner, conveying an entirely different meaning.

I pushed our trolley back out the door, again with Hazel leading. Instead of returning to the check-in hall, we were directed in the opposite direction down the corridor. Turning the corner at the end, we were ushered into another room where the door was held open by our saviour I was now nicknaming ‘Smiley’.

“Not again,” Hazel said.

“No, no, not again,” ‘Smiley’ jumped in quick. “Please be very quiet for two minutes; don’t speak, rattle your trolley or make any sort of noise until I say you can. Please trust me; you must, just for a few more minutes.”

We now stood perfectly still in yet another sterile room without windows and furniture, another unused storeroom perhaps. There was no black camera housing up in the corner this time and although there were no cardboard boxes or crates, this was very probably a genuine store-room.

A commotion was occurring outside, somewhere along the corridor, voices were raised and they were coming closer. It was not a language that I had heard before. Hazel looked in my direction with a fear becoming etched all over her face. ‘Smiley’ raised one finger to his straight lips in a shush signal, no smile now, and we froze quite still while holding our breaths as best we could.

The door handle was tried, almost forced, and the door well and truly shook, but it did not open; it was locked. I had not seen ‘Smiley’ put a key in the door, it did not have a Yale type latch; how had he locked it so quickly without a key and without us seeing him?

The voices moved further down the corridor as more doors were tried, some opened to irate shouts from the occupants, and eventually all fell silent.

'Smiley' shook his head from side to side and once again put his finger to his lips. We stood for what seemed like ages in complete silence except perhaps for the sweat dripping off my brow and onto the floor. Maybe I was now seriously worried or maybe the room was over heated, I didn’t know.

The voices came back along the corridor again, from the direction in which they had only just disappeared and a hand belonging to one of them decided to try the door handle again. The door rattled but stood firm. The voices must have decided to move well away, until eventually there was silence.

When he thought it was the right time to move, ‘Smiley’ gently opened the door without effort and again without, apparently, using a key. He glanced along the corridor in both directions and then ushered us out with the soft tones of, “Very quietly please, very quietly.”

We were directed again to go further along the corridor, in the direction the voices had first disappeared to, to a dead end with only a locked door having a large red lettering on a yellow background sign, spelling out -

He opened the door, again without a key, and we stepped outside into what was now a cool, refreshing, early morning air of a drizzle soaked, blustery air field. Flashing yellow lights abounded and vehicles seemed to be dashing all over the place between the parked aircraft. The smell of ‘avgas’ caught the nostrils as did some of the diesel fumes from the various trucks moving around.

A bus turned up, the type that is used to move passengers to aircraft unable to dock with the terminal tunnels. The doors opened in front of us with a hiss of the pneumatics.

“Leave the trolley where it is, someone will eventually find it but it will then be too late. Put your cases onto the bus and get on yourselves. Please hurry, as quickly as you can.”

Our smiling friend was again in charge and giving straightforward instructions with the correct air of calm authority. He took one of the cases and delivered it into the bus interior; I handled the other one while Hazel stepped on smartly. Within a few moments, the two cases, our loose bags, the pair of us and 'Smiley' were on board. He had a quiet word with the driver and soon we were moving off with the same lurch these sorts of vehicles, or was it just the drivers, exacted upon the occupants. Speeding across the open airfield, we passed the parked aircraft, towards some distant maintenance hangars.

The driver had clearly done this before and knew his way round the airfield expertly. Soon we were approaching what appeared to be the last hangar of them all. There were no aircraft parked outside and the doors were closed; it looked to all intents to be devoid of any activity at all.

The bus pulled up, we disembarked taking our cases with us and with a quiet word from our smiling friend the driver turned round and drove back in the direction from where he had come. As we stood there in the cooling drizzle, a small wicket door in the big hangar doors opened and out stepped somebody in brown overalls.

“Hi John, how’s things?” the overall man greeted ‘Smiley’.

“You’re a day overdue; we were starting to become worried.”

“It’s all OK now Phil, but we have stirred up a hornet’s nest back in the terminal and it won’t be long before the search parties are out. Let’s make this as snappy as we can, explanations can come later.”

“You’re on there John, let’s get these people inside.”

He turned to us and grabbed Hazel’s case, stepped over the threshold of the wicket door disappearing into the darkness beyond. Reappearing he ushered Hazel, with her small carry-on bags swinging from her shoulder, to step through the door.

“Ian,” he said, “put that case down please. I will carry it from here. I don’t want either you or Hazel carrying anything heavy for the next few minutes. Step inside quickly and join Hazel if you will.”

He knew both our names but I had not heard ‘Smiley’, otherwise called John as it transpired, mention them since we got off the bus. I stepped through the small door and was almost pushed in by him as he followed closely behind with the other case. John followed bringing up the rear. We all stood together in the dim gloom looking down an empty hangar. A single light, up high amongst the girders and beams, was casting its silvery low glow to provide a basic sort of illumination. This place had a sort of engine oil smell or perhaps it was something else. I had worked in hangers years back and this odd smell took me straight back there.

“Panic not,” John said as he read our thoughts, “in the words of the poet, all will be revealed.”

Another big smile spread across his face as he was clearly comfortable enough to make a silly joke and that was reassuring.

As he spoke the words, “You’re transport awaits,” a strange shimmer started to appear at the far end of the hangar.

I thought my eyes were playing tricks and Hazel gasped in astonishment. The shimmer increased across almost the full width and nearly the full height of the empty hangar space. It started to take form, a flying saucer form; that’s the only way I could describe it.

“A few moments more,” John requested and we stood silent unable to speak.

There in front of us was what was commonly described by all UFO aficionados as a flying saucer. It was not the shiny silver of the comic strip but a dull grey like thing and the edges were blurred and indistinct. Then it stopped shimmering and developed a distinct firm outline with the slightest of glows in this dim light; a dim grey glow that didn’t make any sense.

“Right John, get your passengers on board, let's get this show on the road,” Phil announced as he strode off towards the saucer carrying our cases with ease.

John had to encourage us to move at first; Hazel was terrified and I was none too sure.

“I promise you that all is OK. Come on you two, I haven’t spent all of my time keeping you from harm for nothing. No one is going to bother you now, this is perfectly safe, and in the long term, although you don’t know it now, this is your means to long-term safety and a good life.”

He looked at me with what I took to be a sort of knowing smile, as though I should be aware of more than he was telling us. ‘Smiley’ was an apt nickname that I was employing in my thoughts but he seemed to have many different ways of employing a smile, saying differing things at different times and without uttering a word. I really did wonder what he was up to despite the smiles.

“You will find out soon enough, Ian,” he matter of fact stated as if reading my thoughts, “you are very special person and it is my job to get you to where your good-life is awaiting.”

“I’m a special person?” I queried myself mentally.

Smiley turned to look straight at me and with an even bigger smile simply said, “Yes”.

That caught me out. I had to try something else to make sense of what as going on. I muttered that a hotel in Jamaica could certainly be called the good-life but I was now of the impression that this form of transport, the subject of some TV programmes, would not be taking us there. ‘Smiley’ just smiled yet again but now I could not read its message.

“It’s imperative that you take the opportunity that is being offered. I can't tell you why just yet, but trust me as you have done up to now. I promise all will be fine.”

With a, “Come on follow me,” he strode off towards the craft in front of us carrying our loose bags; I kept a close grip on my camera bag as always. Somehow, our legs seemed to have a mind of their own as they started to walk almost effortlessly behind him propelling us towards what might be our terminal fate.

We reached the ‘saucer’ and it seemed much larger than when it had first appeared. We found ourselves walking beneath the circular body that sloped down towards us, where a steep ramp and John awaited. As soon as we all stepped onto the ramp and without effort, we just seemed to glide up it and into the interior. We nearly fell backwards but the movement of what was beneath our feet seemed to adjust itself automatically so that neither of us lost our balance.

I think we had both become a little shaky by then. We followed John and Phil, to whom it all seemed perfectly normal, but this was obviously not so to us. We were taken to a row of seats in a very spacious curved room and located behind what I took to be a pilot’

‘Smiley’ and Phil left us and exited this ‘flying saucer’.

It was cool in here as though the air con was set a little too low although no draught could be detected. Strangely there was a hint of some sort of flower scent as though in a meadow somewhere. The ‘pilot’ turned round to face us and he smiled also. Why was everyone so happy?

“Hi there,” he announced in a warm friendly manner but with a distinct accent, possibly east European. “My name is Ivan and I’m your pilot for today’s short flight. Please relax and enjoy the ride. You are not going to be harmed and I doubt you will feel at all unwell by the experience.”

His clipped words, despite the accent, also seem to indicate some sort of technical expertise that could not be questioned. He turned back to his console and through the window in front of him, we could see John and Phil who were now back at the main hanger doors which were starting to open. We adjusted to the plush seats but could find no seat belt; perhaps we simply couldn’t find them in our confusion.

Ivan must have been reading our minds as he announced that we didn’t need any, not now anyway; this was not a plane or any similar sort of craft. Then, and without any prior warning, we realised this enormous thing was gently and silently moving down the hanger towards the opening doors.

Ivan again read our minds, or was working from a well-rehearsed script, when he said, “Don’t worry; no-one can see us now. You couldn’t see me when you first came into the hanger, now the same effect means no-one outside can see us although we can still see them for the present.”

We cleared the fully opened doors without a sound and then suddenly were climbing skywards with absolutely no sensation of movement.

This brought back memories of a hot air balloon flight that Hazel had given me for a fiftieth birthday present. On that occasion the pilot’s altimeter was indicating that we were rising or falling rapidly for each minute of flight but there had been no sensation of movement; this was something similar although what Hazel made of it I didn't know nor did I wish to ask.

“What I can tell you people now, is that we are not heading for Jamaica. I think you may have guessed that by now,” Ivan announced in a matter of fact clipped accent.

We hadn't but words were not coming now. We sat motionless and rather stiff in our seats.

“I have been advised that certain people are aware of the original holiday plans and we shall do something different to avoid them, although in truth, that was never to be your final destination.”

This was confusing and frighteningly unexpected. Words would still not come and Hazel sat rigid although whether this was from fear, or something else, I could not tell; she certainly wasn't saying anything. I took her hand and I reckoned she was glad of it but her eyes said something else, a real fear, and possibly an annoyance with me. I diverted my view back to the front.

Our pilot's hands moved over what I took to be some sort of control array and I found myself completely absorbed with an engineer’s curiosity at what I was seeing.

I turned again to glance at Hazel who was as dumbfounded as I was. She was still not firing questions but I thought better of telling her to close her open mouth, something she often reminded me of doing. I placed my other hand on top of hers which had the effect of making her turn her gaze towards me. Her eyes were bright in astonishment and her mouth was still dropped open.

“I promise you that you will enjoy where you are going,” Ivan continued to explain while his fingers seemed to be flying over whatever was in front of him.

“You were going to an expensive hotel, yes?” he asked the question rhetorically with no intention of eliciting an answer. “But where you are now going puts the all-inclusive posh hotel you were expecting to shame. Sit back, enjoy the flight, it will only take a few minutes, enjoy it while you can; yes?”

We did not reply, an answer was clearly still not required. I don't think Hazel was capable of one, she had always told me that such things as flying saucers were a load of nonsense dreamed up by frustrated nut-cases with nothing better to do; now she was sat inside one. This thing we were travelling in was going straight up at some speed; we could see that from the clouds flying straight past in a downwards direction as first light shone its weary rays about.

This was not like any aircraft we had been in previously, there was no engine noise, and everything was remarkably quiet. The greatest noise was coming from our gasps of astonishment, or was it that we were trying to find our breath; this was weird? In fact this was not like anything we had ever been in before, not even in one of those flight simulator things to be found in a Florida theme park.

Suddenly the view through the window revealed that we were high up above the pink clouds.

Ivan announced, quite calmly, “Here we go,” and then I remembered nothing more.