"Signal Red" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ryan Robert)

Three

RAF Hemswell, Lincolnshire, October 1962

The three-minute warning siren sounded, its hideous cry carried, appropriately enough, by the wind from the east that came across the North Sea and then blew unimpeded over the flatlands of Lincolnshire. Every man and woman on the base momentarily froze as the wail gathered its breath, rising to a full scream. All but the very youngest had the sound of sirens cauterised into their brains, either from the early days of the Blitz, the later, more insidious threats of V1s and V2s, or, in recent years, the pointess Civil Defence exercises.

Roy James scanned the sky, hoping, if these were indeed the final minutes of his life, to see the sleek silver English Electric Lightning of the RAF powering north to meet the bombers, intent on revenge for the millions who would die. The sky remained unsullied, however, apart from a lone Vickers Viscount rowing between the thin cumulus. Instead, the siren faltered and died. A test.

What a place to stage a race, he thought. But there was a keen karting club on the base, run by a kid called Mike

Lawrence, and driving between missile silos did, Roy had to admit, add a certain sense of extra danger to the proceedings.

He folded his slender frame into his kart, checking straps and connections as he did so. There was a tap on his helmet and he looked up into the grinning face of little Mickey Ball.

'Your fan club is here,' Mickey said, pointing at the sparse crowd of spectators.

Roy picked out the towering shape of Gordon Goody, in his long leather Gestapo-style coat; next to him the willowy Bruce Reynolds, aka the Colonel, fussing with his shirt collar, as dandyish as ever. Completing the trio was a third man Roy didn't recognise. He wasn't short, being five ten or eleven, but he looked it next to the other two. The stranger was about Roy 's age – younger than Bruce and Gordy – with fairish hair and a frown, as if he wasn't quite sure what he was doing there.

A distorted voice came over the Tannoy system. 'Engines, gentlemen, please.'

Roy knew what the visit from Bruce and Goody meant. About half a million quid, with a bit of luck.

Goodbye Italkart, hello Brabham.

Strapping himself in, Roy lowered his visor and gave the signal for Mickey to kick the Bultaco into life.