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weather unless there's a damn good reason. There are five of them flying in an arrowhead formation. When they fly along the valley they're a hundred times faster and nowhere near as loud as this. They're never usually this close to each other.

There are even more of them.

I can see seven jets now, sleek and dark, still flying in formation but they're getting lower. One by one they're emerging from the heavy cloud cover. They're well away from the land now and out over the ocean.

There's something else behind them.

They're leading it out of the clouds. Jesus Christ.

Whatever this thing is it's huge. It's black and it's fucking enormous. Fucking hell, I've never seen anything like it. It's silent. All I can hear are the jets surrounding it. This thing is immense and it's not making a bloody sound. It seems to be going on forever - hundreds and hundreds of metres of Christ knows what stretching down through the clouds and out over the ocean. It looks and moves like a fucking submarine carving its way through the turbulent air. Its vast belly is black, smooth and featureless but for a few bright pinpricks of light towards the front. I can't even begin to estimate the size of this thing.

There are jets surrounding the entire machine. They look so small that they're like the shadows of scavenging birds against it. I can see the back end of it now - there's a huge brilliant ball of blue-white light behind the ship. That must be what's powering it. How can it be so quiet? Christ, how can something so big move without making a sound? All I can hear are the jets and the storm.

I can't look at the light. It's so bright and powerful. Jesus, I can feel my skin beginning to prickle and tighten with the heat. The rain and sweat is evaporating and there's steam snaking up from my skin.

The distance is deceptive. The whole convoy is moving at speed.

Just a couple of minutes since the first jet appeared and the last one is now disappearing from view. All I can see is the ball of light moving out to sea.

A second of silence, and then the sound of the waves on the rocks below and the driving rain returns a thousand times louder than before.

I've got to get home.

Chapter 2

Thomas Winter was twenty-seven two weeks ago. He has one brother, Robert, who is three years his junior. There is no other family.

On March 13 last year Mary and Kenneth Winter - the parents of the boys - died in a car accident just outside London . Mrs Winter and the driver of the van that hit their car died instantly. Mr Winter hung on for a further four and a half days before passing away in hospital.

As the sole beneficiaries of their parent's joint will, the two boys received equal shares of a substantial estate. Mr Winter had been practical and had made arrangements well in advance which removed much of the burden from the two shell-shocked brothers. By November last year their parent's properties had been sold, their investments and pensions realised and their bank accounts closed.

Robert continued with his studies at university - there he managed to find an oasis of normality when the rest of his world had been tipped on its head. Thomas, on the other hand, left his city office job and bought a modest bungalow in Thatcham, a small fishing village some twenty miles from where he had been brought up.

Thomas has a girlfriend, Siobhan, who he genuinely adores. When his parents died most of his friends quickly disappeared. Siobhan stayed by his side throughout and remained strong, dedicated and supportive. Even on the nights when Thomas sat alone and cried himself to sleep in the darkness, when he wouldn't eat or drink and when he'd speak to no-one, she had waited nearby. She knew that he would need her eventually.

The village of Thatcham is on the east coast and is popular with holidaymakers throughout the summer.

It is late August.

Chapter 3

I sprinted down from the cold and exposed hillside and then tripped and stumbled through the rain-soaked streets of the village. The holiday season was almost over and the summer crowds had begun to subside. There seemed to have been more tourists than ever this year but now only a determined minority of the annual sun-seeking invasion force remained.

I ran down the main promenade and followed the cobbled