Free The Watchers by Neil Spring

hovering. It then moved across the sky, and as it passed over the lower fields, towards the cliff edge where I was forbidden to venture, I had to run across the yard to the cattle sheds to keep it in view. Jasper was at my feet, growling, his hackles up.
    Now the cross was hanging over St Brides Bay. There it lingered for a few more seconds, the dark waters around Stack Rocks reflecting a deep red glow, before it flashed brightly and dissolved into darkness.
    Grandfather turned and saw me, and I hardly had time to frame the question on my lips – ‘Did you get it, Grandfather; did you get it on film?’ – before he threw an arm around me and dragged me back to the farmhouse, muttering under his breath about fires in the sky, signs in the heavens and imminent danger.
    The next morning, watching as Grandfather trawled the newspaper for other reports, I began to wonder if perhaps there was something to his curious tales. Even though nothing had shown up on the photographs Grandfather had snapped, I had seen it too. I hadn’t imagined the fiery cross. And if he and I were deluded that night, so were many more people.
    Over the next few days there were numerous other sightings of things in the sky, including reports of a fiery cross from six police officers in Glossop, Derbyshire. In the ensuing investigation the closest airbase to the incident, RAF Chivenor, denied radar confirmation of any unknown object.
    I couldn’t help it, but I began to wonder whether Grandfather was right.
    He wasn’t; there aren’t any such things as flying crosses. But planets and stars? Meteorites and satellites? Sure, there’s an abundance of those. Turns out that’s what we saw – a Russian satellite re-entering the earth’s atmosphere. It was in the paper a few weeks later. As the satellite’s altitude decreased, atmospheric conditions made spikes of light, beams and sparkles shoot out in all directions. Tricks of the light.
    Soon after that news report, I formed some pretty strong views on flying saucers. They weren’t craft from outer space. They were night-flying aircraft, weather balloons, comets, car headlights, stars seen at unusual angles through trees and mist. They were explainable. And I was extremely relieved, even if Grandfather did refuse to accept rational explanations. I would never be like him, would never be dragged into his wild superstitions.
    Selina was similarly sensible and logical, I’d thought. I remembered the UFO reports she’d shown me but didn’t for a minute think she was actively investigating them. The issue bothered me as I sat, alone, in her flat the day after my meeting with Corso.
    It was Tuesday. I knew I shouldn’t have been drinking, given my state of shock, but I needed something to take the edge off. Selina’s parents had been on the phone three times that day, questioning me about the explosion. Every detail. And I was beginning to doubt that I would ever again be able to close my eyes without seeing Selina lying bleeding on the floor.
    I didn’t believe Corso’s tale any more than I believed in flying saucers. I certainly didn’t believe anyone would launch an attack on Parliament to cover up such an absurd story. At the same time I couldn’t shake from my mind something Selina had said to me the morning of Corso’s evidence session: You think it’s intentional? Someone making trouble?
    I had assumed her agitation that morning was because of her job interview in the City. But now I was beginning to wonder how close she had been to the reports of peculiar sightings back home. How long had she been investigating the Croughton connection?
    My thoughts turned to the admiral. He had first told me about Project Caesar and then warned me to leave it alone. My pulse quickened. I had never felt more isolated. I reached for the phone and dialled the only number I had for him at the Ministry of Defence, letting it ring once, twice, before the line clicked dead.
    Keyed up, I returned to Selina’s