“Who?”
“Forget it,” Malcolm said, tearing his eyes away from the aircraft. “It was just a lousy trick.”
“You’re not getting human on me, are you, Stone?”
Malcolm looked at his red-haired superior and thought of all the terrible places he wanted to tell him to go, but he managed a smile and said, “Not as long as I have you to keep me company.”
Regan nodded and smiled briefly. As he walked Malcolm back to the Jaguar, he said, “Point her toward Madrid. Our man there has new orders for you. I have to accompany the professor to West Berlin.”
Regan slapped Malcolm Stone on the back, turned and hurried toward the waiting aircraft.
Malcolm shifted the lever into low and started away. He passed a group of tourists — Americans — leaving the airport, talking about bullfights, wine and fun. Malcolm Stone was too tired to let it bother him. Before Madrid or anything else, he was going to find a nice soft bed and sleep.