A minute passed. Another. The muscular young man’s tension grew, while this mindless steward standing before him hummed a popular tune and gazed vacantly around, fiddling with the small plastic name tag pinned to his lapel.
Another minute passed.
The muscular lad could not contain himself. He leaped up and snatched the curtain aside. On the floor, in the puppet-limbed sprawl of the dead, were his four companions. He never felt the edge of the card; he was nerve dead before his body reached the floor.
Other than the hissing roar of the plane’s motors, there was silence in the plane. All the passengers stared rigidly ahead. The flight crew stood facing the front of the plane, their eyes riveted on the decorated plastic panel before them.
Hel lifted the intercom phone from its cradle. His soft voice sounded metallic through the address system. “Relax. Don’t look back. We will land within fifteen minutes.” He replaced the phone and dialed the pilot’s cabin. “Send the message exactly as you have been instructed to. That done, open the envelope in your pocket and follow the landing instructions given.”
Its pterodactyl nose bent down again, the Concorde roared in for a landing at a temporarily evacuated military airfield in northern Scotland. When it stopped and its engines had whined down to silence, the secondary entrance portal opened, and Hel descended on mobile stairs that had been rolled up to the door. He stepped into the vintage 1931 Rolls that had chased the plane across the runway, and they drove away.
Just before turning off to a control building, Hel looked back and saw the passengers descending and lining themselves up in four-deep ranks beside the plane under the direction of a man who had posed as senior steward. Five military buses were already crossing the airstrip to pick them up.
Sir Wilfred sat at the scarred wooden desk of the control office, sipping a whiskey, while Hel was changing from the flight attendant’s uniform to his own clothes.
“Did the message sound all right?” Hel asked.
“Most dramatic. Most effective. The pilot radioed back that the plane was being skyjacked, and right in the middle of the message, he broke off, leaving nothing but dead air and the hiss of static.”
“And he was on clear channel, so there will be independent corroborations of your report?”
“He must have been heard by half a dozen radio operators all across the North Atlantic.”
“Good. Now, tomorrow your search planes will come back with reports of having found floating wreckage, right?”
“As rain.”
“The wreckage will be reported to have been picked up, and the news will be released over BBC World Service that there was evidence of an explosion, and that the current theory is that an explosive device in the possession of Arab skyjackers was detonated accidentally, destroying the plane.”
“Just so.”
“What are your plans for the plane, Fred? Surely the insurance companies will be curious.”
“Leave that to us. If nothing else remains of the Empire, we retain at least that penchant for duplicity that earned us the title Perfidious Albion.”
Hel laughed. “All right. It must have been quite a job to gather that many operatives from all over Europe and have them pose as passengers.”
“It was indeed. And the pilots and crew were RAF fellows who had really very little check-out time on a Concorde.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Wouldn’t have done to make you edgy, old man.”
“I regret your problem of having a hundred-fifty people in on the secret. It was the only way I could do it and still keep your government to the lee of the Mother Company’s revenge. And, after all, they are all your own people.”
“True enough. But that is no assurance of long-term reliability. But I’ve arranged to manage the problem.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Where do you imagine those buses are going?”
Hel adjusted his tie and zipped up his duffle. “All hundred-fifty of them?”
“No other airtight way, old boy. And within two days, we’ll have to attend to the extermination crew as well. But there’s a bright side to everything, if you look hard enough. We’re having a bit of an unemployment problem in the country just now, and this will produce scads of openings for bright young men and women in the secret service.”
Hel shook his head. “You’re really a tough old fossil, aren’t you, Fred.”
“In time, even the soul gets callused. Sure you won’t have a little farewell drink?”
Part Five.
Shicho
Château d’Etchebar
His muscles meltin g in the scalding water, his body weightless, hel dozed as his feet enclosed Hana’s in slack embrace. It was a cool day for the season, and dense steam billowed, filling the small bathing house.
“You were very tired when you came home last night,” Hana said after a sleepy silence.
“Is that a criticism?” he muttered without moving his lips.
She laughed lightly. “On the contrary. Fatigue is an advantage in our games.”
“True.”
“Was your trip… successful?”
He nodded.
She was never inquisitive about his affairs; her training prohibited it, but her training also taught her to create opportunities for him to speak about his work if he wanted to. “Your business? It was the same sort of thing you did in China when we met?”
“Same genre, different phylum.”
“And those unpleasant men who visited us, were they involved?”
“They weren’t on the ground, but they were the enemy.” His tone changed. “Listen, Hana. I want you to take a little vacation. Go to Paris or the Mediterranean for a few weeks.”
“Back only ten hours and you are already trying to be rid of me?”
“There may be some trouble from those ‘unpleasant men.’ And I want you safely out of the way. Anyway”—he smiled,—”you could probably use the spice of a strong young lad or two.”
“And what of you?”
“Oh, I’ll be out of the enemy’s range. I’m going into the mountains and work that cave Beñat and I discovered. They’re not likely to find me there.”
“When do you want me to leave, Nikko?”
“Today. As soon as you can.”
“You don’t think I would be safe here with our friends in the mountains protecting me?”
“That chain’s broken. Something happened to Miss Stern. Somebody informed.”
“I see.” She squeezed his foot between hers. “Be careful, Nikko.”
The water had cooled enough to make slow movements possible, and Hel flicked his fingers, sending currents of hotter water toward his stomach. “Hana? You told me that you could not bring up the subject of marriage again, but I said that I could and would. I’m doing that now.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about that for the past few days, Nikko. No, not marriage. That would be too silly for such as you and I.”
“Do you want to go away from here?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Let’s not make plans. Let’s remain together for a month at a time. Perhaps forever—but only a month at a time. Is that all right with you?”
He smiled and nestled his feet into hers. “I have great affection for you, Hana.”
“I have great affection for you, Nicholai.”
“By the Skeptical Balls of Thomas! What’s going on in here?” Le Cagot had snatched open the door of the bathing room and entered, bringing unwelcomed cool air with him. “Are you two making your own private whiteout? Good to see you back, Niko! You must have been lonely without me.” He leaned against the wooden tub, his chin hooked over the rim. “Arid good to see you too, Hana! You know, this is the first time I’ve seen all of you. I shall tell you the truth—you are a desirable woman. And that is praise from the world’s most desirable man, so wear it in health.”