rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第33章

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　Outside；　he　got　into　a　cab　and　offered　the　driver　ten　American　dollars　over　the　negotiated　rate　if　he　got　him　to　the　airport　in　thirty　minutes。　The　driver　made　it　with　two　minutes　to　spare。
　Beria　knew　that　by　now　his　photograph　and　particulars　had　been　wired　to　every　major　transportation　facility　in　the　country。　It　didn't　matter。　He　had　no　intention　of　ing　into　contact　with　the　authorities。
　Walking　through　the　newly　refurbished　terminal；　he　reached　the　area　reserved　for　tour　groups　and　slipped　into　a　gaggle　of　sixty…odd　travelers　clustered　in　front　of　the　Finnair　counter。
　〃Where's　your　badge？　You　need　your　badge。〃
　Beria　smiled　pleasantly　at　the　harried　young　woman　whose　badge　read　OMNITOURS：　TREASURES　OF　THE　CZARS。
　Handing　over　his　passport　and　ticket；　he　mumbled；　〃Lost　it。〃
　The　woman　sighed；　grabbed　his　paperwork；　and　steered　him　to　a　counter　where　she　brought　out　a　paper　badge。
　〃John　Strel。。。〃 ‘
　〃Strelnikov。〃
　〃Right。　We'll　just　put　down　‘John；'　okay？〃
　Using　a　felt　pen；　she　wrote　the　name　on　the　badge；　peeled　away　the　backing　to　expose　the　adhesive；　and　pressed　it　firmly　onto　Beria's　lapel。
　〃Don't　lose　it！〃　she　scolded。　〃Otherwise　you'll　have　problems　at　customs。　Do　you　want　to　do　any　duty…free　shopping？〃
　Beria　said　that　might　be　nice。
　〃You'll　get　your　passport　and　tickets　back　after　immigration；〃　the　woman　said；　already　moving　to　quell　another　crisis　elsewhere　in　the　group。
　Beria　was　counting　on　that。　Much　better　to　have　some　exhausted　American　tour　guide　deal　with　the　exit　visas　and　airline　tickets。
　After　purchasing　some　cologne　that　he　placed　in　his　Hermitage　souvenir　bag；　Beria　joined　the　line　shuffling　through　immigration。　He　watched　as　in　the　booth；　two　bored　officials　stamped　the　passports　that　the　tour　guide　had　brought　them。　Hearing　his　name；　he　stepped　forward；　retrieved　his　passport；　and　proceeded　through　customs　into　the　departure　lounge。
　Beria　took　a　seat　beside　a　middle…aged　couple　who　turned　out　to　be　from　San　Francisco。　Since　he　pretended　that　his　English　was　only　passable；　his　new　friends　did　most　of　the　talking。　Beria　learned　that　the　Finnair　flight　to　Washington's　Dulles　Airport　would　take　about　ten　hours　and　that　the　dinner　service　would　likely　be　decent　but　certainly　not　memorable。
　
　The　Ilyushin　C…22　executive　jet　had　just　crossed　into　German　airspace　when　Smith　received　word　that　Beria　was　not　onboard　Swissair　101。
　〃That's　a　positive　confirmation？〃
　〃Absolutely；〃　Klein　replied　over　the　satellite　phone。　〃They　eyeballed　every　single　passenger。　He　wasn't　there。〃
　〃The　Paris　flight　es　down　in　nineteen　minutes。　Are　they　ready？〃
　〃The　people　I　talk　to　say　yes。　Privately；　they're　telling　me　that　the　government　is　passing　peach　pits。　If　something　happens　and　later　word　gets　out　that　they　allowed　the　plane　to　land。。。　well；　you　can　imagine　the　fallout。〃
　〃Do　you　think　the　government　will　spring　a　leak？〃
　〃It's　a　real　possibility。　The　French　have　an　election　ing　up　in　two　weeks。　The　opposition　is　looking　for　any　kind　of　ammunition　it　can　get　its　hands　on。〃
　Smith　returned　to　an　idea　that　had　occurred　to　him　back　in　Moscow；　but　which　he　hadn't　voiced。
　〃Sir；　what　if　we　were　to　give　the　French　a　hand？〃
　〃How？〃
　〃Their　Airbuses　aren't　equipped　with　the　SecFax　system。　American　1710　can　receive　secure　satellite　facsimile　transmissions。　You　could　talk　directly　to　the　captain；　bring　him　up　to　speed；　then　ship　him　a　photofax　of　Beria。〃
　Smith　waited　out　the　silence。　What　he　proposed　was；　at　the　very　least；　dangerous。　If　his　suggestion　was　carried　out　and　something　went　terribly　wrong　on　the　American　flight；　the　consequences　would　be　nothing　short　of　disastrous。
　〃Let　me　check　something；〃　Klein　said　finally。　〃I'll　get　back　to　you。
　A　few　minutes　later；　he　was　back。　〃I　spoke　with　American's　director　of　security　in　Dallas…Fort　Worth。　He　says　1710　is　carrying　a　sky　marshal。〃
　〃Even　better。　Get　him…〃
　〃Her；　Jon。〃
　〃Forgive　my　presumption。　The　pilot　must　have　a　way　to　municate　with　her。　Once　he　does；　she　can　cover　the　plane。〃
　〃We　have　to　allow　for　the　possibility　that　Beria　is　traveling　incognito。〃
　〃Kirov　never　mentioned　that　Beria　was　a　master　of　disguise。　Possibly　that's　because　he's　never　operated　outside　familiar　borders　before。　A　trained　agent　would　be　able　to　see　through　makeup　and　prosthetics。〃
　〃Do　you　propose　we　inform　Kirov…　or　anyone　else？〃
　〃It's　our　plane；　sir。　If　the　agent　spots　him；　we　can　give　the　French　the　all…clear　and　warn　the　British　that　he's　on　the　way。　Any　lead　time　we　could　give　them　would　be　invaluable。〃
　Another　moment　of　silence　followed。
　〃All　right；　Jon。　I'll　get　things　going　on　this　end。　The　flight's　ninety　minutes　out　of　Heathrow。　Stay　airborne　until　I　call　back。〃
　
　Catching　a　whiff　of　exotic　perfume；　Adam　Treloar　stirred　in　his　spacious　first…class　seat。　He　heard　the　faint　rustle　of　silk　against　flesh；　then　caught　a　pair　of　shapely　buttocks　swaying　past　his　line　of　sight。　As　though　she　sensed　she　was　being　watched；　the　woman；　a　long…legged　redhead；　turned。　Treloar　blushed　as　her　eyes　settled　on　him；　his　embarrassment　deepened　as　she　smiled　and　raised　her　eyebrows　as　though　to　say；　you　naughty　boy！　Then　she　was　gone；　disappearing　behind　the　partition　into　the　area　where　the　drinks　and　food　were　prepared。
　Treloar　sighed；　not　because　he　coveted　the　girl；　females　of　any　age　did　not　interest　him　sexually。　But　he　appreciated　beauty　in　all　its　forms。　In　certain　parts　of　the　Caribbean；　on　private　yachts；　he　had　watched；　rapt；　as　loveliness　like　that　was　subjugated　in　order　to　stimulate　the　appetites　of　the　audience。
　An　announcement　from　the　pilot　interrupted　his　reverie：
　〃Ladies　and　gentlemen；　we'd　like　to　inform　you　that　the　latest　weather　in　London　calls　for　light　drizzle；　with　a　temperature　of　sixty…two　degrees。　We　are　on　schedule；　with　an　estimated　time　of　arrival　of　one　hour　and　five　minutes　from　now。〃
　Boring；　Treloar　thought。
　He　was　still　musing　about　the　inanity　of　such　announcements　when　the　woman　reappeared。　She　seemed　to　be　walking　more　slowly；　as　though　taking　time　to　stretch　her　legs。　Once　again；　Treloar　felt　himself　brushed　by　her　cool　gaze；　his　blush　returned。
　The　woman's　name　was　Ellen　Diforio。　She　was　twenty…eight　years　old；　a　certified　martial　arts　expert；　and　championship　shooter。　She　was　in　her　fifth　year　in　the　federal　marshal　service；　her　second　in　the　sky　marshal　division。
　Wouldn't　you　know　it？　My　last　gig；　and　this　has　to　happen。
　Fifteen　minutes　earlier；　Diforio　had　been　thinking　about　a　date　she　had　that　night　with　her　Washington　lawyer　boyfriend。　Her　daydreams　had　been　interrupted　by　a　seemingly　innocuous　announcement　that　the　in…flight　duty…free　shop　had　a　special　offer　on　jean　Patou　1000　perfume。　The　code　words　had　snapped　Diforio　back　to　reality。　She　had　counted　off　ten　seconds；　picked　up　her　bag；　and　left　her　business…class　seat；　heading　in　the　direction　of　the　washrooms。　She　had　kept　on　going　into　first　class；　around　the　panel　into　the　service　area；　and　then；　surreptitiously；　into　the　cockpit。
　Diforio　read　the　security　director's　message　and　studied　the　photofax　intently。　Her　orders　were　clear：　determine　whether　or　not　this　individual　was　onboard。　If　she　spotted　him；　she　was　not　to　make　any　contact　or　attempt　to　restrain　him。　Instead；　she　was　to　report　back　to　the　cockpit　immediately。
　〃What　about　a　weapon？〃　Diforio　had　asked　the　pilot。　〃It　doesn't　say　anything　about　a　gun　or　a　bomb。　There's　no　bio；　either。　Who　is　this　guy？〃
　The　pilot　shrugged。　〃All　I　know　is　that　the　British　have　scrambled　the　SAS　guys。　It's　that　serious。　If　he's　onboard　and　we　make　it　down；　they　take　him　out　on　the　ground。〃　He　looked　pointedly　at　her　handbag。　〃Do　me　a　favor：　no　Annie　Oakley　stuff　back　there。〃
　Making　her　way　through　the　first…class　cabin；　Diforio　noted　the　embarrassment　of　the　man　with　the　funny；　egg…shaped　eyes。
　Not　this　clown。
　She　was　very　much　aware　of　the　effect　she　had　on　men　and　planned　to　put　it　to　good　use。　Seventeen　or　seventy；　they　all　took　notice；　some　were　a　little　subtler　than　others。　But　if　she　wanted　to；　she　could　get　them　to　look　at　her　directly。　A　hint　of　a　smile；　a　twinkle　in　her　eyes　was　all　it　would　take。
　The　first…class　and　busi