“Is there a lounge”—Dana almost said, with a lot of people—“where I can rest?”
“Down the end of this corridor and to the right.”
“Thank you.”
The lounge was crowded. Nothing in there seemed unusual or threatening. Dana took a seat. In a little while, she would be on her way to America and safety.
“Air France flight two-twenty is now boarding at gate three for Washington, D.C. Will all passengers please have their passports and boarding passes ready?”
Dana rose and started toward gate 3. A man who had been watching her from an Aeroflot counter spoke into his cell phone.
“The subject is heading for the boarding gate.”
Roger Hudson picked up the phone and called a number. “She’s on Air France flight two-twenty. I want her picked up at the airport.”
“What do you want done with her, sir?”
“I would suggest a hit-and-run accident.”
They were flying at a smooth forty-five thousand feet in a cloudless sky. There was not an empty seat on the plane. An American was in the seat next to Dana.
“Gregory Price,” he said. “I’m in lumber.” He was in his forties, with a long aquiline face, bright gray eyes, and a mustache. “That’s some kind of country we’re leaving, huh?”
Krasnoyarsk-26’s sole purpose for existing is to make plutonium, the key ingredient in nuclear weapons.
“The Russians are sure different from us, but you get used to them after a while.”
One hundred thousand scientists and technicians live and work here.
“They sure don’t cook like the French. When I come here on business, I bring my own care package.”
They cannot go outside. They cannot have visitors. They must cut themselves off completely from the outside world.
“Were you in Russia on business?”
Dana brought herself back to the present. “Vacation.”
He looked at her in surprise. “It’s a hell of a time to take a vacation in Russia.”
When the flight attendant came down the aisle with a food cart, Dana started to decline, then realized she was famished. She could not remember when she had eaten last.
Gregory Price said, “If you’d like a shot of bourbon, I’ve got the real stuff here, little lady.”
“No thanks.” She looked at her watch. They would be landing in a few hours.
When Air France flight 220 landed at Dulles airport, four men were watching as the passengers began to come through the exit ramp from the plane. The men stood there, confident, knowing there was no way she could escape.
One of them said, “Do you have the hypodermic?”
“Yes.”
“Take her out to Rock Creek Park. The boss wants a hit-and-run.”
“Right.”
Their eyes turned back to the door. Passengers were streaming out, dressed in heavy woolen clothes, parkas, earmuffs, scarves, and gloves. Finally the flow of passengers stopped.
One of the men frowned. “I’ll go and see what’s keeping her.”
He made his way down the ramp into the plane. A cleaning crew was busily at work. The man walked through the aisle. There were no signs of any passengers. He opened the lavatory doors. They were empty. He hurried forward and said to a flight attendant who was just leaving, “Where was Dana Evans sitting?”
The flight attendant looked surprised. “Dana Evans? You mean the TV anchorwoman?”
“Yes.”
“She wasn’t on this flight. I wish she had been. I would have loved to have met her.”
Gregory Price was saying to Dana, “Do you know what’s great about the lumber business, little lady? Your product grows all by itself. Yes, sir, you just sit around and watch Mother Nature make money for you.”
A voice came over the loudspeaker.
“We’ll be landing in Chicago’s O’Hare Airport in a few minutes. Please fasten your seat belt and return your seat back to the upright position.”
The woman seated across the aisle said cynically, “Yeah, put your seat back upright. I wouldn’t want to be leaning back when I die.”
The word “die” gave Dana a jolt. She could hear the sound of the bullets ricocheting into the wall of the apartment building and she could feel the strong hand shoving her into the path of the oncoming truck. She shuddered when she thought of the two narrow escapes she had had.