按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
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 business cabins were a wash。 Not that she had expected to find the target there。 Guys like this Beria character liked to hide themselves in a mob。 Diforio pulled back the curtain and stepped into the economy section。
The cabin was configured for 3…3…3 sitting； the seats separated by two aisles。 While pretending to check the magazine rack； Diforio scanned the first six rows along the left…hand aisle： retirees； kids on a college break； young families traveling on a budget。 She began walking to the back of the plane。
A few minutes later； Diforio was at the lavatories at the end of the bulkhead。 She'd gotten a good look at all the passengers in the perimeter； plus two who had exited the washrooms。 The rest of the seats were filled； none of the occupants resembled the target。
Now the tricky part。
Diforio went back the way she'd e； stepped into the business section； came around the partition； then went back into economy。 Arching her back； she made it look like she was trying to work out cramped muscles。 Curious male faces turned sympathetic… and appreciative… when her breasts pushed against the shell beneath her jacket。 She encouraged the ogling with a slight smile as she moved down the right…hand aisle； her gaze flitting over but never alighting on individual faces。 Again； her luck held。 All the seats were occupied； the male passengers either asleep； reading； or working on business papers。 She was grateful that the movie had ended and most of the window shades were up； allowing the sunlight to pour in。
Once again； Diforio found herself at the back of the plane。 She walked past the lavatories； then up the left…hand aisle； double…checking to make sure that she hadn't overlooked any seats。 A moment later； she was in the flight deck。
〃Negative on the target；〃 she reported to the pilot。
〃You're sure？〃
〃First and business are clean。 No one even remotely resembles this guy。 You have a full house in economy… two hundred thirty…eight people。 One hundred seventeen are women… and believe me； they are women。 Twenty…two are childre