rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第30节

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gh　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　children　under　the　age　of　fifteen；　forty…three　are　kids　in　their　twenties。　Out　of　sixty…three　possible　males；　twenty…eight　are　over　sixty…five　and　look　it。　Another　sixteen　are　over　fifty。　That　leaves　nineteen　possibles…　and　no　match。〃
　The　pilot　nodded　with　his　chin　at　the　copilot。　〃Danny'll　set　up　a　link　with　Dallas。　Tell　'em　what　you　found…　or　didn't。〃　He　paused。　〃Does　this　mean　I　can　start　breathing　again？〃
　
　The　munications　gear　on　the　C…22　allowed　Smith　to　eaves　drop　on　the　French　security　operations　channel。　He　listened　as　agents　of　the　Deuxième　Bureau　reported　on　the　disembarkation　of　Air　France　flight　612。　Three…quarters　of　the　passengers　were　off　and　still　there　was　no　sign　of　Beria。　Smith　was　turning　his　attention　to　the　American　flight；　less　than　twenty　minutes　from　touchdown；　when　the　satellite　phone　chirped。
　〃It's　Klein。　Jon；　I　just　got　a　report　from　Dallas。　The　marshal　on　1710　reports　that　there's　no　one　onboard　who　resembles　Beria。〃
　〃That's　impossible！　The　French　have　just　about　off…loaded。　Nothing　there。　He　has　to　be　on　American。〃
　〃Not　according　to　the　air　marshal。　She's　almost　positive　that　Beria　isn't　there。〃
　〃Almost　isn't　good　enough。〃
　〃I　realize　that。　I've　relayed　her　findings　to　the　Brits。　They're　grateful；　but　they're　not　going　to　ease　up。　The　SAS　is　in　position　and　will　stay　there。〃
　〃Sir；　I　think　we　have　to　consider　the　possibility　that　Beria　took　some　other　flight　or　that　he's　using　another　way　to　get　into　the　States。〃
　Klein's　breath　whistled　over　the　line。　〃Do　you　think　he'd　be　so　brazen　as　to　try　that？　He　must　know　that　we've　pulled　out　all　the　stops　to　bring　him　down。〃
　〃Beria　started　a　job；　sir。　He's　killed　in　the　course　of　carrying　it　out。　Yes；　I　think　he's　determined　enough　to　try　to　reach　us。〃　He　paused。　〃Moscow　is　the　main　point　for　flights　to　the　West；　but　it's　not　the　only　way　out。〃
　〃St。　Petersburg？〃
　〃It　handles　a　lot　of　flights　to　and　from　Scandinavia　and　northern　Europe。　Aeroflot；　Scandinavian　Airlines；　Finnair；　Royal　Dutch…　they　all　have　steady　traffic　in　and　out　of　there。〃
　〃Kirov　will　have　an　embolism　when　I　suggest　that　Beria　might　have　gotten　as　far　as　St。　Petersburg。〃
　〃He's　gotten　awfully　far　as　it　is；　sir。　This　guy　isn't　running；　he's　following　a　well…thought…out　plan。　That's　what's　keeping　him　one　step　ahead　of　us。〃
　Smith　heard　something　on　the　French　channel。　He　excused　himself；　listened　briefly；　then　got　back　to　Klein。　〃Paris　confirms　that　their　flight's　clean。〃
　〃What's　your　next　step；　Jon？〃
　Smith　thought　for　a　moment。　〃London；　sir。　That's　where　I　get　off。〃
　
　CHAPTER　FOURTEEN
　　
　With　puffs　of　blue　tire　smoke　and　the　stink　of　superheated　brakes；　American　1710　touched　down　at　London's　Heathrow　Airport。　Per　instructions　from　the　Special　Air　Service　mander；　the　pilot　informed　his　passengers　that　a　mechanical　problem　had　developed　with　the　jetway　assigned　to　their　gate。　The　control　tower　was　rerouting　them　to　another　part　of　the　field　where　ramps　could　be　rolled　up　against　the　hatches。
　The　flight　attendants　passed　through　the　first…　and　business…class　cabins；　reassuring　passengers　that　they　would　make　their　connecting　flights。
　〃What　about　the　continuation　to　Dulles？〃　Treloar　asked。
　〃Our　time　on　the　ground　will　be　as　brief　as　possible；〃　the　steward　replied。
　Treloar　prayed　that　he　was　right。　The　nitrogen　charges　inside　the　canister　were　good　for　another　twelve　hours。　The　stop　at　Heathrow　was　usually　ninety　minutes；　the　flying　time　to　Dulles；　six　hours　fifteen　minutes。　After　customs　and　immigration；　he　would　have　a　three…hour　window　to　get　the　smallpox　into　a　refrigerated　facility。　There　was　little　room　for　the　unforeseen。
　Stepping　out　onto　the　ramp；　Treloar　discovered　that　the　aircraft　was　parked　next　to　a　giant　maintenance　hangar。　As　he　descended　the　steps；　he　saw　baggage　carts　being　loaded　and　two　airport　buses　idling　near　the　hangar　doors。　At　the　bottom　of　the　steps；　a　pleasant　young　customs　officer　invited　him　to　step　into　the　hangar；　which　was　set　up　as　a　temporary　processing　and　in…transit　facility。
　As　Treloar　and　his　fellow　travelers　shuffled　along；　they　had　no　idea