Dawn was only a couple of hours away, and from here McGarvey could smell the odors of the sea and even the mountains. Freedom.
Below, on the floor of the hangar, there was no sign of the white-suited technicians and the cart containing the bomb, but there was little doubt they were already aboard, or soon would be, and by the time morning came they would be well on their way east, into the rising sun. It would be a dramatic moment; fitting, in Fukai’s mind, after forty-seven years of waiting for revenge.
The crewmen let McGarvey ride alone down the one floor. They were taking no chances being with him in such a confined space. He had hoped for such an opportunity, but he hadn’t thought they’d be that dumb.
Two other armed crewmen waited for him on the lower balcony, at a respectful distance, and they motioned for him to proceed down the jetway into the airplane.
He hesitated only a moment before complying, and they followed him the thirty feet or so to the hatch. He wondered at what point they had spotted him tonight. Getting off the ship, perhaps. Which meant they’d followed his every move.
The flight across the Pacific to the West Coast of the United States took nine or ten hours. He didn’t think they would kill him until they were almost there, which would give him time for an opening.
He smiled grimly to himself, his gut tightening. There would be an opening. He would make sure of it.
Traditional Japanese music played softly from loudspeakers aboard the airplane. A pretty young Japanese stewardess dressed in a flowered kimono smiled demurely and bowed slightly.
“Welcome aboard, McGarvey-san,” she said in a lovely sing-song voice. “If you will please take your seat, the others have been waiting for you for some time now.”
A crewman armed with an Ingram blocked the stairs up to the flight deck. He wore shoulder tabs with three stripes. The copilot, no doubt, doing double duty for the moment.
To the left, in the area that was normally laid out as business-class seating, a door was ajar, and McGarvey could see what appeared to be an extensive communications console. Wherever Fukai went in the world, he would have to be connected with his business enterprises, via satellite. Just then, however, no one was seated at the console, though its lights and gauges were lit, indicating that it was functioning.
“Just this way, please,” the stewardess prompted, pointing aft. The armed guards from the balcony stood at the open hatch.
“Domo arigato,” McGarvey said pleasantly, and went aft, the young woman opening a sliding door for him.
The main cabin was furnished Japanese ultra-modern, in soft leathers and furs, muted tones, delicate watercolors, and beautifully arranged living plants.
A compactly built Japanese man dressed in a three-piece business suit was seated next to a stunningly beautiful white woman. They both looked up when McGarvey came in, and the man got lanquidly to his feet. He did not smile, nor did he seem pleased.
But he definitely did not appear to be concerned, and he wasn’t holding a gun.
“Ah, Mr. McGarvey, we have been waiting for you,” the man said.
“You have me at the disadvantage,” McGarvey said conversationally. There was something about the man that reminded him of a cobra.
“You may call me Mr. Endo.”
McGarvey nodded and turned to the woman, knowing who she was even before Endo said a word, and he had to hide his almost overwhelming urge to step across the cabin, pull her off the couch and snap her neck.
“Liese Egk, permit me to present the infamous Kirk Cullough McGarvey,” Endo said dryly. “I believe you two have much to talk about.”
McGarvey controlled himself, although he was shaking inside. “You were at the monastery on Santorini with Ernst Spranger and the others?”
She nodded. “Yes. But I’m surprised to see you here so soon. We all thought that you were dead, or close to it.”
“Spranger isn’t aboard yet?”
“I killed him,” Liese said.
“That’ll make my job so much easier, then,” McGarvey said, sitting down across from them.
Endo warily took his seat. “Although you are not armed, I believe you still constitute a threat to the safety of this aircraft, Mr. McGarvey. Be advised that I am armed, and quite a good shot. In addition, you are being watched at all times by at least one of our crewmen, also armed, and also an expert marksman.”
A stewardess came in, took McGarvey’s drink order, and until she came back with it, Endo and Liese said or did nothing except stare at him, as if they expected him to jump up at any moment and strike at them.
When the young stew returned with his cognac, Endo said something to her in Japanese.
She replied politely and then left.
“We will be taking off within the next few minutes,” Endo said.
“The bomb is already aboard, I presume,” McGarvey said.
Endo ignored the question. “If you make no untoward moves during the flight, no immediate harm will come to you. But again I warn you that you are being watched.”
McGarvey rudely crossed his legs and sipped his drink as Endo talked, his eyes on the woman.
“What did you mean?” Liese asked. “What job of yours will be so much easier now that Ernst is dead?”
“Killing you, of course.”
“Rich,” Endo said. He got to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll see to our final preparations.”
Liese was about to say something, but then bit it off as Endo turned and left the main cabin.
McGarvey sat absolutely still. He’d spotted the armed crewman at the partially open sliding door.
Nervously, Liese reached for her purse and took out a small automatic; what looked to be an Italian-made .32-caliber. Probably a Bernadelli Model 60, McGarvey thought. Very effective at close range. She pointed it at him. “Buckle your seatbelt.”
He put down his drink and complied. “If you’re going to shoot me, I suggest you do it now. If you’re using steel-jacketed ammunition, or if you miss when we’re at thirty-five thousand feet, you might kill everyone aboard.”
“I use soft points, Mr. McGarvey, and I don’t miss,” she said, more confident now that the odds, at least in her mind, had tipped in her favor. “I am really surprised to see you here.”
“Not staying to make sure I was dead was the second biggest mistake of your life.”
“What was my first?”
“You know,” McGarvey said, his voice suddenly very soft.
Liese flinched. “You mean the little girl? Your daughter? You and she have talked?”
McGarvey could feel every muscle in his body tensing. He had buckled his seatbelt, but he had made certain the latch hadn’t caught. He could be out of his seat in a split second. She would fire, and miss, and he would be on her before she could recover, her body blocking any shot from the crewman at the door. But he continued to maintain his control, though the effort was costing him dearly.
“Yes,” he said, still softly, his eyes locked into the woman’s.
She began to shiver, her nostrils flared, color coming to her bronzed, high cheeks, and a blood vessel throbbed at the side of her neck. McGarvey figured she was on the verge of firing and he got ready to spring.
The sliding door opened all the way, and an old, but very well built, almost athletic man came in. He wore a light polo shirt, slacks and Western-style loafers. Endo, a Heckler and Koch pistol in hand, was right behind him.
“That won’t be necessary just yet, my dear,” the old man said.
Slowly Liese dragged her eyes away from McGarvey’s, and looked up. “He is a very dangerous man, Kiyoshi-san. He means to kill us all.”
“Yes, I know.”
McGarvey made himself relax. “A pleasure to meet you… Nakamura-san,” he said.