“You’ve got to find a way. Ian, did I forget to tell you the rarest of the Armenian icon shipment at Svetlana’s are from the Nagorno region? They’re yours upon delivery to her.”
“Nagorno? How in heaven did you ever locate them? I’ve tried for years.” He placed his hand on her back. “Faith, I’m sorry. There’s no way.”
“There has to be. Convince them it was metal fatigue. Everyone saw what happened to that Aloha plane last year.”
“One look at it and a child would know it was a bomb.”
Frosty pointed at Faith as he spoke. “Maybe she’s on to something. They did think at first that United flight out of Honolulu was a bomb. Turned out the cargo-door latch blew.”
“No. There’s no way I can get you back in there.”
“You have to. That cooler on your flight deck.” Faith paused. “It’s packed with plastic explosives.”
“Did you take leave of your senses?” His face flushed.
“I had no choice. They’ll kill me if I don’t deliver it. I couldn’t bring it myself. They’re expecting me.”
“You’re telling me when the KGB starts to search for who planted the bomb, they’re going to find explosives on my flight deck? I’ll lose my license.”
“License, hell, I don’t want to be some commie’s bitch in a Siberian gulag. We’ve got to get that sucker off the plane.”
“I need my bag, too. I think it made it. It was stowed in the last overheard locker, port side,” Faith said.
“Anything else, my dear?” Ian said.
“I was kind of hoping one of you would be willing to let me use your hotel room to change and crash for the evening-no pun intended.”
“You know you can bunk with me anytime.” Frosty winked at her. “Even in Siberia.”
“Now we’d better find a way to get back on that plane, Candace.”
“And, by the way, Candace stayed in Frankfurt. I’m Sandy, Sandy Reeves.” She pointed to the name tag on her blue uniform jacket.
He squeezed her shoulder hard. “I sincerely hope the KGB doesn’t harm you, my dear, because after this is all over, I will kill you.”
Dazed passengers wandered around the tarmac in circles. Others sat on the runway in a stupor. Medics treated the injured, but no one seemed in a hurry to evacuate them. The KGB now stood guard over everything, Kalashnikovs in hand. Ian, Frosty and Faith approached a group of officials talking to one another, their long gray-green coats flapping in the wind. Igor spoke with a man in an ill-fitting suit near a group of airport personnel. Ian selected an airport militia officer whose uniform had the most fruit salad and started to speak: “Sir-”
Faith tapped him on the arm and whispered, “Wrong guy. You want the highest-ranking KGB officer and I’d say that’s him talking to Igor, your flight attendant.”
As soon as the Pan Am crew approached, Igor and the other man halted their conversation.
“Do you speak English?” Ian said.
“Little,” the plainclothes KGB officer said.
“How long are you going to leave my passengers here? Why aren’t the injured being taken to the hospital?”
“Not possible. They must pass immigration.”
“Station a guard on them if you have to, but get them to a hospital. A good one.”
“Not so simple.”
“And when can I get back on my plane? I want to go aboard and inspect it.”
“Cannot. It is crime scene.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s clearly metal fatigue. It happens all the time. Don’t you read the papers? Remember those planes in Hawaii?”
A shiny Zil limousine barreled down the tarmac. It was the type of government car Faith had seen crossing Red Square and driving through the gates of the Kremlin. It screeched to a halt. The driver climbed out, but before he could open the door for his passenger, a uniformed KGB general jumped out and stamped over to Igor. They moved out of earshot and talked briefly; then the general ignored the Pan Am crew and spoke to the airport KGB officer in Russian. Faith listened in.
“I want you to get the luggage off the plane as if nothing’s happened. Allow the crew to return on board and retrieve their personal belongings. These people have gone through enough. And take those injured to an infirmary.”
“But sir, this is a crime scene. It can’t be disturbed. The evidence-”
“There has been no crime. Take one look at it and any idiot can see that the plane came apart. Capitalist maintenance.”
“But, sir-”
“That’s an order, captain. Get that plane off the tarmac and out of sight in a hangar immediately. Also, see to it that one of your people escorts the captain and his crew to the front of the immigration line. No need for interviews today. They will be with us for a while.”
The general turned toward Ian and asked, “Vy kapitan?”
Ian nodded. The general flashed him a thumbs-up. He turned and walked back to his car. As Igor climbed into the staff car, he nodded to Faith.
As they drove off the tarmac, General Stukoi picked up his car phone and called Titov at the residency in Berlin. “We’re back on track, thanks to your man Resnick. Contact Voronin and get Bonn to stand down. Tell him I personally arrested the terrorists and we have his nuclear suitcase under our control. He’ll get the Medal for Irreproachable Service as long as he keeps this to himself. Tell him whatever you want. Just make sure he believes there’s no longer a threat to the leadership. I don’t want any more interference.”
An Aeroflot movable stairway was brought to the plane and the crew was allowed aboard just long enough to grab their personal belongings. Somehow most of their things survived the chaos. In the Aeroflot bus to the terminal, Faith saw Frosty grin as he looked at the salvaged snapshot of his dog. He stuffed it into his wallet.
Ian whispered to her, “It’s not really in the cooler, is it?”
“No. Forgive me, but I had to motivate you. I have the cargo.” She made eye contact with him and then looked at her carry-on.
“Did you understand what that general was saying? Why did he countermand the other chap’s orders and permit us on board?”
“KGB politics are deadly. Let it go.”
A Pan Am employee and a uniformed KGB lieutenant greeted the bus and escorted them to the crew passport-control line. He ordered the official to process them even though they lacked the requisite crew manifest. The border guard examined each passport and then stamped a separate loose document. Hakan’s handiwork on the document that Zara had provided passed scrutiny. She thanked the official in English and joined the others at customs.
A squat man with the cheeks of a chipmunk stopped the purser and asked him to open his bag. The official removed a Grundig shortwave radio and said something in Russian. The purser shrugged and looked toward Faith for help. She ignored him. As far as the Soviets were concerned, all American citizens were suspected spies and Americans fluent in Russian were spies. The first officer elbowed Faith and relayed the message. She moved ahead in line, guarding her ribs from any accidental bumps. “What’s up?”
“Something with my radio.” The purser was still pale and withdrawn.
“Says it’s radio,” Faith said in broken Russian with a heavy American accent. “BBC. Radio Moscow, you know.”
The guard handed the purser a customs-declaration form.
“What’s he saying?”
“I don’t know, but I think you have to declare it along with your currency and make damn well sure you export it when you go. Whatever you do, don’t leave with any extra cash beyond what you declare.” She maneuvered back to her place in line.
The purser whispered to Frosty, “What’s with her? In Frankfurt she was fluent-”
“Keep it quiet, son. Do your patriotic duty and play along.”