Outside； he got into a cab and offered the driver ten American dollars over the negotiated rate if he got him to the airport in thirty minutes。 The driver made it with two minutes to spare。
Beria knew that by now his photograph and particulars had been wired to every major transportation facility in the country。 It didn't matter。 He had no intention of ing into contact with the authorities。
Walking through the newly refurbished terminal； he reached the area reserved for tour groups and slipped into a gaggle of sixty…odd travelers clustered in front of the Finnair counter。
〃Where's your badge？ You need your badge。〃
Beria smiled pleasantly at the harried young woman whose badge read OMNITOURS： TREASURES OF THE CZARS。
Handing over his passport and ticket； he mumbled； 〃Lost it。〃
The woman sighed； grabbed his paperwork； and steered him to a counter where she brought out a paper badge。
〃John Strel。。。〃 ‘
〃Strelnikov。〃
〃Right。 We'll just put down ‘John；' okay？〃
Using a felt pen； she wrote the name on the badge； peeled away the backing to expose the adhesive； and pressed it firmly onto Beria's lapel。
〃Don't lose it！〃 she scolded。 〃Otherwise you'll have problems at customs。 Do you want to do any duty…free shopping？〃
Beria said that might be nice。
〃You'll get your passport and tickets back after immigration；〃 the woman said； already moving to quell another crisis elsewhere in the group。
Beria was counting on that。 Much better to have some exhausted American tour guide deal with the exit visas and airline tickets。
After purchasing some cologne that he placed in his Hermitage souvenir bag； Beria joined the line shuffling through immigration。 He watched as in the booth； two bored officials stamped the passports that the tour guide had brought them。 Hearing his name； he stepped forward； retrieved his passport； and proceeded through customs into the departure lounge。
Beria took a seat beside a middle…aged couple who turned out to be from San Francisco。 Since he pretended that his English was only passable； his new friends did most of the talking。 Beria learned that the Finnair flight to Washington's Dulles Airport would take about ten hours and that the dinner service would likely be decent but certainly not memorable。
The Ilyushin C…22 executive jet had just crossed into German airspace when Smith received word that Beria was not onboard Swissair 101。
〃That's a positive confirmation？〃
〃Absolutely；〃 Klein replied over the satellite phone。 〃They eyeballed every single passenger。 He wasn't there。〃
〃The Paris flight es down in nineteen minutes。 Are they ready？〃
〃The people I talk to say yes。 Privately； they're telling me that the government is passing peach pits。 If something happens and later word gets out that they allowed the plane to land。。。 well； you can imagine the fallout。〃
〃Do you think the government will spring a leak？〃
〃It's a real possibility。 The French have an election ing up in two weeks。 The opposition is looking for any kind of ammunition it can get its hands on。〃
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 busi