Rules of Betrayal

75

Pakistan International Airlines Flight 333 outbound from Islamabad and Karachi to New York City cruised at an air speed of 590 knots at 39,000 feet over the snow-covered plains of central Europe. Arrival was foreseen at seven a.m. Eastern Standard Time, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, with weather in New York forecast to be in the mid-thirties with snow flurries.

Seated in row 22, Jonathan relaxed with a Dr Pepper. PIA was a Muslim airline and carried no alcohol on board.

“Where do you think he was going?” he asked Danni, his head lolling against the seat.

“Haq? It’s always New York City. They all want to top 9/11. Did he give you any clue as to his final target?”

“None.” Jonathan sipped his lukewarm soft drink. Not only was there no alcohol, but there was no ice either. “Who gets custody of him?”

“It’s your cruise missile he stole. I imagine he’s in the hands of the military right now. I hope they put him in a black hole and let him rot.”

“Amen,” said Jonathan, a little frightened by the depth of his conviction. “All my life I’ve tried to keep out of politics. My dad was a bean counter for the General Accounting Office-those are the guys who figure out how much money the boys in Washington are really spending-and he was always complaining about the government. But for all his arguing, he never did anything about it. He just bellyached. He used to say that you couldn’t do a darned thing to change Washington. I chose to study medicine for exactly that reason. I wanted to do something where I could make a difference. For a long time it’s made me happy. Maybe it’s made me feel important, too. But now, working with you, with Connor, I feel differently. It’s like I was dodging my responsibility.” Jonathan frowned, contemplating the bullet the world had dodged. “It’s scary to think what one determined man can do.”

Danni nodded in agreement. “I don’t know Haq or his politics. I don’t blame him for hating the West, though. It’s his country. He wants you out. Just like the Palestinians want us out. After a while, you see both sides of the story.”

“But that’s no excuse for getting hold of a bomb,” Jonathan protested.

Danni smiled wryly. “My, but you’re sounding very political.”

“I’ve changed. Or maybe the world has.”

Jonathan looked toward the head of the aircraft and saw the captain advancing down the aisle. He walked purposefully, his eye on the row numbers, and stopped beside Jonathan.

“You are Ms. Pine?” he asked, kneeling and speaking in a low, confidential tone.

Danni returned her seat to the upright position. “Yes.”

“I’ve been asked to pass along a message to you.” The pilot looked at Jonathan, then back at her. “Would you prefer to accompany me to the rear of the aircraft?”

“No. You can talk freely.”

The pilot leaned closer. “The message is from a Colonel Yaz with my country’s Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence. He says to tell you first that he is a friend of Benny’s.”

Danni nodded, indicating that she understood.

“He said that there seems to have been a miscommunication. The party you wanted met in Germany was not on board the plane. Nor was his luggage. He asked if you had any idea where your friend might be heading, and if so, that you tell me, so I may forward it along.”

Jonathan looked at Danni as all his muscles tensed. “My God,” he said. “It can’t be.”