The Hadrian Memorandum

57

CESSNA 340, JUST NORTH OF MADRID. AIRSPEED 190.

ALTITUDE, 25,600 FEET. 3:30 A.M.

Anne was asleep or at least pretending to be, curled up in her seat and breathing easily, her seat belt loose over her waist. Marten sat next to her, pretending nothing. He was wide-awake and wired, every bit of him considering what to do about whoever might be following them, and then about Anne herself. No matter what she’d so vociferously said about telling him the truth-about wanting to stop the war, the importance of her father’s memory, even her promise to meet with Joe Ryder once they had the photos-the rest of it was just too iffy: the CIA connections; Erlanger and whoever else had helped them in Berlin; the sudden appearance of the former CIA jungle fighter, Patrice; the hidden transmitter on the plane; her own past as an Agency operative. Who knew what she really believed or where her true loyalties were? Too much was at stake to keep trusting her.

Meaning that it was best to do what he’d threatened before, get rid of her and go off on his own. Have Brigitte land in Málaga as planned. Go into the terminal with Anne, tell her he needed to use the men’s toilet facilities, and then simply disappear, find a way to get the two-hundred-odd miles to Praia da Rocha any way he could. Bus, train, even hitchhike. The 1985 Schengen Agreement had ended border checkpoints in most of continental Europe. The official Berlin police photograph of him had been fuzzy at best, and by now he had a day and a half’s growth of beard. All of which would help in the event his picture was still in the media, or if the Spanish and Portuguese police were on alert. All in all, it might work very well.

And he would have done it. Except for one thing; the Erlanger question.

The thing Anne had refused to reveal about his warning that had made her more intense, troubled, and determined than he’d seen her since they’d met. Whatever it was was a powerful intangible, one he was certain involved some larger truth about Striker and Hadrian and their operation in Equatorial Guinea. Because of it he was extremely hesitant to abandon her; if he did, something of great consequence might slip through his fingers. At least that was what he thought now and chose to believe. What he would do was revert to his original plan, land at Faro and have Anne rent a car, then together make the short drive to Praia da Rocha. Of course, that strategy raised other potential problems, especially if the airports were, as he’d considered, on alert and the authorities were looking not only for him but for her as well. It also made the question of what to do about whoever was tailing them critical.

He thought a moment longer, then unbuckled his seat belt and slid into the empty copilot’s seat next to Brigitte.

“Are we on time and on course?”

“Yes, sir. I estimate we’ll have wheels down in Málaga at a few minutes past five.”

“What’s the weather?”

“Overcast with a low cloud deck.”

“How thick is it?”

“Nine hundred feet, sir.”

“Will it affect our landing?”

“The deck is solid, but no, sir, no problem with the landing.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

3:57 A.M.