The Kobra Manifesto

Chapter Sixteen: BOEING

'I told you,' I said. 'It makes sense.'

He didn't answer.

I watched the reflections in his sunglasses.

He kept very still.

Sunglasses are effective in two ways: they disguise the face and they conceal the thoughts in the eyes of the wearer, and in a poker-type situation that can offer a critical advantage.

I couldn't see what he was thinking.

'Find out,' he said at last, 'where we are now.'

He was talking to Shadia, not to me.

She turned away and I watched her reflected back view in his sunglasses as she went forward to the flight deck.

We were still over the ocean: the glare still lit the mouldings above the windows. I hadn't been told anything but I assumed Zade would try for Washington: Flight 378 was originally scheduled for Miami so it would carry enough excess fuel.

Shadia came back.

'We're a few minutes north-east of Miami.'

'All right,' Zade said.

She looked into my face for a moment before she turned away and went aft to where Pat Burdick was lying on a tilted seat. Sometimes during the flight from Belem I'd found Shadia staring at me from a little distance, as if she still wasn't sure what had happened. I think if I'd suddenly sprung up with a fiendish cry she would have passed straight out. I don't use a gun so my experience with them is academic but I suppose when you pump six killing shots into someone's body it must do something to you as well: there must be a kind of rapport between you, in the giving and receiving of so much hate. For several hours Shadia had believed she'd lulled me and when she'd seen me standing there on the flight steps a: Belem it must have been psychically traumatizing.

'Do you think he would take your advice?' Zade asked me.

He meant Burdick.

'Yes, he would.'

We spoke in Polish most of the time, but he tried out some weird English phrases now and then to impress me, though I hadn't actually heard them used before. We sat facing each other: he was on the inside seat of the front row in the first-class section and I was on the steward's jump-seat I'd been searched and everything and they'd calmed down during the flight, though Zade and Sassine were still rather nervy and I had to watch what I said or they'd begin firing questions at me and I didn't want to tell them some of the answers.

Kuznetski was the quietest: his dossier had mentioned something about scientific training in Prague University and he was probably some type of bent boffin. He'd only spoken twice during the flight out of Belem and now he was sitting alone, preoccupied.

Sassine was across the aisle from us, reeking the place out with pot Zade had told him to shut up a few minutes ago and Sassine had come off his high in a swallow dive. I'd noticed on other occasions that when Zade said anything, people really listened.

'Then you can advise him not to make any trouble for me,' he said, watching me with his sunglasses.

'I don't think he wants to do that' I leaned forward. 'He wants his daughter back with him, and I'm ready to advise him to do precisely what you say. From my personal observation that is the only way he can save her.'

I tried to sound like a smooth Civil Servant, using that bastard Loman for a model, because the showdown might involve a modicum of close combat and I didn't want these people to think I was any good at it. Similarly I was trying to persuade him that me Defence Secretary was also a pushover because a determining factor in any confrontation with an adversary is the degree by which you can get his guard down in the preliminary stages.

'You have had contact with Burdick?.'

'Yes,' I said.

I hadn't.

'So you know what we are demanding from him.'

'Yes.'

I didn't.

He looked away from my face at last, turning his dark head to the window. I could now see part of his left eye, but couldn't judge the expression at this angle: he was just staring into the distant sky.

'We know that Israel has the bomb, and we know that the United Arab Republic is building one. That is the key factor in the imminent Israel-Egypt accord, already outlined by Kissinger.'

I looked beyond him to the pallid face of the Burdick girl.

Dr Costa was sitting alongside her: he was the short man who'd been pushing his way through the crowd at Belem: the "brave humanitarian". I hadn't known, until now, how slight her chances were.

A group like Kobra wouldn't come together from the ends of the earth to acquire a single nuclear bomb. They'd want more than that: fifty or a hundred of them.

'Yasser Arafat published his manifesto in Al Thawra, two months ago, in Beirut.' His head swung back. 'Did you read it?'

'I read the Newsweek interview.'

'Good. That is his manifesto, and it is my manifesto. We may not be able to prevent the proposed Israel-Egypt accord, but we can prevent some of its consequences. Have you met Yasser Arafat?'

'No.'

'If you met him, you would follow him. I can do nothing for Poland, but I can do something for Palestine. You understand?'

'Of course.'

He was on a liberation kick and he was sincere about it and therefore dangerous: the political terrorist is the man who could create new and better worlds if he could express his dreams with intelligence; having none, he can only express his frustration.

I leaned forward again, wanting to know things.

'But you said that the bomb is the key factor. Do you mean — '

'The bomb is always the key factor. In the ultimate show of strength, that is the form of strength that is shown. Surely you know that.'

He looked up as someone came off the flight deck: I heard the sliding door hitting the stops. I turned my head and saw Ventura. They'd been taking it in shifts to mount guard on the flight deck and Ventura had been there for the last twenty minutes. He was a narrow-chested man with a bald head and slow wet eyes: he looked like a disinterested assistant in men's haberdashery but he had killed Hunter in Geneva and he would kill me when the showdown came unless I could preempt him.

'I need you up front,' he said.

Zade moved quickly and I felt the power in him as he swung past me. The sliding door banged shut behind them and I changed my seat so as to face forward. Sassine went nervously for his gun but I didn't take any notice because he was as high as a kite and his reactions were notably slow: I could 'have got his gun and shot Zade or Ventura or possibly both as they came back from the flight deck but Kuznetski and Ramirez were behind me now and so was Shadia.

Sassine seemed ashamed of his show of nerves and crossed his legs and pinched out his reefer and put it in a tin box marked «Aspirin» in Czechoslovakian and began talking rapidly about the paradoxes of political history and the undercurrents of popular thought and their influence on the world revolutionary scene in terms of pseudo-neo-Fascism and its abortive attempts to achieve liberation for the elite. One of the port engines cut out and came back on power while he was talking but he didn't notice it.

Behind him, farther along the aisle, Ramirez was watching me with one hand on a sub-machine-gun, and I saw him glance to the window. Sassine went on talking and I assessed his potential for creating difficulties: I thought Zade would probably have trouble controlling him when it came to the crunch. He was a thin, hollow-eyed man in his twenties, haunted by things he had done or perhaps by things that had been done to him, and I believed he would put a bullet into Pat Burdick's head and my own as well if he thought it would be politically correct.

The engine cut twice more, coming back each time, and five minutes later Zade and Ventura came back from the flight deck and stood talking in urgent whispers in the catering area forward of the passenger section. I couldn't hear anything they said. Sassine was recommending the advantages of what he called 'socialistically-oriented referenda' as a means of 'reaching the proletariat' without disturbing the 'mass-media syndrome' when the port engine cut out and stayed out. The background noise was diminished by one quarter and was noticeable even to Sassine.

Zade and Ventura had stopped talking and were moving forward again when the flight deck door banged back and the pilot stood there, a tall mahogany-faced type with four gold rings on his sleeve and his cap on the back of his head. He spoke directly to Zade.

'Okay, you better get this. I'm the captain of this ship as long as she's in the air and I want to tell you something in case you didn't happen to think of it for yourself. We have one engine out and it can happen again so I'm going to take her into the first place that can give me clearance, and if you don't like it you can shoot me right between the eyes and you've got a hundred and thirty thousand pounds of junk going through the air at thirty thousand feet and it's doing five hundred knots and she's all your baby, know what I mean? You think that guy in there can take her down? He's not a pilot, he's a navigator and he couldn't land a goddam bicycle. I realize you've got the biggest ass in the ball-park so I thought I better just tell you the score.'

He turned and went back to the flight deck and slid the door shut with a bang.

The Boeing was in a wide turn and drifting lower.

My watch read 12:31 and I altered it to 10:31 provisionally: I didn't know which airport we were going into but it wouldn't be far from the time zone for Miami because we'd overflown it.

Zade and Ventura were on the flight deck and the door was open but I couldn't hear any voices. Kuznetski had come forward to ask Sassine what was happening, and Ramirez was squatting on a front-row seat in the coach class section with a sub-machine-gun across his knees and the other on the seat alongside. When Sassine came back to talk to him I moved down me aisle to where Dr Costa was looking after the girl.

Shadia was with them and I couldn't say everything I needed to say but the main thing was to keep Pat Burdick's morale up in case she had to look after herself while I was busy.

'How are you feeling, Pat?'

'I'm okay.'

She was lying back on the tilted seat looking up at me with dulled eyes, but managed to smile.

'You know I'm here to look after you, for your father?'

'I didn't know.'

Her eyes showed a flicker of interest now.

'I've talked a lot to these people, and they've told me that whatever happens they've no intention of harming you. We're going to reach a working agreement with your father, some time today, and then you'll be free to go home.'

She went on looking up at me, frowning a little against the reflected light on the ceiling.

'Are you just kidding me along?'

'No, I'm not. You don't need any false reassurance — you're too tough for that.'

Dr Costa took the pad off her forehead and dipped it into the bucket of ice and squeezed it out and put it back.

'I don't feel very tough. I feel really spaced out, over all this. Do you know what they want from my Dad?'

'Yes.' Because Shadia was listening. 'And it's nothing he's not ready to give them, in exchange for you.'

I pressed her 'hand and straightened up and looked at Costa and he came back along the aisle to talk to me.

'How bad is she?' I asked him.

Shadia hadn't followed us. I think she didn't like to come too close to me, possibly because she was superstitious: with part of her mind she saw me as someone who'd come back from the dead.

'She needs to be in a hospital,' Costa said.

He was short and rumpled with soulful brown eyes that spoke of devotion to a dozen gods, whichever could get his attention first. He smelt faintly of herbs.

'What's your diagnosis?'

He shrugged.

'It could be blackwater fever, or it could be yellow fever; the symptoms are much the same in the early stages.' He looked up at me dolefully. 'Do these people mean what they say?'

'It depends what they say.'

He looked along the aisle.

'Poor child. They say they will show humanity. Where will they find humanity?'

I turned round a little so that I had my back to Shadia:, this wasn't an intelligence cell but she might have had training in lip-reading somewhere along the line.

'Dr Costa, have you given any sedation?'

'Sedation? Oh no, she-'

'Don't give her any. If you can give her stimulants without doing any harm, you should do that.' He broke in but I stopped him. 'I might not have long to talk. I don't know what's going to happen but I want to get the girl out alive if it's possible. She might have to run, or look after herself in an emergency. If I can give you any warning, I'll do that.' I moved again, walking back with him along the aisle. 'I'm quite sure we can all reach a peaceful agreement as soon as contact is made with the other party.'

'But of course.'

The aircraft was still settling and when I looked through the windows I could see a control tower and the roofs of buildings and then a whole row of military jets with US Air Force markings: the pilot had obviously put the fear of Christ into Zade and persuaded him there was an emergency and this was the nearest airport that could take us. I suppose he thought the best place to land a bunch of terrorists was at an Air Force base and that was a logical thought: the moment the Boeing touched down it'd be surrounded by enough fire power to blow an aircraft-carrier out of the sea. But I wasn't too happy because the thing we'd all have to avoid was a shoot-out because in a shoot-out there wouldn't be many survivors.

10:34.

Timing was now important. I didn't know if Ferris could do anything for us at this stage: there might be a short-wave transmitter at the airbase he could use for talking to London but I didn't know if London could do anything for us either. This was the end-phase and in the end-phase of a typical penetration job it's usually the executive hi the field who has to complete the mission without anyone's help: it's in the nature of the operation because he goes in alone and he's got to get out alone for the simple reason that that is what he's for.

Ferris would be 'here in two hours: I'd worked with him before and I knew his style. The minute we'd stopped talking on the phone when I'd called him from Belem he would have got on to the Secretary of Defence direct and asked for a pick-up in Manaus, and Burdick was capable of ordering a unmarked military aircraft to go and get him. This Boeing had been on the plot tables ever since it had taken off and Burdick would know it was now landing.

He would be here sooner than Ferris.

We were reversing thrust and I leaned against the bulkhead between the coach and first-class sections until the deceleration eased off; then I went forward and spoke to Kuznetski.

Zade had said that the bomb was the key to international power politics and of course he was right but he was here for more than one of the bloody things and they couldn't expect to get away with a shipment.

'I hear you studied at Prague,' I said to Kuznetski.

He turned to look at me. He was holding himself hi a lot, and only his eyes showed his nerves; he didn't look a typical terrorist, if there is such an animal: he'd set up the Simplon Tunnel operation and shot his way out of gaol and all that sort of thing but he didn't look like a dedicated revolutionary; he looked as if he liked the technicalities of violence as distinct from its political excuses.

'Yes,' he said. 'I was in Prague.'

'In '69?'

He watched me quietly with his nerves in his eyes.

'No.'

'I was there in '70, on one of those exchange things. You've got a doctorate in physics, haven't you?'

His shoulder hit the edge of the bulkhead as the Boeing swung off the runway and gunned up a little, but he didn't take his eyes from my face.

'No. I have a degree.'

'What were you doing?'

'When?'

'In Prague.'

He hesitated, wondering whether to answer.

I heard voices from the flight deck now, and radio static.

'I did some revision techniques on deuterium moderators,' Kuznetski said. 'I was with Dr Schwarz.'

He seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer.

'Are you going after your doctorate?'

Again he waited, watching me.

'Perhaps.'

We could hear the pilot clearly now.

'-and if you think you're going to get me to take this goddam bird up again on three engines you're crazy!'

I now noticed that Kuznetski was slowly going pale.

'Satynovich,' he murmured, 'is a wild man. He makes me afraid.'

'You should choose your friends more carefully,' I said, and went back along the aisle, hitting a seat-squab as the Boeing swung again and slowed under the brakes.

Then we stopped, and the long wait began, as it had to, This was at 10:41.

Zade stood with one booted foot on the navigator's seat, staring through the windscreen.

In the last few minutes a nervous tic had started to jerk at the corner of his mouth. His physical control was adequate but he lacked the nerves to back it up and when he spoke mere was a tremor of rage in his voice.

He was listening now to the distorted tones from the radio.

'I repeat my offer to replace your hostage personally.'

James K. Burdick, US Secretary of Defence.

He had arrived by military helicopter ten minutes ago and was speaking direct from the control tower. When Zade replied his voice was hoarse and the sibilants were accentuated.

'The hostage remains with us.'

His psychology was sound: he knew that Burdick would do more for his daughter's safety than he'd do for his own.

Half an hour ago at 11.04 the FBI had opened up communications via the tower and two-way radio: they were headed by a small group of men standing on the tarmac below the tower and I could see the glint of the chrome aerials as they moved about. The man in charge had announced himself as Dwight Sorenson and he had opened the exchange with an immediate demand for surrender and this had provoked Zade into expressing his anxiety in the form of rage.

At 11.09 he had ordered me pilot and navigator off the aircraft, probably because he thought they might become dangerous. They had been told to confirm mat Patricia Burdick was indeed a hostage on board and that she was indeed in a worsening condition of fever.

As Zade began speaking again I heard an aircraft landing but couldn't see it because the main runway was at right angles behind the tail of the Boeing. Zade interrupted himself and ordered all air traffic to cease and got an undertaking from fee base commander that only emergency movements would be permitted.

The Defence Secretary broke in again.

The material for exchange has been sent for. In the meantime 1 would welcome a personal meeting with you. and would present myself at the aircraft, unaccompanied.

Zade considered this and said no.

Francisco Ventura was on the flight deck, watching me with his slow moist eyes, a sub-machine-gun in the crook of his arm. He had followed me here when I'd come forward soon after the Boeing had stopped. He didn't worry me too much because I believed he would only shoot on orders from Zade and I didn't intend that Zade should give such orders, because I wanted to avoid a shoot-out.

But Shadia worried me because she'd been standing in the staff area immediately aft of the flight deck for the last twenty minutes, watching me steadily. On the few occasions when I met her eyes I felt she was ready at any instant to fire the heavy-calibre automatic that he held in her slim tanned hand, and not necessarily on orders from Zade. Her expression would have been hard to describe but I would say that she felt I owed her a death and she wanted to take it.

I could hear Sassine's high rapid tones from the first-class compartment, with nobody answering. The aircraft that had just landed was rolling towards the control tower and in a moment I heard its sound die to silence. It didn't have Ferris on board: the earliest he could get here was 12:30.

At 12:21 Dr Costa came forward to ask if the air-conditioning could be turned on. Zade said nothing: he was now standing with his back against the bulkhead, watching the group of men at the base of the tower, his dark face shining with sweat. He had spent the last ten minutes releasing a little of his rage over the radio, telling Burdick that he had broken their agreement to make the exchange as soon as the Boeing had landed. Burdick had said that nobody had known where the aircraft was going to land, and that the material for exchange had been "difficult to obtain", for reasons that should be "well understood". This material, he assured Zade, was now on its way.

Ventura turned his eyes slowly to look at Dr Costa.

'We don't know how it works,' he said.

Dr Costa went away.

At 12:51 James Burdick came on the air again.

The material for exchange will shortly arrive and we need your permission for the aircraft to land.

Zade gave it.

He had been leaning 'his head against the panelling behind him for the past few minutes, but was still watching the group on the tarmac. I could see something like fifteen unmarked vehicles in the immediate area, most of them carrying antennae.

We listened to the radio exchange between the tower and the pilot of the USAF interceptor aircraft as it lowered into its approach path and touched down on the main runway with the roar of its jets slamming back in echoes from the line of hangars.

So Ferris wouldn't be here. The base commander had reserved his right to receive emergency traffic but I didn't think Zade would allow it: the effort he was making to keep control of himself was increasing his tension, paradoxically, and I didn't think it would take a lot to drive him over the edge. I was now certain that this was his first experience of running a hostage operation and he was having to do it in the presence of massive armament that could blow his entire cell to shreds if he made a mistake.

The Secretary of Defence came in again.

'We have the exchange material.'

Zade leaned away from the panelling, his face loosening slightly as he looked through the windscreen to the group below the tower. Perhaps he'd been preparing himself for difficulties, for a series of deliberate delaying actions that might take away his initiative and force him on to the defensive. I don't think he'd believed he would be so successful.

Sassine and Ramirez had come into the staff area to listen.

Burdick was speaking again.

No problem is now envisaged. You have Paul Wexford on board with you, and he has my permission to fetch the material and deliver it to you personally.

Sassine had heard the message and came on to the flight deck.

'Let me go and get it,' he said. His eyes were shining.

Zade knocked him down and I noticed how fast Sassine went for his gun: it was in his hand as he crashed to the floor. He wouldn't have used it against Zade: it was just his instinctive reaction to attack. I noted this point because when the time came to do something it'd be dangerous to underestimate anyone.

'Get the flight steps,' Zade said over the radio.

He was looking calmer: the tension had been mounting in him over the last hours and Sassine's behaviour had been getting on his nerves.

We heard the motorized trolley nearing the aircraft on the port side, bringing the steps.

'Get the girl up here,' Zade said.

Ventura moved past me.

'Wexford.' Drops of sweat fell from Zade's chin and his breathing sounded painful. 'You're alive because you offered to be the go-between. You'd better do everything right.'

On his way to the main door he stopped, listening to the faint whimpering noise from the toilet. The tap was running into the basin and I suppose Sassine had lost some teeth and was to some extent shocked back to normal cerebration. Zade moved again and swung the door open and pushed me on to the steps and for an instant I remember hoping that none of the FBI men out there was working himself up into a state of target-attraction: from the movements on the tarmac I estimated there were twenty or thirty marksmen with the main doorway of the Boeing in their sights.

'Hold her upright,' I 'heard Zade say behind me.

At the bottom of the steps I looked up and saw Pat Burdick in the doorway, supported by Dr Costa. She had a hand to her eyes because of the bright light but Zade pulled it away so that she could be recognized. Behind her was Ventura and the snout of the sub-machine-gun was pressed into her back.

I walked across the tarmac.

The main group of security people was a hundred yards from Boeing and as I neared it a big man with a two-way radio slung at toe shoulder came forward to meet me.

'Wexford?'

'Yes.'

'I'm Dwight Sorenson, heading the FBI team.'

'Good afternoon.'

Ferris was here and I was going to ask him how he'd managed it but it wasn't important: they must have flown him from Manaus into the nearest airfield from the base and used a helicopter, since they couldn't rely on Zade's allowing an emergency landing.

The man talking to Ferris was grey-faced with sleepless eyes.

'I'm James Burdick,' he said.

'Wexford, sir.'

'How is she?'

He was looking beyond me to the aircraft.

'Dr Costa would like her in a hospital as soon as it can be arranged. She's fully conscious and not under drugs.'

He looked down, then at Ferris.

What's the situation in there?' Ferris asked me.

Sorenson stood close, listening.

'I can only give you my opinion,' I said in a moment. 'I'd say they're prepared to kill their hostage out of hand, if we could show them we had the initiative.' I looked at Sorenson. 'If you kill them, you'll kill her. There are six of them in there so they can take turns to sleep.'

A voice sounded on Sorenson's radio and he listened for a second and then shut it down. 'You mean that so long as we feel obliged to supply food and water they're ready to hold out for just as long as they want?'

'For days, yes. Or weeks. Of course there's a breakoff point'

I didn't look at Burdick.

He was watching me.

That doctor hasn't indicated my daughter is in any immediate danger?'

'No. But if she's to remain in there much longer we'd have to set up what would amount to field medical facilities and in my opinion they wouldn't allow that.'

'There's no way,' the FBI man asked heavily, 'you can go back in there and drive those people out under our guns? I have fifty marksmen deployed.'

The Defence Secretary turned away slightly and I had the feeling they'd discussed this idea and couldn't agree on it.

'There'd be no point,' I said. They'd bring the girl with them and even if you picked off the six of them simultaneously without touching her, one of them at least would live long enough to shoot her at close range.'

Burdick was moving away from the group and Ferris gave me a signal and I followed both of them across the tarmac until we were out of earshot. The briefcase under the Defence Secretary's arm was a security model with four straps and a centre lock and provision for a wrist chain. This was the form I'd assumed the exchange material would take and that was why I'd talked to Kuznetski.

Burdick stopped,

'Are you willing to go back into the airplane, Mr Wexford?'

'Yes, sir.'

He held out the briefcase.

'This is the material they asked for.'

It was difficult to tell him.

'They've got a man there with a degree in atomic physics.'

His tired eyes went dead.

'Kuznetski?' Ferris asked.

'Yes.'

None of us spoke for a while.

From here I could see some of the marksmen ranged along the roof of the main building. Others were deployed in unmarked cars at regular intervals, their dark barrels poking towards the Boeing: these would fire last of all and only then if the situation became fluid and mobile. A dozen Air Force vehicles stood near the end of the main hangar and a group of uniformed officers were talking together, some of them with field glasses raised to watch the aircraft.

A Sheriff's Department helicopter stood just beyond the emergency bay with a pilot leaning against its door and an Air Force man talking to him, and I could see two DPS vehicles over by the tower, their lights still rotating.

There was very little noise. The sun was fitful behind high cloud patches and the ground wind sometimes whipped the lanyard of the flag against its pole, over the main building, making a ringing sound because the pole was metal.

Mentally I wasn't too occupied. I'd done all the thinking there was to be done and the situation hadn't changed because the Defence Secretary was carrying the material I'd expected him to be carrying: Zade had come here for nuclear arms and they were in this briefcase in the form of blueprints and equations. It was known that the PLO had the technical capability of producing medium-yield weapons and all they needed were the designs and that was what Zade had asked for and wasn't going to get: because Burdick couldn't let him have them.

They should have known that.

All Burdick had been able to do was to bring his daughter back on the soil of her homeland and close to him, and then hope for a miracle.

I didn't have one for him.

Nobody had.

'I was in signals,' Ferris told me, 'with London.' They'd taken their bloody time, I thought, finding out about Kuznetski. Not that it mattered; a man like Zade would know his operation depended on the expert evaluation of the material for exchange, and if he hadn't brought Kuznetski he'd have brought someone else.

'So what does London say?'

Ferris looked at his feet 'It's over to you.'

I was listening carefully. The final directive Ferris had given me from Manaus was to go out for the Kobra cell: the life of Patricia Burdick was an incidental factor. So the mission had ended here. Kobra had to be eliminated and that could now be done, as soon as someone gave the signal. It didn't have to be me. It would have, finally and perhaps after days of bitter and useless negotiation, to be James Burdick. He would be given the exclusive right, presumably, of condemning his daughter to death.

I glanced at him. For the moment he seemed to have forgotten us: he was just looking at the ground, his tired eyes narrowed, the wind moving a lock of his greying hair. I didn't think he had any constructive thoughts in his mind: he'd lived with this thing for days on end, and nights on end, and he must have considered every possible solution, and drawn blank.

I looked away from him to Ferris.

'London says I've got discretion?'

'Yes.'

'Total?'

'Yes.'

I turned back to Burdick.

This man Kuznetski,' I said, 'is probably quite good. How good are those designs?'

His head had 'come up and he hadn't immediately understood what was being said to him: he'd caught it about halfway.

'Oh.' He looked at the briefcase. 'Not good enough for an expert to read.' He raised his head to watch the Boeing. 'These people are terrorists, and terrorists aren't normally very intelligent. So I thought maybe they'd just-' he gave a slight shrug — 'accept this stuff without looking at it too hard. There wasn't anything else I could do, was there?'

'No,' I said.

'But we have to try. Don't we?.'

'Of course.'

He was looking at me steadily now. 'I'd like it right on the line, Mr Wexford. You've been in there with them and you know them better than we do. And you don't think there's a chance, do you?'

'No.'

He looked away.

The silence came in again.

A few ideas had occurred to me during the flight from Belem and I'd had enough time to treble-check them for feasibility and none of them had stood up, not one. The only thing left was a technical last-ditch action, with the odds so steep that I'd got it out of my mind.

But I thought about it now because there wasn't any choice.

'Ferris,' I said quietly, 'I want to talk.'

He looked up at me quickly.

'Mr Secretary,' he said, 'will you excuse us for a moment?'

'Of course.'

I walked with Ferris across the tarmac, halfway to the emergency bay. Burdick wouldn't like the proposal and I was going to leave Ferris to persuade him to give me a completely free hand.

'Look,' I said, 'if I'm going back in there I'll need something a bit more useful than that ersatz stuff in the briefcase. I want something I can argue with — something they can understand.'

He was looking towards the Boeing.

'What do you need?' he asked me.

'I need to break their nerve.'