killed to get them.
He glanced at his watch. The next flight to South Africa took off in
just under four hours. Borodin chuckled. The big German.Kripo
detective had not arrived from Berlin yet, but he would, with
predictable German punctuality. And then he would lead Yuri Borodin to
the Spandau papers like an elephant leading a lion to water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
n rsgo ll.-35 A.m. El Al Flight 331: Zoirea Al co The deadliest woman in
the world stepped out of the forward lavatory of the 747
looking like a grandmother on holiday, a role she assumed with ease.
Swallow's stylish outfit reflected modest wealth; her hair shone with
the almost-blue tint unique to elderly ladies still courting their
vanity; and she smelled of body powder and a very expensive vintage
perfume-an alluring concoction called Claire de Lune. She carefully
made her way up the first-class aisle, then, just as she passed Jonas
Stern, she stumbled. She cried out in Yiddish-a nice touch-and landed
directly beside Stern's seat. Gadi Abrams, who'd been sitting in the
seat across the aisle, leaped up and helped her to her feet.
'Thank you, young man,' she said weakly, her face flushed with
embarrassment. 'I'm afraid I'm not used to airplanes.'
Stern glanced up. Had he met the woman's eyes, he might have seen the
danger; he might even have recognized her by the dark fire that burned
there. But he might not have. The road that had led Swallow to this
airplane was a long and tortuous one. In any case, he did not meet her
eyes. He glanced over at Professor Natterman, . who slept noisily
beside him, then went back to reading his El Al magazine.
'This flight seems as though it will never end,' SwaHow complained.
4.ltls a long one,' Gadi agreed.
'How much longer, do you think?'
'About five hours.'
Swallow sighed. 'It's worth it in spite of everything. My
granddaughter just turned eighteen months old, and I've yi to see her.'
'She lives in JohannesburgT' Gadi inquired politely.
'No, Pietersburg. It's far to the north, I think.'
Gadi nodded. 'Are you all right now?'
'Yes, but I'd better sit down. Thank you again.'
Swallow slowly made her way to her seat, one of three near the spiral
staircase leading up to the 747's cocktail lounge. After situating a
small pillow behind her head, she pulled a romance novel from her
handbag. Glancing up for a moment, she caught Gadi staring.
The Israelis were professionals-she had to admit that. Though Jonas
Stern sat only four rows behind her, his three young escorts had
surrounded him in a protective triangle. And with Stern in an aisle
seat, no one meaning harm to his slumbering companion could get to him
without going through all four Israelis first-an impossible task. Stern
himself, however, was a different matter. Swallow could have taken him
as she passed only moments ago.
In a way she had. While Gadi helped her up, she had pressed an
adhesive-barked microtransmitter against the underside of Stern's seat.
Everything the Israelis said during the remainder of the flight would be
pick@d up by a tiny receiver in the flesh-toned hearing aid she wore in
her right ear. The unit whistled for a few seconds as she dialed in the
frequency, but she could clearly hear Professor Natterman snoring in his
seat by the window.
'This is Captain Lev Ronen,' announced a disembodied voice with the
accent of a Sabra, or native-born Israeli. 'As a point of interest, we
are now crossing the equator. And about four hundred miles to our left
is Lake Victoria, Africa's largest lake and the source of the Nile. I'm
sure our first-time travelers will be glad to know that as we cross into
the southern hemisphere, the seasons are reversed. That means we're
flying into summer. We should arrive in Johannesburg on schedule at
5:40 Pm. South African time, and we hope everyone is having a pleasant
flight.'
Gadi Abrams leaned across the aisle toward Stern. 'Also about four
hundred miles to our left,' he said, mocking the if, lo rth captain's o
icious tone, ,is Entebbe, site of the July u , 1976, rescue of-over a
hundred Israelis from the hands of international terrorists.' His tone
changed to indignation.
'You'd think they'd mention it, at least. We are on El Al, for God's
sake.'
Stern gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Old news, Gadi.
Besides, you never know who's flying El Al. We don't want to offend the
paying customers.'
Four rows ahead, Swallow smiled with satisfaction. The conversation had
come in loud and clear over her receiver.
'I'm surprised at the number of passengers,' Gadi remarked.
'Since you arranged the flight privately, I didn't expect any.'
Stern chuckled softly. 'I arranged this flight thirty hours ago.
General Avigur said he would get me to South Africa.
He didn't say he @ouldn't tly to defray the cost any way he could.'
'I don't like it.'
'Two passengers are always air marshals,' Stern reminded him.
'Leave the security to them for once and go to sleep. It might be your
only chance for a while.'
'You're not sleeping.'
Stern reclined his plush seat and closed his eyes. 'Good night.'
Gadi pulled a wry face and glanced around the First Class cabin.
The blue-haired grandmother was the only other passenger up here.
That meant the air marshals had to be in Tourist. He considered walking
the length of the plane once more to try to pick them out, but decided
against it. Stern was right: he needed rest. The old woman was
certainly no threat. Reclining his seat, Gadi closed his eyes and, like
professional soldiers everywhere, dropped off to sleep only moments
after making the decision to do so. His last mental picture was of
himself helping the old grandmother to her feet, his good deed for the
day.
As the 'grandmother' pretended to concentrate on the novel in her lap, a
new voice mumbled in her receiver. Professor Natterman had awakened.
'What time is it?' he asked groggily.
