Kingfisher

means – they're saying the glory ride is over, right? Time to come out with your hands high. Do I have it right, Miss?'

Couldn't draw away from him, couldn't detach from the hydra tentacles that kept her listening.

'You're all fucked up, Miss, if you and Felicity Anne will excuse me. Out in the punt and without a paddle. Listen to me now: I couldn't give a damn what you've done back home, what you think your grievances are, if you have any. You've a nice face and you're a good- looking girl, and when you're my age you notice these things. I'd like to give you some advice, Miss.' The pistol in her hand, foolish little appendage, nowhere to put it, nowhere to hide it, felt like a man with his wife's handbag and loath to be seen carrying it, a silly awkward little machine, but which was her lifeline and her survival rope. 'My advice is this, Miss. Find out what the British are going to do with you. I'm an old man and Felicity Anne's no chicken, and no one gives a damn about us in the States – don't read a word I write, only hire me for the lecture circuit because I'm offseason and cheap – so we're not that interested in how we come out of all this. I'm telling you – and I mean it, it's in your interests – find out what they're going to do to you, and if it doesn't seem too bad, then chuck it, throw the towel in. Don't go playing the martyr because if you give them half a chance they'll chop you, and it won't be fun, it won't be glorious and you won't be around to see if anyone weeps over your box. That's what I want to say to you, Miss, and it's meant kindly, and while you're asking them see if you can talk the Brits into sending some food up. People are hungry in here.'

Sent her off on his errand. Rebecca checked none of the other passengers to see if their straps were fastened, just buffeted the length of the plane, tumbling against the armrests of seats, unaware of the impediments, needing to get where David was standing, back to her in the forward corridor and looking out through the cockpit perspex.

' Is Isaac still sleeping?'

Obvious when she saw him, slumped in front of her in the pilot seat, but she sought confirmation and reassurance. David nodded, was watching the stationary armoured cars and the soldiers who lolled beside the mountings for the heavy machine-guns. Two hundred yards of open ground separating her from the men the American had said would kill her.

'We have to talk to them, David, you and I. We have to know whether it is necessary, what Isaac wants. Not when he is awake, but now that he sleeps.'

Maddening, driving her to fury, David not reacting. 'We can speak to them again when Isaac is woken. We can wait till then.'

Only served to drive her forward, egg her on deeper into the swamp she had set herself to cross. 'We have to know what will happen to us, what they would do to us.'

'Time enough when Isaac is with us.'

'Can't you see it, David, that you have abrogated to him? There are three of us. He alone does not have the monopoly of negotiation. If we are together then any of us can talk…'

'But not behind his back, not when he is sleeping.' But doubt showed on his high line-woven forehead, furrowed with indecision as he hissed his replies, • calculated not to disturb the sleep of their colleague.

'Ask them, David. Ask them what they would do with us.'

He wavered, hesitated, then reached forward, weight on the balls of his feet, and lifted the headset from the back of the pilot's seat. He drew it back into the corridor till the cable attachment was bouncing and taut. Rebecca could only hear the questions that David asked.

'Kingfisher. Kingfisher. Do you hear us? The one called Charlie, do you hear us?'

Rebecca listening to David, a draining, sweat-soaked relief overwhelming her. Contact with the outside world, a lifting of the horizon, a breaching of the capsule wall.

'It is David who is here… Isaac is sleeping… there are questions that we have for you.' Pause and silence, both watching Isaac, furtive and anxious lest he should open his eyes.

'The question is this. If we were to surrender what would you do to us? What would happen to us?'

The words had been said, the Judas sign was fashioned, their faces turned away from each other, the shame not shared.

Charlie had stiffened, pencil alert from the first moment that the call sign had been given.

Conversation in the control tower had been broken by the staccato identification over the loudspeaker.

They say Isaac's sleeping… they want clarification on some points.' Intent, and peering down at his papers. Then the mirthless smile. 'They want to know what happens to them if they surrender.' Charlie pushed the microphone button to off position. 'What do you want me to say?'

The Home Secretary was four paces behind the console, summoned late from the bed in which he had slept. Had had time to wash himself and run a cursory wet shave, but showed no benefit from it. Was experienced enough to know that this was the first crisis of morale, and was fretful lest his instructions to Charlie should affect it. 'First repeat the conditions of surrender.' He moved back, the pilot fish formation of aides at his shoulder.

Charlie addressed the microphone. 'The British government are not prepared to enter into negotiations over surrender. That has been made clear to you earlier. The situation remains the same – you must first release all the passengers, and when that is completed you must leave the plane disarmed and with your hands on your heads. I repeat the guarantee that was given to you earlier. You will not be harmed by the British security forces.'

Kids out after dark, he thought, babes in the bloody woods. Three frightened brats – two, anyway – out of their league and wanting to end it all, get back on dry land. He swung round in his chair and said to the policy huddle, They say they know the terms of surrender. They want to know what happens to them after that.'

Clitheroe away from the main group, at the Home Secre tary's shoulder, a moment of whispered talk, nodded acquiescence from the politician, and he was hurrying to Charlie's side. 'Tell them thait you want to speak to them direct… that it's difficult over the radio. More you can say if you come to the plane. Tell them it's a very sensitive matter, for many people in the tower, how much better it will be when you talk at the plane, face-to-face stuff.'

Getting like the old days, Charlie. Calling for volunteers. He repeated the message in Russian.

Not that they'll buy that one, never in a month of Sundays. First basic of the hijacker's bible.

Book One, Chapter One, Verse One: never let the opposition near you; keep them at arm's length.

'Keep the pressure on them,' snapped Clitheroe. 'Tell them you're going to come out of the control tower and that you'll be walking to the plane. They'll see you all the way. They'll know there's no trick. But I want to get you to them, face to face, so we can start the confidence phase.'

Seemed excited at the prospect. And too bloody right he should be. Wasn't his arse that was going on show. 'See it this way, they've called us up because they're anxious, they want to do some talking. The whole thing is about this answer, this question, the crucial one to them. They want out, and they have to trust somebody, follow someone's guidance. It has to be you, because of the language, Charlie. They won't hurt you, not unless you take them bad news, and you're not going to do that.'

Broke off, allowed Charlie to talk again to the aircraft. 'Don't discuss it with them, don't debate. Just say you're coming.' Charlie speaking, trying to sound calm, organized, casual, efficient, and half the room chuntering in his right ear. Finished, thwacked the transmission button away from him.

'So, what do you want me to tell them when I get there? What's the answer?'

'There is no answer,' Clitheroe said. 'Vague and general, that's how you play it. You're a little man, you don't have that sort of authority. You're not going out there to talk to them, you're going to show yourself, that's all. Most likely you'll be the first Englishman they've ever spoken to.

You'll show them that you don't represent a threat, that they'll have nothing to fear from you.'

'But if they want an answer?' Fair enough for these bas tards, sitting behind the glass with binoculars. ' If they want the answer, what do I say then?'

'Cover it over, Mr Webster,' the Home Secretary, authoritative, on home territory, used to ploughing through the arguments of committee. 'You've heard the news bulletins, and you know what the Russians are saying. Gives you an idea what's being said in London. Not possible for you to be in any way specific but your own mind can be at rest. Soviets say there's no question of the death penalty for these people, and anyway I wouldn't put too much store by the diplomatic optimism' of Moscow at this stage. More likely these people will spend a period in British prisons if no more damage is done.'

Charlie turned to face him, but was denied the politician's features-had walked away, towards the f a r windows, meandering apparently without purpose. The Home Secretary knew his limitations.

'You'll need some equipment,' chimed the Assistant Chief Constable. Charlie, with a meekness that was not