and the white flesh, then the two sections had been glued together again just as neatly. The joint was only apparent after close inspection.
The girl inserted a small metal instrument into the joint and twisted it sharply, and with a soft click the two sections fell apart like an Easter egg.
In the nests formed by the double husk of the shells, padded with strips of plastic foam, were two smooth, grey, egg-like objects each the size of a baseball.
They were grenades of East German manufacture, with the Warsaw Pact command designation. The outer layer of each grenade was of armoured plastic, of the type used in land mines to prevent discovery by electronic metal detectors. The yellow stripe around each grenade indicated that it was not a fragmentation type, but was designed for high impact concussion.
The blonde girl took a grenade in her left hand, unlatched her lap belt and slipped quietly from her seat.
The other passengers paid her only passing interest as she ducked through the curtains into the galley area. However, the purser and the two stewardesses, still strapped into their fold-down seats, looked up sharply as she entered the service area.
I’m sorry, madam, but I must ask you to return to your seat until the captain extinguishes the seat-belt lights.” The blonde girl held up her left hand and showed him the shiny grey egg.
This is a special grenade, designed for killing the occupants of a battle tank,” she said quietly. “It could blow the fuselage of this aircraft open like a paper bag or kill by concussion any human being within fifty yards.” She watched their faces, saw the fear bloom like an evil flower.
“It is fused to explode three seconds after it leaves my hand.”
She paused again, and her eyes glittered with excitement and her breath was quick and shallow.
“You.” she selected the purser, take me to the flight deck; you others stay where you are. Do nothing, say nothing.” When she ducked into the tiny cockpit, hardly large enough to contain the members of the flight crew and its massed banks of instruments and electronic equipment, all three men turned to look back at her in mild surprise and she lifted her hand and showed them what she carried.
They understood instantly.
“I am taking command of this aircraft,” she said, and then, to the flight engineer, “Switch off all communications equipment.” The engineer glanced quickly at his captain, and when he nodded curtly, began obediently to shut down his radios the very high frequency sets, then the high frequency. the ultra high frequency And the satellite relay,” the girl commanded. He glanced up at her, surprised by her knowledge.
“And don’t touch the bug.” He blinked at that. No body, but nobody outside the company should have known about the special relay which, when activated by the button beside his right knee, would instantly alert Heathrow Control to an emergency and allow them to monitor any conversation on the flight deck. He lifted his hand away.
“Remove the fuse to the bug circuit.” She indicated the correct box above his head, and he glanced at the captain again, but her voice stung like the tail of a scorpion: “Do what I tell you.” Carefully he removed the fuse and she relaxed slightly.
“Read your departure clearance,” she instructed.
“We are cleared to radar departure on track for Nairobi and an unrestricted climb to cruise altitude of thirty- nine thousand feet.”
“When is your next “operations normal” due?” Operations normal was the routine report to Nairobi to assure them that the flight was proceeding as planned.
“In eleven minutes and thirty-five seconds. “The engineer was a young, darkhaired, rather handsome man with a deep forehead, pale skin and the quick, efficient manner instilled by his training.
The girl turned to the captain of the Boeing and their gazes locked as they measured each other. The captain’s hair was more grey than black and cropped close to his big rounded skull. He was bull-necked, and had the beefy, ruddy face of a farmer or of a butcher but his eyes were steady and his manner calm and unshakeable. He was a man to watch, the girl recognized instantly.
“I want you to believe that I am committed entirely to this operation,” she said, “and that I would welcome the opportunity to sacrifice my life to my cause.” Her dark blue eyes held his without fear, and she read the first growth of respect in him. That was good,
all part of her careful calculations.
“I believe that,” said the Pilot, and nodded once.
“Your duty is to the four hundred and seventeen lives aboard this aircraft,” she went on. He did not have to reply.
They will be safe, just as long as you follow my commands implicitly. That I promise you.”
“Very well.”
“Here is our new destination.” She handed him a small white typewritten card. “I want a new course with forecast winds, and a time of arrival. Your turn onto the new heading to commence immediately after your next “operations normal” report in-” She glanced back at the engineer for the time.
“Nine minutes fifty-eight seconds, “he said promptly.
“ and I want your turn to the new heading to be very gentle,
very balanced. We don’t want any of the passengers to spill their champagne do we?” In the few minutes that she had been on the flight deck she had already established a bizarre rapport with the captain; it was a blend of reluctant respect and overt hostility and of sexual awareness. She had dressed deliberately to reveal her body, and in her excitement her nipples had hardened and darkened, pushing out through the thin cotton shirt with its suggestive legend, and the musky woman’s smell of her body again intensified by her excitement filled the confined cockpit.
Nobody spoke again for many minutes, then the flight engineer broke the silence.
Thirty seconds to “operations normal”.”
“All right, switch on the
FIF and make the report.”
“Nairobi Approach this is Speedbird Zero
Seven Zero.”
“Go ahead Speedbird Zero Seven Zero.”
“Operations normal, “said the engineer into his headset.
“Roger, Zero Seven Zero. Report again in forty minutes.”
“Zero
Seven Zero.” The blonde girl sighed with relief. “All right, shut down the set.” Then to the captain, “Disengage the flight director and make the turn to the new heading by hand; let’s see how gentle you can be.”.
The turn was a beautiful exhibition of flying, two minutes to make a change of 76” of heading, the needles of the turn and-balance indicator never deviating a hair’s breadth, and when it was completed,
the girl smiled for the first time.
It was a gorgeous sunny flash of very white teeth.
“Good,” she said, smiling directly into the captain’s face.
“What is your name?”
“Cyril,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation.
“You can call me Ingrid,“she invited.
There was no set routine to the days in this new command of Peter Stride’s, except the obligatory . . lkhour on the range with pistol and automatic weapons. No member of Thor Command not even the technicians were spared daily range practice.
The rest of Peter’s day had been filled with unrelenting activity, beginning with a briefing on the new electronic communications equipment that had just been installed in qK1, V his command aircraft. This had taken half the morning, and he had been only just in time to join his striker force in the main cabin of the Hercules transport for the day’s exercise.
Peter jumped with the first stick of ten men. They jumped from five hundred feet, the parachutes seeming to snap open only seconds before they hit the ground. How
4 ever, the crosswind had been strong enough to spread them out a little even from that height. The first
