to the miniature galley. 'I'm afraid the food is fixed and standard,' continued the young man from OHIO. 'It's in line with the Pentagon cut-backs… and certain lobbyists from the meat and produce industries. Filet mignon with asparagus hollandaise and boiled potatoes.'
'Some cut-backs.'
'Some lobbyists,' added Evan's seat companion, grinning. 'Then there's a dessert of baked Alaska.'
'What?'
'You can't overlook the dairy boys.' The drinks arrived; the steward returned to a bulkhead phone where a white light flashed, and the aide held up his glass. 'Your health.'
'Yours, too. Do you have a name?'
'Pick one.'
'That's succinct. Will you settle for Joe?'
'Joe, it is. Nice to meet you, sir.'
'Since you obviously know who I am, you have the advantage. You can use my name.'
'Not on this flight.'
'Then who am I?'
'For the record, you're a cryptanalyst named Axelrod who's being flown to the embassy in Jiddah, Saudi Arabia. The name doesn't mean much; it's basically for the pilot's logs. If anyone wants your attention, he'll just say “sir”. Names are sort of off limits on these trips.'
'Dr Axelrod? The corporal's intrusion made the State Department's aide blanch.
'Doctor?' replied Evan, mildly astonished, looking at 'Joe'.
'Obviously you're a PhD,' said the aide under his breath.
'That's nice,' whispered Kendrick, raising his eyes to the steward. 'Yes?'
'The pilot would like to speak with you, sir. If you'll follow me to the flight deck, please?'
'Certainly,' agreed Evan, pushing up the tray table while handing 'Joe' his drink. 'At least you were right about one thing, junior,' he mumbled to the State Department man. 'He said “sir”.'
'And I don't like it,' rejoined 'Joe', quietly, intensely. 'All communications involving you are to be funnelled through me.'
'You want to make a scene?'
'Screw it. It's an ego trip. He wants to get close to the special cargo.'
'The what?
'Forget it, Dr Axelrod. Just remember, there are to be no decisions without my approval.'
'You're a tough kid.'
'The toughest, Congress—Dr Axelrod. Also, I'm not “junior”. Not where you're concerned.'
'Shall I convey your feelings to the pilot?'
'You can tell him I'll cut both his wings and his balls off if he pulls this again.'
'Since I was the last on board, I didn't meet him, but I gather he's a brigadier general.'
'He's brigadier-bullshit to me.'
'Good Lord,' said Kendrick, chuckling. 'Inter-service rivalry at forty thousand feet. I'm not sure I approve of that.'
'Sir?' The Air Force steward was anxious.
'Coming, Corporal.'
The compact flight deck of the F-106 Delta glowed with a profusion of tiny green and red lights, dials and numbers everywhere. The pilot and co-pilot were strapped in front, the navigator on the right, a cushioned earphone clipped to his left ear, his eyes on a gridded computer screen. Evan had to bend down to advance the several feet he could manage in the small enclosure.
