and that I hunted them with my brain, not with my gun. Ariel was still cradled in my arms. I wanted it to last, but we saw the glittering lights of the airport approaching.
“Which airline?” asked Sean.
“I don't know yet; let's go to the main departure area. I want to take the first flight out, preferably to Germany, but any other major European city will do.”
“I'll come with you into the terminal,” said Brandon, as Sean brought the car to the curb.
“Go ahead, I'll join you in a minute,” said Sean. “I'll get rid of this car first. Be careful, others could be waiting for you here.”
We entered the departure hall and I looked at the big board. It was 8:15 P.M., and the next flight out was British Airways 875 to London leaving at 9:35 P.M. No further precaution was necessary; the place was full of police in uniform and probably just as many in plainclothes. If word of a highway chase came to their attention we'd have a lot of explaining to do; we'd miss the flight, and I'd miss the break-in to Guttmacher's bank. I could not allow that. We needed to hurry; in this case, even the rigid Soviet bureaucracy might move quickly enough to stop us.
I ran to the British Airways counter, bought two one-way tickets to Munich via London's Heathrow, and checked in our luggage. I'd fight the bean counters in Washington later over the extra ticket. I held Ariel by her hand and rushed to passport control. Brandon joined Sean as they stood at a distance waiting for us to clear through the police passport inspection.
“Did you get rid of the car?” I asked Brandon.
“Yes, I dumped it. It won't lead to us; the registration is under the name of a nonexistent person. But I don't think it'll get to that. I left it in an area that car scavengers love. In one hour it'll be taken apart as if it never existed. As far as we're concerned, this entire incident never happened.”
I stepped forward with Ariel to the passport-control counter, manned by a grim-faced Soviet officer wearing green military uniform. “Are you family?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “She is my friend and she is not feeling well, and she does not speak Russian or English, so I'm here to help.”
“Very nice of you,” he said without the smile I expected. “Step back.”
Ariel remained standing before his counter and signaled me that it'd be OK.
A few minutes later, which felt like eternity, I heard the sound of stamping and Ariel walked away to the gate. I approached the counter. The officer raised his head and looked at my face, which was losing its blood supply fast. He said nothing. He flipped through my passport and looked at some papers on his counter that I could not see.
“Please step aside,” he finally said and buzzed a button. That I saw. Two men in plainclothes approached me. “Please come with us,” they said firmly.
“Why? Have I done something wrong?” I asked, hoping they couldn't hear the tremble in my voice. They did not answer. I was led to a side room. “Sit down,” said one of the men in an unexpectedly polite tone and pointed at a metal chair next to an empty desk. I sat on the chair. I saw my duffel bag in the corner of the room. I'm in deep shit, I thought.
“Can you explain that?” asked the man as he showed me my bloodstained shirt. “Airport security discovered it in your luggage.”
I needed to come up with a quick explanation or I was doomed. “Oh, that,” I said, showing them how relieved I was, and I was indeed. “There was a car accident on my way here; you must have heard about it, I was in a car just behind it. A car collided with a huge truck on the Moscow Ring Road and I rushed to help the injured. It was a terrible scene, I'm glad I could help until the ambulance came, and then I had to leave because I didn't want to miss my flight. I hope the passengers were all right; when I left they were in an awful shape.” My interrogator went to the phone in the corner and dialed a number. Moments later he returned and said something in a Russian dialect I did not understand to the other guy.
“OK,” he said, “your story about the accident checks out. It was nice of you to help a stranger. Are you a doctor?”
“No, but I was a Boy Scout and took some courses in first aid.” I'll never know how I came up with that one.
They handed me back my passport and escorted me to the gate. Ariel was at the gate when they announced last call for our flight. When she saw me her face lit up. It was all worth it, I thought.
Five minutes later we were seated in the cabin of the Boeing 747, just like a couple of tourists. “Was there a problem?” she asked.
“No, just routine bureaucracy,” I said. Ariel squeezed my arm. “I'm always nervous during takeoff,” she said apologetically, and smiled.
The plane left the gate and taxied to the runway, moving faster and faster until it abruptly stopped. I saw two stewardesses running to the front of the aircraft. My heart was beating fast again. Had they found out who I was and tied me to the shooting? I looked out through the window. There was no activity around the plane and no explanation from the cockpit as to why we'd stopped. Ariel didn't seem to notice my concern. A few passengers got up from their seats to look through the windows. “Please sit down,” said the stewards politely but firmly. I thought I should tell Ariel to call David Stone in Washington and inform him of my forthcoming arrest. I wrote down David's name and number.
“Ariel…”
She looked at me with the deep blue eyes I'd grown so fond of in the past few days. She said nothing. “Ariel, in case of trouble, I want you to…”
The PA system came on strong. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I have to apologize for the delay. There has been a severe weather warning, and air traffic control was not sure we would be allowed to take off. Now it seems that the storm is about twenty minutes away to the east, and we could avoid it if we leave immediately. So please fasten your seatbelts again. Thank you.”
The plane accelerated down the runway, as did my heart in relief. In two minutes we were airborne.
“What did you want to say?” asked Ariel.
“Nothing, just nothing.” I took her hand. She smiled.
We didn't talk much and my lovely companion was asleep as we approached Heathrow. I gently touched her shoulder. Ariel opened her eyes. “Time to wake up,” I said. “We're almost in London.”
“So soon?” she asked, and stretched like a cat after an afternoon nap.
“Everything passes quickly when you're asleep,” I said. “We need to stay near the airport; I don't think we should try to get to Munich at this late hour.”
“Munich?” asked Ariel. “I thought we were going back to Israel.”
“No, I need you in Germany. You should see Guttmacher, and,” I paused, “you promised me your father's file.”
“You're right. I'm still sleepy,” she said, and leaned her head against my shoulder.
We took a local airport bus to the Hilton Hotel at the airport. I took adjoining rooms for us without asking Ariel what she'd prefer. And like a tourist pal, she pecked my cheek goodnight.
The following morning featured typically English weather, rainy and foggy, but our flight to Munich was not delayed. I was sitting at a table in the dining room when Ariel walked in wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. Many eyes were on her, including mine.
“Good morning, Dan,” she smiled. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a log,” I said. “How about you?”
“I had nightmares,” she said as she sat down at the table.
“So why didn't you knock on my door?” I asked jokingly, masking my disappointment.
“Dan, people are asleep when they have nightmares,” she said in a tone that very much reminded me that she was a teacher.
“Our flight leaves at noon,” I said, “so let's take our time.” We had an English breakfast and perused the top story in the morning paper: yet another English sex scandal involving a cabinet minister.
We finished our breakfast and went through the hotel's lobby. I stopped at a television set broadcasting BBC News. With a mix of astonishment and relief, I heard the breaking news about the weather in Moscow. A sudden blizzard had swept the city, dumping two feet of snow. The next item was of similar interest; “With continued
