know that it was over. Finally over.
He ducked his head unnecessarily as he re-entered the door of the Tupolev. His eyes immediately, mistily sought the Massingers. Their faces, above the backs of their seats, had turned to him, afraid.
He smiled. Kapustin was raging behind him. Babbington—? Hyde—?
He did not understand. There were no real words being spoken there behind his back. He understood only that it was over. Margaret returned his smile, hesitantly, her swollen, discoloured lips finding the expression difficult. Paul's face opened into a grin. Perhaps he understood — he spoke Russian. It did not matter. He sat down carefully, weakly, in one of the seats. The Massingers were coming towards him. He had to sit still, just for a moment.
Time had become unimportant. It no longer mattered how long the delay, how long they simply sat aboard the aircraft, for eventually it would be refueled, and they would be cleared to take off on their return journey to… to Vienna. Yes, they would return them to Vienna, not London. He would wait for that, just wait for the aircraft to take off…
Massinger's hand fell again and again on the sleeve of his coat. A comforting, relieved gesture. It lulled Aubrey. He felt very tired. Margaret sat opposite him, across the narrow aisle; smiling at him, the tears beginning, her throat bobbing almost continuously as she attempted to swallow her welling feelings.
Aubrey nodded, in rhythm with the pats of Massinger's hand. Yes. It was over.
About the Author
Craig Thomas has been described as 'a master storyteller' and 'one of the finest action writers working today'. His fourteen best-selling novels have consistently attracted praise and that sincerest form of flattery, imitation, since he is generally credited with creating the genre of the 'techno-thriller' with his novel FIREFOX (1977).
