They were drinking coffee in a freight office at the far end of the corridor. At first glance it was a cosy little scene until one took a closer look at Senator Greenwood. His high-notch hand-stitched Cheviot suit was crumpled, and the silk shirt was open at the front to reveal not only a gold medallion but also a loose collar of string that was attached to an M.3 submachine-gun in such a way that the muzzle was always under his chin and Gerry Hart's finger on the trigger.
Greenwood's face was tight, and his tan had faded. As we came into the room he turned to us and began his loud entreaties. 'Get me out of here,' he said. 'I'll guarantee the departure of the Algerian plane — my word of honour as a Senator — now just let's act like reasonable human beings.' Greenwood's voice was hoarse as though he'd said the same sort of thing many times.
'You're riding with us,' said Hart.
Greenwood turned his eyes to Mann. 'I hope you're satisfied,' he said. 'This is all your doing. It was your visit that caused all this.'
'Is that so,' said Mann politely, and it was his polite indifference that infuriated the Senator.
'When I get out of here, I'll come after you with…'
'Shut your mouth, Senator,' said Mann.
'I won't shut up'
Gerry Hart tugged on the string hard enough to strangle his words, and said, 'Yeah, do as the man says, Senator.'
Hart was wearing a waterproof zipper jacket with an airline badge; he looked like a baggage handler.
'You're flying these people to Algiers, then?' Mann asked Hart.
'I don't know yet,' said Hart. The lack of animosity between the two men bewildered Greenwood, and frightened him, but he said nothing.
'Well, you'd better know soon, if you're taking the Algerian flight-crew,' Mann said. 'They haven't got the kind of flying experience that will wing you into any place you stab on the map.'
'Why would you worry about that, Major Mann?'
'Because I don't want that airplane blundering across the goddamned airlanes and scattering Ilyushin spare parts across the countryside, or my ass will be in a sling.'
'Well, that will be a nice way for me to go,' said Gerry Hart. He smiled.
I looked out of the window. The underside of the cloud was flat and featureless, like a sheet of mirror reflecting the wet concrete of the runways. And it was cold, so that in places there was ice underfoot.
Mann had brought in a lot of local help. There were men on the roofs of both maintenance hangars, and more on the freight administration block and along the walkways. The men were in pairs: a sniper with a rifle, and a back-up man with a radio phone. There was a large, flat, open space between us and the Ilyushin out there on the tarmac. We all knew that Hart would have to walk there — using motor transport would make him more vulnerable — and we were all hoping that he'd make a mistake.
There was a crackle from the radio phone and Mann said, Tell the tower to stand by. And tell all units that the party is moving out to the plane.' He collapsed the antenna and put the radio phone back on to the desk, but from it came a continuing crackle of procedure.
There was a look of relief on Greenwood's face as the C.I.A. man brought Professor Bekuv into the room. Red Bancroft came soon after with Mrs Bekuv. The two women linked arms. It is a common enough gesture in Russia, even between men walking down the street together, but there was no doubt that Professor Bekuv saw it in another light. He smiled at his wife; it was a sad smile.
The little office was crowded now. Both groups faced each other over the tops of the bull pens, where the freight office clerks usually worked. Each of these desk-top boxes bore the graffiti of its owner: nudes, views, picture postcards, phone numbers, cartoon drawings and countless impressions of the airline's rubber stamps. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and condensation clouded the windows. Hart unleashed his hostage so that he had free use of the machine-gun.
'Away you go, mister,' Mann told Hart. We stood at the door as they filed through. 'Stay cool, Senator,' Mann said to Greenwood. 'Even the Russians will release a U.S. Senator unharmed. They might even put Hart on the rack to show their good will'
'They'll stage a press conference,' said Greenwood. 'They'll put me on show. They'll make me look a fool for having a Russian agent as my assistant.' It was typical of a politician that he should look so far ahead, and typical too that he should be more concerned with how it would look to the voters, than with how his stupidity had endangered his country.
'Can't prevent you looking a fool, I'm afraid,' said Mann. 'That's your department.' He smiled at Greenwood.
As we stepped out of the door after them, the icy breeze cut through me like a rusty sabre. We kept a distance between us as we followed the party that straggled their way towards the plane.
The Algerian airliner was parked on the far side of the heat deflectors. This series of metal scoops, which formed a castellated steel wall, caught the hot gases from the jet engines and threw them, together with their ear-spliting noise, high into the air.
The refuelling had finished, and the servicing vehicles had all departed except for the mobile passenger steps. The flight-crew were aboard and carrying out the flight checks. Their voices could sometimes be heard over Mann's personal radio.
It began when Greenwood ran. He must have decided to bolt for the protection of the deflector wall. But after he'd run only a few paces, he halted, and looked back in an agony of indecision. One of the snipers on the roof of a maintenance hangar, fired-next. The bullet hit the apron, somewhere between Greenwood and the rest of them. If it was meant as a way of encouraging Greenwood to run for it, it proved a signal failure, for he stood frozen to the spot.
Hart must have thought the bullet came from either me or Mann. He swung round and fired the M.3 at us. We were about a hundred yards behind them. The M.3 had been modified for single shot, and the slugs went high, whining over our heads. Mann was half-way between me and the deflector wall. He went down on one knee, bringing out a pistol as he did so. The gun jerked but the sound of the shots was lost in the roar of the jets as the pilot opened the throttles of the airliner.
Mann got to his feet and started to run. He was an easy target, and it was inevitable that he should be shot. Hart was struggling with the bolt of the gun. He found the auto-switch and fired a short burst at Mann, who was running hell-for-leather across the icy concrete. Mann was hit. He fell, sliding on the ice and then going full length on to the hard ground. He rolled over a couple of times but he stood no chance of getting to the cover offered by the metal barrier.
By this time my gun was up and I fired, but my shots went high and I heard them hit the metal and sing away into the sky. Mrs Bekuv snatched at the M.3 in Gerry Hart's hands, and swung round to shoot Senator Greenwood. At point-blank range, those big.45 bullets tear a hole in anything, but before she had time to pull the trigger Hart was standing in front of her, grabbing at the gun to get it back.
I ran. There was ice everywhere. I heard it crack under my toes like paper-thin glass, and more than once I slid and almost lost my balance. I threw myself down alongside Mann. 'Are you hit?' I asked him. He didn't reply. His eyes were shut.
I ran a hand back along the side of his head and it came away covered in blood. I got one arm round him and dragged him towards the metal wall. The jet engine's piercing scream modulated to a roar, and I heard the cough of a gun and felt chips of concrete hit my face and hands. Mann struggled and became conscious. 'Leave me,' he said. 'Leave me or they'll get both of us.'
I knelt down, and turned to see Hart and Mrs Bekuv struggling for possession of the grease gun. He had both hands on it and was getting it away from her. I was huffing and puffing from exertion, and to steady my gun I planted my fist upon Mann's shoulder. I aimed and fired twice. Both bullets hit Gerry Hart. He flung his arms out, like a man trying to catch a ball that was too high for him, and his feet left the ground as the force of the bullets knocked him backwards full length.
Now I grabbed Mann and, half dragging him and half carrying him, I lugged him all the way to the big metal blades of the deflector and dumped him there. With both hands clamped round my pistol, I swung it round to where Mrs Bekuv was standing with the submachine-gun. But she had no eyes for me. With Hart sprawled on the ground with his eyes closed, she was able to bring the gun back to Senator Greenwood again. His eyes opened wide with
