Well, they'd had their money's worth out of Jimmy-boy this time. Earned his retainer, hadn't he? There'd be a mass of paperwork to be getting on with, the predictable escape mechanism, and Jones went in search of a car heading for Central London. Knifing through his mind the continuous thought… it was what they'd wanted, it was what they'd asked for, those bloody politicians with their directives from on high, and they'd been gratified.
In the first-class cabin, occupying two seats at the rear, were Sokarev and Elkin. The pilot had swung the plane hard round and lined himself on to the 36oo-metre-long Runway 5, given precedence over all other flights. Clearance from the control tower was immediate, and the aircraft hammered its way into the slight wind down 28L.
Just before the moment of lift-off Sokarev whispered, straining to Elkin's ear, that he felt sick.
'Don't worry,' Elkin said, it's all over. It's finished now.
We are going home. There is nothing more to fear.'
They were all going home. Mackowicz in the tin box on the freight deck beneath them, Elkin who had been his friend, Sokarev who had been his charge. The security man noted the pallor of the scientist, and the perspiration on his balding head and the way that he struggled to reach upward to direct the cold air nozzles toward his face.
When they were airborne it would be easier. He told himself that, and settled back, deep, into the comfort of his seat.
TWENTY-ONE
At first the pains were slight and concentrated in the centre of his chest, but the nausea and desire to vomit were uppermost. As Elkin slept beside him Sokarev was able to worm a path over the legs of his bodyguard and into the aisle towards the lavatories. He'd had little food and his retching was painful and hard. By the time they were flying over the Mediterranean the pain was spreading in area and intensity, and still Elkin's eyes were closed, insensible to the outer world. When at last a stewardess noticed Sokarev's distress he was doubled up in his seat, his hands across his body. Over the loudspeaker system of the aircraft the chief steward called for a doctor.
Elkin stood out in the aisle now, for once helpless, unable to offer aid to the man he had been ordered to protect. The doctor reached low over the heaving form of Sokarev, whom they had stretched across the two seats, centre arm rest pulled out.
When he stood up the doctor, young and in a T-shirt displaying the name of Hamburg where he had been holidaying before joining the flight, asked if anyone were accompanying the passenger. 'He is subject to severe coronary attack?'
Elkin nodded, unable to speak, stunned at the revelation.
Now of all moments…
'Has he been under strain?' The doctor's voice carried the hush of concern.
'He is David Sokarev.'
'I don't know the name, I have not been in Israel some weeks.'
'He is the one the Arabs tried to kill. At the airport and before that last night.'
'The reason for the troops? The passenger on the far side of the airfield?'
'Yes.'
'He has been under severe strain?'
'Total strain. They were trying to assassinate him.'
Enough of the talk. There must be action that can be taken.
'He needs morphine,' said the doctor.
'And… '
'And I do not have morphine. I do not carry it with me.'
Elkin looked away from the doctor, down to the pain on the professor's cheeks. 'Call the Captain,' he said. 'Get him off the deck and here.'
The pilot, mid-forties, shirt sleeves, grey hair, a decision-maker, offered no options. 'We go for Ben Gurion. Lebanon and Cyprus are nearer, but are out. Beirut, obviously, Larnaca is too short for the plane. Athens might save a few minutes, but it's marginal and the facilities at home are superior. We have a little less than an hour till we are down. The necessary people will be waiting.'
The doctor said aloud as he bent once again over Sokarev, 'He is an old man to have gone through all this.
Overweight, not equipped to take such turmoil. The bastards always hit when they are not expected.'
Elkin could not reason why he spoke. There was no need, no requirement, but he replied. 'We have known for some days that an attack was planned. The Professor has known too.'
'And you took him, and you exposed him? Knowingly you brought him to Europe? At his age, in his condition?'
'A decision had been taken.'
'There is no wound on him. Remember that. You and your people will have to make your own decision if he dies. You will have to know who killed him.'
There was darkness round the jet as it whispered on its way, ten miles every minute toward the coastline of Israel and the landfall.
On the intercom the Personal Assistant announced that the Prime Minister was calling from Downing Street. With resignation the Director General cleared the papers that obscured his note-pad, took in his hand a sharpened pencil, and raised the receiver of the telephone. He heard the Prime Minister being informed that the link was now through, that the other party was waiting. There was quiet in the room, fitting for the moment before the verbal assault that he had anticipated and predicted to himself. It was an understatement that the Prime Minister was furious. Voice raised. The head of the Security Services held the telephone a clear inch from his ear.
'It was turned into a clear fiasco by your man.' in what way, sir?' Don't give the blighters an inch, don't get into the apology situation, don't make it easy for the inquiry. in what way? Because of what your fellow did on the tarmac. Right out there in the middle, with half the bloody world looking on.'
'You'll have to explain, sir.' Stall the inevitable. Let the heat cool, then counter-attack.
'Don't play the fool with me. Your man has executed — only word for it — this Palestinian, or whatever he was, right out there, in public… '
'Your instruction was quite clear, sir. You did not expect the Arab to survive our contact with him.' They'd be taping at Downing Street, nice to get that on the magnetic ribbon.
'Not like that. I didn't expect him killed like that, not…'
'He had grenades on him. Live and primed. He was still capable of using them. His hands were moving. He could have used the grenades.'
'You're justifying your man?'
'His target was still armed and dangerous. My operative made a quick and correct decision. More lives could have been lost if he had hesitated. He acted quite correctly.' it makes our position fearfully difficult.' Always the same with these politicians. Can't take it on the chin, can't ride a right hand, weakening already. The Director General had the telephone close again, against the lobe of his ear.
'The shooting of this fellow could have very grave repercussions.'
'I think that our man would have felt that faced with the circumstances that confronted him the actual danger to life was of paramount importance when compared with the possible diplomatic repercussions.'
Abruptly and without further comment the Prime Minister rang off. The Director General waited for his line to clear then dialled the extension to Jones's office.
Long into the evening Jones sat in his office, alone at his desk. The coffee in the beaker remained undrunk and sealed with a skin surface. Helen had gone now, eyes reddened and aware of the conversation he had had with Jimmy.
Sod it. Cock Robin kicked the fucking bucket. Bloody waste, a man like that going, getting the chop. Still full of sap, years more of it. Awkward bastard, couldn't deny that, but then Jones had always fancied he alone could handle him. Bloody-minded when he wanted to be, but not just now. Had gone with his own dignity, hadn't made a
