The Sky Is Falling

"Man, I'd sure like to bonk that."

Another man hurried into the room. "Not unless you're into necrophilia, Charlie."

"What are you talking about?"

"We just got orders to see that she has a fatal accident."

Dana finished dressing and looked at her watch. There was still plenty of time to catch the Metropol bus to the airport. With growing anxiety, she hurried downstairs to the lobby. The fat woman was nowhere in sight.

Dana walked out onto the street. Impossibly, it had gotten colder. The wind was a relentless, howling banshee. A taxi stopped in front of Dana.

"Taksi?"

Don't take a taxi. Go directly to the Hotel Metropol. The hotel has airport buses leaving regularly.

"Nyet."

Dana started walking along the icy street. Crowds were pushing past her, hurrying to the warmth of homes or offices. As Dana reached a busy corner, waiting to cross, she felt a violent shove from behind and she went flying into the street in front of an oncoming truck. She slipped on a patch of ice and fell on her back, looking up in horror as the huge truck sped toward her.

At the last second, the white-faced driver managed to turn his wheel so that the truck passed directly over Dana. For a moment, she lay in darkness, her ears filled with the roar of the engine and the clanking chains flapping against the huge tires.

Suddenly she could see the sky again. The truck was gone. Dana groggily sat up. People were helping her to her feet. She looked around for the person who had pushed her, but it could have been anyone in the crowd. Dana took several deep breaths and tried to regain her composure. The people surrounding her were shouting at her in Russian. The crowd was beginning to press in on Dana, making her panicky.

"Hotel Metropol?" Dana said hopefully.

A group of young boys had approached. "Sure. We take you."

The lobby of the Hotel Metropol was blessedly warm, crowded with tourists and businessmen. Mingle with the crowds. I'll be waiting for you in Washington when you arrive.

Dana said to a bellman, "What time does the next bus leave for the airport?"

"In thirty minutes, gaspazha. "

"Thank you."

She sat in a chair, breathing hard, trying to wipe the unspeakable horror from her mind. She was filled with dread. Who was trying to kill her and why? And was Kemal safe?

The bellman came up to Dana. "The airport bus is here."

Dana was the first one on the bus. She took a seat at the rear and studied the faces of the passengers. There were tourists from half a dozen countries: Europeans, Asians, Africans, and a few Americans. A man across the aisle was staring at her.

He looks familiar, Dana thought. Has he been following me? She found herself hyperventilating.

One hour later, when the bus stopped at Sheremetyevo II airport, Dana was the last one to disembark. She hurried into the terminal building and over to the Air France desk.

"May I help you?"

"Do you have a reservation for Dana Evans?" Dana was holding her breath. Say yes, say yes, say yes ...

The clerk sorted through some papers. "Yes. Here's your ticket. It's paid for."

Bless Roger. "Thank you."

"The plane is on schedule. That's flight two-twenty. It will be leaving in one hour and ten minutes."

"Is there a lounge" - Dana almost said, with a lot of people  -  "where I can rest?"

"Down the end of this corridor and to the right."

"Thank you."

The lounge was crowded. Nothing in there seemed unusual or threatening. Dana took a seat. In a little while, she would be on her way to America and safety.

"Air France flight two-twenty is now boarding at gate three for Washington, D. C. Will all passengers please have their passports and boarding passes ready?"

Dana rose and started toward gate 3. A man who had been watching her from an Aeroflot counter spoke into his cell phone.

"The subject is heading for the boarding gate."

Roger Hudson picked up the phone and called a number. "She's on Air France flight two-twenty. I want her picked up at the airport."

"What do you want done with her, sir?"

"I would suggest a hit-and-run accident."

They were flying at a smooth forty-five thousand feet in a cloudless sky. There was not an empty seat on the plane. An American was in the seat next to Dana.

"Gregory Price," he said. "I'm in lumber." He was in his forties, with a long aquiline face, bright gray eyes, and a mustache. "That's some kind of country we're leaving, huh?"

Krasnoyarsk-26's sole purpose for existing is to make plutonium, the key ingredient in nuclear weapons.

"The Russians are sure different from us, but you get used to them after a while."

One hundred thousand scientists and technicians live and work here.

"They sure don't cook like the French. When I come here on business, I bring my own care package."

They cannot go outside. They cannot have visitors. They must cut themselves off completely from the outside world.

"Were you in Russia on business?"

Dana brought herself back to the present. "Vacation."

He looked at her in surprise. "It's a hell of a time to take a vacation in Russia."

When the flight attendant came down the aisle with a food cart, Dana started to decline, then realized she was famished. She could not remember when she had eaten last.

Gregory Price said, "If you'd like a shot of bourbon, I've got the real stuff here, little lady."

"No thanks." She looked at her watch. They would be landing in a few hours.

When Air France flight 220 landed at Dulles airport, four men were watching as the passengers began to come through the exit ramp from the plane. The men stood there, confident, knowing there was no way she could escape.