[Brag]

Chapter 25

While waiting for Claudia to come back from the maintenance hangar, Val paced the plush passenger lounge of Cranfield's executive terminal.
If Bond and company had sabotaged the airplane, they would be anxious to know the results of their nefarious act. They probably been monitoring air traffic control radio frequencies and would be aware the airplane didn't crash.
As he watched the parking lot through glass doors, Val wondered how long it would take the opposition to reorganize. It wouldn't take much longer than an hour for Bond and his cohorts to reach Cranfield by car.
Claudia stormed in. "Assassini," she muttered. "Somebody added laundry detergent to the fuel. Good thing we switched to auxiliary tanks before number two fuel nozzles gummed up. It will be several days until we get fixed."
"Great."
Claudia's expression changed from furious to one of concern. Val realized he'd been clucking his tongue.
"It's not all lost," she said. "I make phone call." Before Val had time to say anything, she whirled around and disappeared behind a door with a sign: Employees and pilots only.
With a growing feeling of hopeless doom, Val resumed his watch of the parking lot. He then realized that Bond and his thugs could also fly in. He moved to a center location in the lounge and sat on an over-stuffed couch from where he could observe both ramp and parking lot entrances. They had to rent a car and get out of here. Then change cars, go to London where he could try to make contact with Boikin. How would they haul the old count's body, he didn't know.
Ten minutes later, Claudia came out.
Val stood and stepped toward her. "We need to rent a car."
Claudia shook her head. "In half hour a plane will pick us up."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I chartered a King Air. It is coming from Luton. I will leave Vito here to look after Petronella." She took out a cell phone from her shoulder bag.
While Claudia talked into the phone in Italian, Val noticed two men get out of a car in the parking lot. They did not seem in a hurry to go anywhere. One of them was talking into a cell phone. Everyone in the world had a cell phone except Val.
He pulled at Claudia's sleeve and pointed at the two men. "We need to get going."
She shook her arm off. "Wait," she said to him and continued her conversation.
"We have to go, those men are after us."
Claudia gave him an annoyed look, glanced at her watch and continued talking.
The man put his phone away. He and his partner exchanged a few words and split up. One of them, in a sheepskin bomber jacket, disappeared from view as he approached the terminal.
The other, wearing a cloth peaked cap and a trench coat moved directly in front of the terminal door.
Val fingered the pistol butt in the shoulder holster.
Claudia finished her conversation.
"There are two men outside. They'll be coming in any second now."
Claudia looked out. "I only see one."
Val took her by the elbow and pulled her toward the ramp entrance. "Let's go to the hangar."
"Yes. That's where I told the charter service to go and pick up Franco."
Almost running, Val dragged Claudia outside. He glanced around hoping to see an airplane taxiing in--nada.
A gray haired man in white coveralls and a clipboard in his hand strode toward them. "Contessa, could you sign this work order?"
Claudia stopped an took the clipboard.
Val glanced over his shoulder.
"Mr. Hawkins," Claudia said, "There are two men doing indecent exposure to me. Can you stop them to do that?"
"Someone bothering you?"
"Yes, very indecent. My gentleman friend, he can't do anything."
Hawkins looked at Val as if Val was guilty of exposing himself to women.
"I'll tell Security. We certainly won't tolerate anyone annoying our customers. He took a handheld radio clipped to one of his pockets.
Val pulled Claudia by the elbow. They had to get out of sight and he had no confidence that a couple of unarmed watchmen could protect them.
The sound of an engine drew Val's attention, he turned to see a red and white plane taxiing in. "Is that it?"
Claudia shook her head. "That's a Cessna, our airplane is larger and has two engines."
Val glanced at his watch. Only a couple of minutes had elapsed since Claudia said the airplane would arrive in thirty minutes. Besides, no one ever arrived in half an hour, the pilot was not a fighter jockey sitting in his plane ready to scramble.
They went past a hangar with several small planes inside.
"When they said they'll be here in thirty minutes, is it just flight time?"
"I think so. Yes it would take twenty minutes to fly here, plus taxi time. They said they had pilots ready to go."
"So we're really talking about an hour's wait?"
"Less if they hurry. I told them to hurry."
"We have to find a place to hide."
"Mister Hawkins will get Security here, he seems very competent."
"I don't think you realize what kind of people are going after us. They're probably armed."
"This is England."
Val took a deep breath. "Look, if I'm armed--"
"They throw people in jail for that."
She was right. Running around an airport with a pistol was more of a liability. Val wondered why MI-6 would be involved in hunting him down. After all they were not a domestic security service.
Wishing he was familiar with airport layouts, he glanced back. The ramp was empty of people. Where does one hide in a small airport?
As they approached the hangar with her airplane inside, Claudia took the lead. "We will go inside the maintenance office."
Val imagined the two men in the parking lot now inside the executive terminal showing credentials if not outright forcing their way through to the ramp.
They hurried past Petronella. Vito and a mechanic stood on step ladders doing something to an uncowled engine. Claudia went through a door on the side of the hangar.
Beyond a counter, a young woman sat at a desk. She looked up from a computer screen. "Can I help you, Contessa?"
"We need a toilet."
The woman gave Val a quick glance. "We have nice facilities at the lounge, ma'am."
"We are coming from there. We want to wait for my airplane out of sight. In the toilet."
Val closed his eyes.
"There are paparazzi who want to catch me with this man. It will be scandalous for me."
Val opened his eyes and held his breath.
"There shouldn't be anyone in the ladies' loo. Through that door, in the corridor, second door on the left ma-am. I will call security."
"Thank you, will you let us know when my airplane arrives?" Claudia took Val by the hand and strode out the door at the back of the office.
"I will give you two knocks followed by one on the door," the office girl said, before Val slammed the office door shut and entered a corridor.
Claudia opened the door marked Ladies and said, "Hello?" She pulled Val in and locked the door behind her.
Val's knees felt wobbly and he leaned against a wall. His heart made an extra beat as the picture of Leonora fellating him flashed through his mind.
"Excuse me, I will sit down," Claudia said as she inspected the small room. She lowered the top lid of the commode and sat on it.
"We better keep our voices down."
Claudia nodded, then shook her head. "First you come uninvited into my bedroom. Now I have to sit on the toilet with you keeping me company." She gave him a thin smile. "Some scandalous behavior. Don't you think?"
"Yes, almost a laughing matter." Val tried to smile back, wondering how he would deal with the gorillas as they broke the door down.
"You must think me frivolous, but I try to find humor in difficult situations. You are so cool blooded when there is trouble, and you think quick."
Getting cornered in a toilet, what an ironic way to end one's life. Val thought of the microchips the Russians had placed in his clothing. Would a screen in Moscow flash: Orloff is in an English ladies' loo?
A door slammed in the corridor.
Val held his breath.
Hurried steps went by. A door opened and closed. Probably the Gents' next door. Val let his breath out, slowly.
Too bad the only way he had of communicating with Boikin was via computer. But even if he could call him on Claudia's cell phone, what could the Russian do?
Val remembered the desperate night when he had to swim for his life; dragging a semiconscious, delirious wounded shipmate. Did fate spare him that night to have him end his life inside a crapper?
Claudia gave him a curious look.
Val stopped his clucking. Embarrassed, he glanced at his watch. They still had 45 minutes to wait. By now Tony Bond could have been here with an army of goons. Even if they weren't found in the toilets, how would they board the chartered airplane without being seen, especially carrying the body of the Count?
"That was quick thinking, during take-off," Claudia said, "How did you know it was sabotage?"
"I saw a suspicious car coming out of the airport last night. Didn't put two and two together 'til it was too late."
"It wasn't too late--just in time to give me idea to switch tanks before second engine fuel nozzles gummed up in total. We would have crashed into those trees at the end of the runway."
"The way I saw it, it was a feat of airmanship to get us here in one piece."
"I still haven't calmed my nerves."
How could anyone expect to calm one's nerves while a bunch of goons were after them was beyond Val's imagination.
The sound of loud voices reached inside the toilet as someone opened the door to the office.
"Here they come," Val said.
Heavy steps rang in the corridor, went past the door.
There was a clack as someone opened the Gents' door.
"Nobody here," a male voice said.
Someone knocked on the door.
Val fingered the pistol butt.
He thought of opening the door fast, grabbing whoever was knocking by the collar, and jamming the pistol against his temple. With a hostage he might be able to dissuade the goons from further action. Of course the goon would be armed and would shoot Val.
Val pulled the pistol out of the holster.
Claudia shook her head.
A louder rapping on the door resonated.
"Occupied," Claudia yelled.
"I'm sure that helps," Val murmured under his breath.
"Madam, you may come out now," a male voice said.
"There is a toilet in the lounge, use that. I will be here some time." Claudia made a puking sound.
"Come out whenever you like. Do you require assistance?"
Assistance with barfing? Val thought. He really didn't expect the goons to have a sense of humor.
Someone opened a door, again revealing a number of loud voices in the office.
High heels clacked in the corridor.
"Contessa, are you alright?" The office girl asked.
Claudia answered, "I am fine, thank you."
"You may come out. The police are here."
"Police?"
"Yes. They need to talk to you."
"Uniformed police?" Val asked.
"Oxfordshire Constabulary," A male voice said. "Madam, are you alright?"
"Yes, I am fine."
"Is that man bothering you?"
"No, he is a friend."
"Sir, please come outside, or we'll use the pass key."
If the guys outside were cops, God knows what they would be thinking. It sounded like they thought he could be molesting Claudia. Holding her hostage?
These sounded like real cops. If he stepped outside, they would pat him down, find the gun and throw him in jail.
"Alright, I'll be out in a second." Val dropped his jacket on the floor, took his holster off. He then reached over Claudia and dropped the holstered pistol into the water cistern.
He put the jacket back on. To his amazement, his heartbeat, and tremors running down his legs subsided. He felt as if moving in slow motion. He gave Claudia a mock salute and smiled.
"Coming out," Val said loudly, flicked the lock and opened the door.
The first thing he saw was three blue uniforms.
"Contessa, are you alright?" The oldest of the cops asked.
"Of course I'm alright," she said right behind Val.
"I'm Inspector Appleton. Heard you had a spot of trouble, with. . . is it the press?"
"Paparazzi."
"Sorry, we can't do anything about them . . . and this gentleman? Appleton pointed at Val. "He's not causing you distress?"
"No, inspector. He is a perfect gentleman."
Appleton gave Val a curious look and said. "We're here to secure your aircraft for the CID and the CAA, the Civil Aeronautics Authority to investigate, and get a statement from you about the suspected sabotage to your aircraft."
"Very well, we must do quickly because I need to continue my journey."
Val stayed back as the cops, Claudia and the office girl headed out.
He waited for the door to slam shut and went back into the Ladies'.

Chapter 26

While Claudia made her statement, Val watched out of the office window. Cops were placing barrier trestles and circled Petronella with crime scene tape.
The two King Air pilots assisted by a couple of mechanics had just finished transferring D'Albano's body to the chartered airplane. With all the cops around, Val felt reasonably safe.
Inspector Appleton said, "That should do it, Contessa."
Val took a deep breath of relief that Claudia hadn't mentioned Val's role in discovering the sabotage. While she and the inspector exchanged pleasantries, Val headed outside.
He scanned the ramp. No sign of bad guys.
"We're all set to go, sir," the captain of the King Air said.
"How long will it take us to get there?"
"Four hours and 20 minutes, to Grossetto."
Val liked Grosseto, the closest large town to where Claudia lived, in the Maremma on the southern edge of Tuscany. He had known about the Butteri, legendary cowboys who inhabited the Maremma delta even before visiting the D'Albanos. This knowledge had impressed Claudia in the early days of their friendship.
"What's the weather there like?" He asked, looking forward to returning to this little known part of Italy.
"It is deteriorating fast, sir. We expect rain and gusty winds when we arrive."
"An evil south wind?"
The pilots laughed. "A south wind is hardly ever good news, sir."
"Let's go," Claudia said as she came out of the hangar. She stopped and addressed the captain, "What route have you filed?"
The captain seemed surprised. "Paris, Tour de Pines, Nice, Elba."
"Very good. What flight level?"
"Two three zero," I should keep us out of most of the weather, ma'am."
"Thank you, captain." She climbed the steps into the cabin.
The airplane had an air ambulance layout and the Count's body was strapped to a gurney. Claudia crossed herself as she went past toward two front seats.
As Val strapped himself to the seat next to her, she said, "We will have the funeral tomorrow, and put Franco to rest in the land he loved so much. I will miss him. It still doesn't seem real . . ."
She shook her head. "And to be cheated of his last years . . ."
Val didn't know what to say. So far, Claudia hadn't shown signs of grieving. Maybe it was denial or maybe all the nasty distractions. Val wanted to reach across the aisle and take her hand.

#

A few minutes after take off, leaving the white blanket of cloud covering England, the airplane broke out into brilliant sunshine.
As tension in his body ebbed, Val's eyelids became heavy and he caught himself nodding. For some reason his mind kept fighting the tendency to doze and Val would jerk awake.
Claudia had the back of her seat in the reclining position and seemed to be asleep. The airplane leveled off at cruising altitude. Val found the reclining lever and let the back down as far as it would go. He might as well get a good refreshing nap. He rearranged himself to where he felt comfortable, entwined his fingers over his belly and closed his eyes.
Gratefully he allowed his mind to drift. Since his trek through the fields the previous night, his feet had been cold. Now, they were warming up.
Sunshine on his cheek suggested a woman's warm caress. Val felt like smiling as he drifted deeper into sleep.
The warm hand left his face. Why? Why do you leave me?
Val jerked awake.
He glanced outside. The horizon was at 45 degrees to the airplane. The sun moved from left to right.
They were heading north and still turning. What?
Val shook his head. This didn't seem right. But of course the pilots would know better which way they were supposed to go. His unease increased. After a moment's hesitation, he reached over and shook Claudia's shoulder.
She moaned and opened her eyes.
"Yes?"
"I think we're heading back."
Claudia blinked and looked around. "Something is wrong." She reached for the intercom on the bulkhead. "Why are we going west?" she asked.
Her facial expression became puzzled. She hung up and turned toward Val. "Strange."
"What's the matter?"
"ATC, Air Traffic Control orders."
"Air Traffic Control?"
"They want us to proceed to the Stanstead VOR."
"What's that?"
Claudia reached into her briefcase, pulled out, and unfolded an air navigation chart.
"Here is London Heathrow." She pointed with her finger, then moved it to the north of London. "This is Stanstead. The VOR is a navigation beacon."
"Is this normal?"
"Of course it isn't. They want us to hold over it."
Val imagined Bond or someone else making phone calls, coordinating a cumbersome bureaucratic machinery. "We're screwed," he said, feeling crushed under the invisible power of the bastards who called themselves the ruling elite.
"Screwed?"
"Adequate words escape me," he said, with the weight of impending doom hovering over him.
Claudia gave him a sharp look. "Now that we need a pistol, you left it in the toilet. You are the most useless I man I have ever met."
Val touched the still damp shoulder holster. "I'm not going to shoot it out with the cops after we land."
Claudia's face brightened. "You saved the gun?"
"I have it with me."
"What are you waiting for?" She unbuckled her seat belt, reached over and opened the cockpit door. "Signori--turn this airplane back on course to France," she said in a commanding voice.
Val couldn't make out what one of the pilots replied.
"If you don't, my gentleman friend will shoot you."
"You don't believe? He will show you."
"Caro, show them your gun." Claudia stepped aside to where he could see the captain who sat half turned.
Like an automaton, not believing it was him, Val pulled the pistol out and heard himself say, "Do as the lady tells you."
The captain swallowed, his gaze locked on the pistol.
A most unusual feeling of being in total control of a situation came over Val. This was raw power. His gun was not aiming at a hapless pilot caught in the middle, but challenged the authority of a government. A government manipulated by obscure forces. The idea of being a rebel made him smile. "Shall I shoot the copilot to make my point?"
"That won't be necessary, sir."
The airplane began to turn.
"No more talking to ATC," Claudia said.
"Whatever you say, ma-am."
"What is our position?" Claudia asked.
"Five miles south east of Biggin Hill," the captain answered.
"Proceed direct to Abbeville."
Val wondered what their legal status was. Would this qualify as a hijacking? After all, Claudia was the charterer who insisted on going to the destination she paid to go. She was simply forcing the pilot to disobey air traffic control instructions. Soon they would leave British airspace. Val wondered what the reaction of the French would be. He was sure there would be some major hassle after they landed in Italy. "Maybe we should turn on the radio speakers so we can hear what the Air Traffic Control has to say."
The captain flipped a switch.
"Golf Echo Hotel, Golf Echo Hotel," overhead speakers boomed, "Do you read me? Over."
"Golf Echo Hotel, if you read me, squawk two eight one one."
"Do not touch the transponder," Claudia said. "You better go into the cabin where my gentleman friend can shoot easier. I will take the copilot seat and handle communications."
"Golf Echo Hotel, turn left to heading three six zero."
The copilot squeezed out of his seat. Claudia let him pass into the cabin and took his place.
"Take the chair and fasten your seat belt," Val said to the young man.
Val wasn't familiar with air law, but he assumed it would be based on the laws relating to piracy on the high seas. Something like interfering with the lawful operation of a vessel and that the captain had ultimate authority. He was now sure he had gotten himself into big trouble. He was the guy holding the gun and threatening violence.
"Golf Echo Hotel, this is London Control, you are to turn left immediately, proceed direct to Stanstead VOR." The voice on the radio had taken an urgent tone. "Golf Ech--"
Claudia turned one of the tuner switches to 131,350. "The English can be so annoying." She picked up a mike. "Paris Control, this is Golf Echo Hotel, do you read, do your read?"
"Golf Echo Hotel, bonjour, this is Paris Control, read you loud and clear."
"Paris Control, this is Golf Echo Hotel, do you read?" Claudia repeated.
The voice from Paris Control repeated several times that he read loud and clear.
Claudia said, "If you read me, we are maintaining flight level one nine zero, destination Grossetto."
Val smiled. Maybe they could get away by faking loss of communications, if they could convince the pilots not to bitch about having a gun pointed at them. Fat chance. Nevertheless, Claudia's quick thinking impressed him. She was certainly more suited for skullduggery than he was. He thought of his imaginary pirate queen of Marie Galante Island and gave her Claudia's face.
"Golf Echo Hotel, this Paris control, we have radar contact three zero miles from Abbevile. Descend to and maintain flight level one zero zero. Standby to be intercepted by French Air Force."
The transmission hit Val like a bucket of cold water.
The copilot said, "Sir, you'll end up much better off if you put that gun away. The game is up."
Val didn't answer.
Claudia stuck her head out the cockpit door. "I think they mean business."
With a deep breath, Val accepted the inevitable and nodded.
"Golf Echo Hotel, after crossing Abbeville, turn to heading zero six three, descend to three thousand feet. Altimeter setting 1017 millibars."
Claudia said something to the captain and the airplane began descent. At the new angle, Val could see ahead. The cloud layer ended shortly after reaching the French coast, exposing fields of winter-brown. "Do you have a cigarette?" He asked the copilot.
The copilot shook his head as a tremor seized the airplane and a roar replaced the hissing noise of the slipstream. With its afterburner glowing, a Mirage fighter appeared on the King Air's windscreen. It pulled up and disappeared from view.
Impressive. Val wondered if the French jet scorched the paint of the little turboprop. The damn Frogs weren't messing about. This wasn't Val's day for flying. It really wasn't his day for anything. The whole world had turned against him. One couldn't win. Angry at his own stupidity, he jammed the pistol into the holster. "Now we have machine guns pointed at us."
"As they say in France, c'est la vie," the copilot answered. He then yelled, "I say, Jock, do you have a fag for our passenger?"
The captain handed a box of Senior Service cigarettes to Val.

#

Depression was the right word. Val watched the two Mirage fighters flank their airplane as it lined up with the runway of a French military base.
"Welcome to wherever we are," the copilot said as the wheels of the King Air kissed the runway.
The man's calmness irritated Val. Of course pilots were trained to deal with crisis. This was even evident in Claudia, who took everything in stride. In this situation there was only one thing left for him to do.
He had to behave with dignity.
After all, he was an Orloff, the last survivor of an illustrious family.
The airplane stopped in front of a two-storied yellow building and was immediately surrounded by paratroopers in camouflage uniforms and red berets.
The copilot opened the door and scampered to the ramp with his hands up.
"You go now," Claudia said to the captain, who left the cockpit and then the airplane with alacrity.
Claudia sighed above the hum of gyros winding down. "They will separate us for interrogation and then send us to separate jails, but we will write to each other, yes?"
Val tried to smile. "We'll meet again after serving our sentences."
"Yes, we will meet again."
"I'll go out first," Val said, getting up from his seat.
An officer in khaki and wearing the four metal bars of a commandant, a major, greeted Val. "You are under arrest, monsieur."

#

Commandant Chabass leaned back in the high backed chair in his office and lit a Marlborough. "Now explain to me with calmness . . . why did you threaten the pilots with a pistol?"
Sitting on an arm chair next to Val, facing the desk, Claudia said, "Because they did not obey my orders. I'm the charterer of this airplane. Here is the faxed contract."
Chabass nodded. "And then, you flew the airplane?"
"I did, I always fly my own airplane."
"But this is chartered. Not your airplane."
"What I mean is I'm a pilot."
"You threatened to shoot the pilots?"
"I did."
"Why?"
"To keep them from flying back to England."
"But you were over England when that happened."
"Yes," Claudia said. "So you have no jurisdiction."
Chabass rolled his eyes. "The Gendarmerie or the Criminal Police, whoever gets here first will sort out these details. I just need some sane information for the report I must write."
Half-hour later, Chabass finished tapping a computer keyboard. A printer buzzed. Chabass slid a printed page across his desk. "Please read it, and sign stating the contents are what you have told me."
Val read it. "This paragraph where it says forcibly took command. The Contessa took command after the pilots were threatened. She didn't use force."
Chabass sighed. "Let's start from the beginning."
One of three telephones on the desk rang. "Alo? Oui, show him in."
After hanging up softly, Chabass said, "Air Force hospitality is about to finish." He stood as the door opened.
Val turned, felt momentary relief. Though the face was familiar the expression was grim and spelled more trouble.
"Bon soir, Commandant," Shapquine said, showing an ID card. He then nodded toward Val and Claudia. "Yes, that's them."
"Leur histoire est tres bizarre." Chabass shook his head and handed Shapquine the declaration.
"Hmm," Shapquine said after reading it. "They didn't include they almost crashed another airplane this morning."
"Another airplane?" Chabass shook his head with disbelief.
Shapquine looked at his watch. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Breakfast," Val said.
"Is the kitchen still open for the colacion?"
"Yes, of course."
"Let's take your guests to the mess. I'm hungry, too."

#

The small mess looked like a McDonalds divided by trellises and artificial creepers. Chabass joined several officers who sat at a long table, having their afternoon meal customary in the French armed forces for duty personnel.
Shapquine chose a table on the opposite side of the room.
A waitress brought plates of fried eggs with French Fries and a carafe of red wine.
Shapquine said, "In England eggs have a slight fishy flavor. Contessa, I congratulate you on your superb airmanship this morning."
"There was no other recourse, Colonel." Claudia poured wine into her glass.
Shapquine smiled. "Last night, Moscow raised the alarm. Professor, what were you doing traveling cross country at a speed between five and nine kilometers an hour? Your friend was worried. And you failed to check in this morning."
"Someone stole my laptop."
"We thought we lost you when you headed back to London."
"Thanks to the Contessa, we turned around."
"I have to get Franco to his funeral."
"The British government has issued an international arrest warrant for both of you. And the French government is happy to comply."
"You can't do that," Repressing a shout, Val growled.
"Professor Orloff, Contessa D'Albano, you are under arrest."