The Sky Is Falling

INRAVENHILL, a red NO TRESPASSING sign and high iron fence excluded the world from the wooded acres of the headquarters the FRA had established in England. Behind the closely guarded base, a series of satellite-tracking dishes monitored international cable and microwave communications passing through Britain. In a concrete house in the center of the compound, four men were watching a large screen.



"Beam her up, Scotty."



They watched the television picture shift away from a flat in Brighton as the satellite moved. A moment later an image of Dana came up on the large screen as she entered her room at the Soyuz Hotel.



"She's back." They watched as Dana hurriedly washed the blood off her hands and started to undress.



"Hey, here we go again." One of the men grinned.



They watched as Dana stripped.



"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.



One of them said, "Do you have the hypodermic?"



"Yes."



"Take her out to Rock Creek Park. The boss wants a hit-and-run."



"Right."



Their eyes turned back to the door. Passengers were streaming out, dressed in heavy woolen clothes, parkas, earmuffs, scarves, and gloves. Finally the flow of passengers stopped.



One of the men frowned. "I'll go and see what's keeping her."



He made his way down the ramp into the plane. A cleaning crew was busily at work. The man walked through the aisle. There were no signs of any passengers. He opened the lavatory doors. They were empty. He hurried forward and said to a flight attendant who was just leaving, "Where was Dana Evans sitting?"



The flight attendant looked surprised. "Dana Evans? You mean the TV anchorwoman?"



"Yes."



"She wasn't on this flight. I wish she had been. I would haveloved to have met her."



Gregory Price was saying to Dana, "Do you know what's great about the lumber business, little lady? Your product grows all by itself. Yes, sir, you just sit around and watch Mother Nature make money for you."



A voice came over the loudspeaker.



"We'll be landing in Chicago's O'Hare Airport in a few minutes. Please fasten your seat belt and return your seat back to the upright position."



The woman seated across the aisle said cynically, "Yeah, put your seat back upright. I wouldn't want to be leaning back when I die."



The word "die" gave Dana a jolt. She could hear the sound of the bullets ricocheting into the wall of the apartment building and she could feel the strong hand shoving her into the path of the oncoming truck. She shuddered when she thought of the two narrow escapes she had had.



Hours earlier, seated in the waiting lounge at Sheremetyevo II airport, Dana had told herself that everything was going to be fine. The good guys are going to win. But there was something bothering her about a conversation she had had with someone. The person had said something disturbing, but it had slipped by. Had it been in a conversation with Matt? Commissar Shdanoff? Tim Drew? The more Dana tried to recall it, the more it eluded her.



A flight attendant announced over the loudspeaker, "Air France flight 220 is ready to depart for Washington, D. C. Please have your passports and boarding passes in hand."



Dana rose and headed for the gate. As she started to show her ticket to the guard, she suddenly remembered what it was. It was her last conversation with Sasha Shdanoff.



No one knows I am there. It is what you call a "safe house."



The only person to whom she revealed Sasha Shdanoff's hideout was Roger Hudson. And immediately after that, Shdanoff had been murdered. From the very beginning, Roger Hudson had been subtly alluding to some dark connection between Taylor Winthrop and Russia.



When I was in Moscow, there was a rumor that Winthrop was involved in some type of private deal with the Russians....



Shortly before Taylor Winthrop became our ambassador to Russia, he told close friends that he had definitely retired from public life....



It was Winthrop who pressured the president into appointing him ambassador....



She had told Roger and Pamela her every move. They had been spying on her all the time. And there could have been only one reason:



Roger Hudson was Taylor Winthrop's mysterious partner.



When the American Airlines flight landed at O'Hare airport in Chicago, Dana peered out the window looking for anything suspicious. Nothing. It was quiet. Dana took a deep breath and started to deplane. Her nerves were on fire. She managed to keep as many passengers around her as possible as she walked into the terminal, staying with the chattering crowd. She had an urgent call to make. During the flight, something so terrible had occurred to her that it made her own danger seem unimportant. Kemal. What if he were in danger because of her? She could not bear the thought of anything happening to him. She had to find someone to protect Kemal. Immediately, she thought of Jack Stone. He was with an organization powerful enough to give her the kind of protection she and Kemal needed, and she was sure that he would arrange it for her. He had been sympathetic to her from the beginning. He's not really one of them.



I'm trying to stay outside the loop. I can best help you that way, if you know what I mean.



Dana walked over to a deserted corner of the terminal, reached in her purse, and took out the private number Jack Stone had given her. She called it. He answered immediately.



"Jack Stone."



"It's Dana Evans. I'm in trouble. I need help."



"What's going on?"



Dana could hear the concern in his voice. "I can't go into it all now, but some people are after me, trying to kill me."



"Who?"



"I don't know. But it's my young son, Kemal, I'm worried about. Can you help me get someone to protect him?"



He responded instantly. "I'll see to it. Is he at home now?"



"Yes."



"I'll send someone over. Now what about you? You say someone is trying to kill you?"



"Yes. They've - they've tried twice."



There was a momentary silence. "I'll look into that and see what I can do. Where are you?"



"I'm at American Airlines at O'Hare, and I don't know when I can get out of here."



"Stay right where you are. I'll get someone there to protect you. Meanwhile, you can stop worrying about Kemal."



Dana felt a sense of deep relief. "Thank you. Thank you." She hung up.



In his office at the FRA, Jack Stone replaced the receiver. He pressed down the intercom button. "The target just called. She's in an American Airlines terminal at O'Hare. Take her."



"Yes, sir."



Jack Stone turned to an aide. "When is General Booster returning from the Far East?"



"He'll be back this afternoon."



"Well, let's get the hell out of here before he finds out what's been going on."