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"Former Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva, a much prettier defector," he said. "Who should also learn to trust me."
"Trust has to be earned, Colonel." She held up the People magazine. "You read this all the time?"
"From cover to cover," he said.
She smiled.
"Are you about to tell me the real reason--that I won't believe--why you're defecting?" Castillo asked.
"I told you that I'd tell you why we are--why we have--defected when the time was right. That's not yet."
"You promised to tell the details of the family you have in Argentina."
"I told you that I would tell you that at the fuel stop. We're not at the fuel stop, are we?"
"No, we're not."
"Where is the fuel stop?"
"Dakar, Senegal. From there we'll go to Sao Paulo, Brazil, then down to Buenos Aires. If we're lucky we should be in B.A. about five in the afternoon, which is noon in B.A. And since December is the middle of winter in Vienna, it will be the middle of summer in B.A. In other words, hot, very hot, and humid."
There's always a silver cloud. I'll very probably get to see Little Red Under Britches in a swimsuit at the safe house pool.
"We'll be flying through most of the night and most of what would be the day in Vienna. You might consider getting some sleep. That seat goes down almost flat."
"I think I will," she said with a smile.
"It might be easier to sleep if you took off your pistol."
She looked at him with what could have been surprise or indignation--or both.
"That holster must be uncomfortable," Castillo went on. "And you're really not going to have to shoot anybody anytime soon."
I'll be damned; she's actually blushing!
"Or would you rather I took the holster off?" Castillo added.
Svetlana's eyes turned to ice.
She unfastened her seat belt, stood, then marched down the aisle to the lavatory. Ninety seconds later, she was back. Without looking at him, she dropped the holstered pistol in his lap, got back in her seat, adjusted it almost flat, then turned on her side, facing away from him, and closed her eyes.
When Castillo took the pistol from the holster he saw that Davidson had been right: It was a 1908 Colt Vest Pocket. But chambered for .32 ACP, not .25 as Jack had guessed. He carefully ejected the magazine and worked the action. A cartridge flew out. He tried but failed to catch the live round, so he went looking for it. He found it under the seat, put it into the magazine, then put the magazine back in the pistol and the pistol back in its holster.
The elastic straps were still warm from her body, and he had a quick mental image of her leaping onto the platform at the Westbahnhof.
Careful, Charley.
Little Red Under Britches is a professional. One proof of that being she carries her pistol with a round in the chamber, just like big boys do.
He put the pistol into his briefcase, lowered his seat, and promptly fell asleep.
When they landed at Yoff-Leopold Sedar Senghor International Airport in Senegal, and Max made his routine visit to the nose gear, both pups and the girl followed him. Delchamps followed the pups. Castillo had thought that the only words to really describe the pups bouncing happily after Poppa, and then trying--and failing--to emulate his raised high leg, were cute as hell.
Castillo had glanced at Svetlana. She was smiling at the scene warmly, maternally, causing Castillo to think, She sure don't look like no SVR rezident who goes around with a pistol next to her crotch.
Svetlana didn't volunteer any information about her family when they had a mostly unsatisfactory French breakfast--bitter coffee and stale, too sweet croissants--making Castillo wonder if that was something she had invented to explain why they wanted to go to Argentina, and that there was, in fact, no family to help them disappear.
He didn't press her.
