“I thought that would interest you.” Alex stood, walked over to Roger’s desk, and returned his pistol to the drawer where he had found it. “Come, let’s go.”

“Right now?”

“Why wait? Your luggage is already in the car.”

39

An elderly Mercedes sedan awaited them—a large one. Roger was put into a rear seat and found curtains drawn on the windows and on the partition between the driver and the passengers. Roger and Alex were the only two passengers aboard. The car moved off, and Roger soon gave up trying to follow the turns they were making. They were apparently in quite heavy traffic, starting and stopping a lot. Roger thought they might be moving through the south London suburbs.

After an hour or so they began moving faster and more steadily—on the open road, but not a motorway, he reckoned. More turns were made, and then the car came to a stop. Roger started to get out, but Alex put out a hand. “A moment longer, please.”

Roger heard a motor start and something was squeaking.

“Now,” Alex said.

Roger got out of the car and found himself standing in an aircraft hangar. A business jet of French manufacture, one with three engines, occupied the space.

Alex came around the car and opened the front passenger door. To Roger’s surprise, Jennifer Sands got out. “Hello, Roger,” she said, giving him a warm smile.

Roger could manage only a quick “Good morning.”

The driver went to the car’s boot and began handing suitcases to two uniformed aircrew, who stowed them in the airplane’s rear luggage compartment.

“After you,” Alex said to Roger.

Roger allowed Jennifer to precede him, then climbed the airstairs and entered a comfortable cabin. Alex indicated which seat he should take, then took his coat while Roger buckled himself in. The airplane had begun to move, apparently being towed. The curtains were drawn on all windows, and the cockpit door was closed, so he still could not see outside.

“Am I going to need a passport?” Roger asked Alex.

Alex patted his breast pocket. “It was in your desk drawer. I took the liberty. It was interesting that MI-6 neglected to reclaim your diplomatic passport.”

After a short tow, the airplane stopped and an engine started, then another, then a third. They started to taxi. Roger tried to figure out which airport they were on. If they had gone south, it might be Biggin Hill, a former RAF station, which took business jets and was a port of entry.

The airplane trundled on for a few minutes, then seemed to make a left turn and stop. A couple of minutes passed, and the airplane moved on and made another left. Roger thought they must be on a runway. Confirming his judgment, the engines spooled up to full power, and the airplane soon left the runway. He heard the landing gear and flaps come up. Now they were climbing.