"Actually, no, I don't. Guns can be dangerous when you're traveling."

"Has this something to do with - Denver?"

Clark turned and nodded. "We think so."

"It will be interesting to see what such men look like." The detective meant the eyes, of course. He'd seen the photographs.

The DC-10 pulled up to the gate and cut power to its three engines. The jetway moved a few feet to mate with the forward door.

"They travel first class," John said unnecessarily.

"Si. The airline says there are fifteen first-class passengers, and they've been told to hold the rest. You will see, Senor Clark, we know our business."

"I have no doubt of that. Forgive me if I gave that impression, Teniente."

"You are CIA, no?"

"I am not permitted to say."

"Then of course you are. What will you do with them?"

"We will speak," Clark said simply.

The gate attendant opened the door to the jetway. Two Federal Police officers took their places left and right of the door, their jackets open. Clark prayed there would be no gunplay. The people started walking out, and the usual greetings were called from the waiting area.

"Bingo," Clark said quietly. The police lieutenant straightened his tie to signal the men at the door. They made it easy, the last two first-class passengers to come out. Qati looked sick and pale, Clark noticed. Maybe it had been a bad flight. He stepped over the rope barrier. Chavez did the same, smiling and calling to a passenger who looked at them in open puzzlement.

"Emesto!" John said, running up to him.

"I'm afraid I'm the wrong-"

Clark went right past the man from Miami.

Ghosn was slow to react, dulled by the flight from America, relaxed by the thought that they had escaped. By the time he started to move, he was tackled from behind. Another policeman placed a gun against the back of his head, and he was handcuffed before they hauled him to his feet.

"Well, I'll be a son-of-a-bitch," Chavez said. "You're the guy with the books! We've met before, sweetheart."

"Qati," John said to the other one. They'd already been patted down. Neither was armed. "I've wanted to meet you for years."

Clark took out their tickets. The police would collect their luggage. The police moved them out very quickly. The business and tourist passengers would not know that anything untoward had happened until they were told by family members in a few minutes.

"Very smooth, Lieutenant," John said to the senior officer.

"As I said, we know our business."

"Could you have your people phone the embassy and tell them that we got 'em both alive."

"Of course."

The eight men waited in a small room while the bags were collected. There could be evidence in them, and there wasn't that much of a hurry. The Mexican police lieutenant examined their faces closely, but saw nothing more or less human than what he'd seen in the faces of a hundred murderers. It was vaguely disappointing, even though he was a good-enough cop to know better. The luggage was searched, but aside from some prescription drugs - they were checked and determined not to be narcotics - there was nothing unusual. The police borrowed a courtesy van for the drive to the Gulfstream.