Free The Brotherhood of the Rose by David Morrell Page B

matter."
    The woman studied the screen on the console. Voices droned from speakers in the noisy crowded terminal. Behind him, Chris felt other customers waiting. "Sir, Flight 211 has room in coach. It leaves in fifteen minutes. If we hurry, we can get you aboard. Your name?"
    Chris told her the false name on his passport, paying cash when she asked for his credit card, avoiding a paper trail as much as possible. "Any luggage?"
    "Just this carry-on."
    "I'll phone the boarding attendant and ask him to hold the flight. Enjoy your trip, sir."
    "Thank you."
    Though he smiled as he turned to hurry through the terminal, his muscles hardened. Carefully he scanned the crowd for anyone watching him. He reached the metal detector, a Sky Policeman studying him, but Chris had dropped his Mauser down a Bangkok sewer, knowing he'd be caught trying to carry the pistol on board a plane. He could have put it in a suitcase and arranged for the case to be stored beneath the plane. That luggage wasn't searched. But he couldn't risk waiting for it to be returned. He had to keep moving. He grabbed his overnight bag after it came through the scanning machine and rushed down the corridor toward the boarding dock.
    A stewardess watched from the plane's open door as he ran down the passenger tunnel. His footsteps echoed. "Thanks for waiting," he told her. "No problem. They're late getting food on board." She took his ticket.
    He passed the first-class passengers, going through the bulkhead toward the seats in back. Several were empty. The boarding attendant had asked him if he wanted smoking or nonsmoking. Chris didn't smoke, but since the smokers' section was in the rear, he'd chosen the seat that was farthest back. He needed to watch as many passengers as he could, the aisle, and especially the door.
    His seat was between an overweight man and an elderly woman, near the washrooms. Squeezing past the man, he sat in the middle, smiling to the woman, sliding his compact bag beneath the forward seat. He buckled himself in and, looking bored, peered along the aisle.
    He had to assume the worst-that the needle hole in Malenov's body had been discovered and a universal contract issued against him. Though his intention remained the same-to find a dentist-he couldn't go to the one the priest had recommended. The address the priest had given him was in Guatemala, but the priest would have told the KGB's investigators where he was going. In turn, the investigators would have radioed their people in Guatemala to watch for him. He had to choose another country, one he knew well, in which he could disappear and use his own resources to find a trustworthy dentist. Mexico appealed to him. But leaving Bangkok and then Singapore, he hadn't been able to get on flights as quickly as he needed them. The plane to Honolulu had landed forty minutes behind schedule. He'd missed the next flight to Mexico City and been forced to wait for this one. At the start, he'd hoped for a twelve-hour lead, but it was now sixteen hours since he'd killed the Russian.
    He waited tensely. In Bangkok, it would be night, but eight thousand miles to the east, it was morning in Honolulu. The sun glared through the windows, making him sweat as he listened to the hiss of the cabin's air conditioning. He felt the vibration of the idling engines through the fuselage. A hatch thumped beneath him, probably last-minute baggage being stowed. Through the window, he watched two loading carts drive awayhe peered along the aisle. A stewardess pulled the passenger door shut, reaching to secure the locking bolt. In a minute, the jet would taxi toward the runway.
    Breathing out, he relaxed. Abruptly his stomach burned; he stiffened. The stewardess opened the door. Two men stepped in. As she locked the door, the men came down the aisle.
    He studied them. Midtwenties. Muscular yet lithe. Shirts and pants of muted colors. They seemed determined not to glance at the other passengers, concentrating on their ticket