Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

Khalil looked around the airport, shielding his eyes with his hand. Most of the aircraft he saw were small, single- or two-engine propeller planes, and a good number of medium-sized jet aircraft, many of which had the names of what seemed to be corporations on them.

A small aircraft was taking off from a distant runway, and a few aircraft were taxiing slowly out to the runways. There were a lot of engine noises around him, and the smell of petroleum hung in the still air.

Asad Khalil walked to the glass door of the Alpha Aviation Services office, opened it, and strode inside. A blast of frigid air hit him, causing him to catch his breath.

A heavy, middle-aged woman behind a long counter stood at her desk and said, "Good morning. Can I help you?"

"Yes. My name is Demitrious Poulos, and I called-"

"Yes, sir. You spoke to me. How would you like to pay for this flight, sir?"

"Cash."

"Okay, why don't you give me five hundred now, and we'll adjust it when you return."

"Yes." Khalil counted out five hundred dollars, and the woman gave him a receipt.

She said, "Have a seat, sir, and I'll call the pilot."

Khalil sat in the reception area of the small office. It was quieter in here, but the air was too cold.

The woman was on the telephone. Khalil noticed two newspapers on the low coffee table in front of him. One paper was the Florida Times-Union that he had seen in the hotel. The other was called USA Today. Both front pages had his photographs displayed in color. He picked up the USA Today and read the article, glancing over the paper at the woman, whose head he could see beyond the counter.

He was fully prepared to kill her or the pilot, or anyone whose eyes and face betrayed the slightest hint of recognition.

The article in USA Today was, if anything, less clear than the other newspaper, though the words were more simple. There was a small color map that showed the route of Trans-Continental Flight 175 from Paris to New York. Khalil wondered why this was important or necessary.

A few minutes later, a side door opened, and a slim woman in her middle twenties entered the office. She was dressed in khaki slacks, a pullover shirt, and wore sunglasses. Her blond hair was short, and at first Khalil thought it was a boy, then realized his mistake. In fact, Khalil noticed, she was not unattractive.

The woman walked toward him and inquired, "Mr. Poulos?"

"Yes." Khalil stood, folded his paper so that his photo wasn't showing, and put it down over the other newspaper.

The woman removed her sunglasses, and they made eye contact.

The woman smiled, thereby saving her own life and the life of the woman behind the counter. The woman standing before him said, "Hi, I'm Stacy Moll. I'll be your pilot today."

Khalil was speechless for a moment, then nodded and noticed the woman had her hand stretched toward him. He reached out and took her hand, hoping that she couldn't see the flush he felt in his face.

She released his hand and asked, "You got any luggage besides that bag?"

"No. That is all."

"Okay. You got to use the plumbing or anything?"

"Oh… no…"

"Good. Hey, you smoke?"

"No."

"Then I need a fix here." She took a pack of cigarettes out of her breast pocket and lit one with a book of matches. She said, "Just be a minute. You want a candy bar or something?" She puffed on the cigarette as she spoke. "Sunglasses? Got some over there. They come in handy when you're flying."

Khalil looked toward the counter and noticed a display of sunglasses. He examined them and took a pair, on which was a tag that said $24.95. Khalil couldn't understand this American pricing, where everything was a few pennies short of a full dollar. He removed his bifocals, put on the sunglasses, and looked at himself in the small mirror attached to the display. He smiled. "Yes, I will take these."

The woman behind the counter said, "Just give me twenty-five, and I'll take care of Florida for you."

Khalil had no idea what she was talking about, but took two twenty-dollar bills from his wallet and gave them to her.

She gave him his change and said, "Give me the glasses, and I'll cut off the tag."

He hesitated, but could see no way to refuse this request. He took off the glasses, but she didn't look at him as she snipped the plastic thread that held the price tag. She handed the glasses back to him, and he put them on quickly, watching her face the whole time.

The female pilot said to him, "Okay, got my fix."

He turned toward her and saw she was carrying his overnight bag. He said, "I will carry that."

"Nope. That's my job. You're the customer. Ready?"

Khalil had been told they had to file a flight plan, but the female pilot was already at the door.

He walked to the door, and the woman behind the counter said, "Have a nice flight."

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

The female pilot held the door open for him, and they walked out into the heat and sunshine. The sunglasses made it easier to see.

She said, "Follow me."

He walked beside her as they made their way toward a small aircraft parked close to the office.

She said, "Where you from? Russia?"

" Greece."

"Yeah? I thought Demitrious was Russian."

"Demitri is Russian. Demitrious is from Greece."

"You don't look Russian."

"No. Poulos. From Athens."

"You fly into Jacksonville?"

"Yes, Jacksonville International Airport."

"Right from Athens?"

"No. From Athens to Washington."

"Right. Hey, you hot in that suit? Take your tie and jacket off."

"I am fine. It is much hotter where I come from."

"No kidding?"

"Allow me to carry the bag."

"No problem."

They reached the aircraft and the woman asked, "You need the bag, or should I stow it in the passenger compartment?"

"I need the bag." He added, "There are delicate terracottas in the bag."

"Say what?"

"Ancient vases. I am a dealer in antiquities."

"No kidding? Okay, I'll try not to sit on the bag." She laughed and put the bag down gently on the tarmac.

Khalil looked at the small blue and white aircraft.

Stacy Moll said, "Okay, FYI, this is a Piper Cherokee. I use it mostly for flight instruction, but I make short charter flights with it. Hey, you have a problem with a female pilot?"

"No. I am sure you are competent."

"I'm better than competent. I'm great."

He nodded, but felt his face flush again. He wondered if there was a way to kill this brazen woman without jeopardizing his future plans. Malik had said to him, "You may have a desire to kill rather than a need to kill. Remember, the lion has no desire to kill, only a need to kill. With every killing, there is a risk. With every risk, the danger increases. Kill who you must, but never kill for sport or in anger."

The woman said to him, "Hey, you look good in shades sunglasses.

He nodded. "Thank you."

She said, "She's all ready to go. I gave her a complete pre-flight check. You ready?"

"Yes."

"You a nervous flier?"

Khalil had the urge to tell her he'd arrived in America in an aircraft with two dead pilots, but instead he said, "I have flown often."

"Good." She hopped onto the right wing, opened the Piper's door, and reached her hand out. "Give me the bag."

He handed the bag up to her, and she placed it on the back seat, then reached out her hand to him and said, "Put your left foot on that little step and use the handhold on the fuselage." She pointed to the protruding bracket just above the rear window. "I've got to get in first-this is the only door-then you slide in after me." She got into the aircraft.

He climbed up on the wing as she said, then eased himself down into the aircraft's right front seat. He turned and looked at her. Their faces were only inches apart, and she smiled at him. "Comfortable?"