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?"

"Yes."

He reached behind him and placed the black bag on his lap.

She fastened her harness and told him to do the same. He managed to fasten his belt with the bag still on his lap.

She said, "You want to keep that bag on your lap?"

"Just until we are in the air."

"You need a pill or something?"

I need to be close to my weapons until we are safely out of here. "The vases are delicate. May I ask you-do we need to file a flight plan? Or has it been filed?"

She pointed out the window and said, "Chamber of Commerce blue skies. Don't need a flight plan."

She handed him a headset with a boom microphone, and he put it on. She put hers on and said, "Calling Demitrious. How do you hear me, Demitrious?"

He cleared his throat and said, "I can hear you."

"Same. This is better than screaming over the engine noise. Hey, can I call you Demitrious?"

"Yes."

"I'm Stacy."

"Yes."

She put on her sunglasses, started the engine, and they began to taxi out. She said, "We're using Runway Fourteen today. Blue skies all the way to Daytona Beach, no turbulence reported by anyone, good southerly wind, and the best damned pilot in Florida at the controls." He nodded.

She stopped at the end of Runway Fourteen, reached across him to close and lock the door, did an engine check, then broadcast, "Piper One-Five Whiskey, ready for takeoff."

The Control Tower broadcast, "Cleared for take-off, One-Five Whiskey."

Stacy Moll ran up the engine, released the brake, and they began rolling down the runway. Within twenty seconds, the aircraft lifted off and climbed out.

She turned the Piper thirty degrees to the right to a heading of one hundred seventy degrees, almost due south, then punched some buttons on the panel, explaining to Khalil, "This is the Global Positioning Satellite Navigation radio. You know how that works?"

"Yes. I have one in my automobile. In Greece."

She laughed. "Good. You're in charge of the GPS, Demitrious."

"Yes?"

"Just kidding. Hey, do you want me to shut up, or do you want company?"

He found himself saying, "I would enjoy company."

"Good. But tell me if I'm talking too much, and I'll shut up."

He nodded.

She said, "Our flight time to Daytona Beach Airport is forty to fifty minutes. Maybe less."

He replied, "It is not actually to Daytona Beach Airport that I wish to go."

She glanced at him and asked, "Where exactly do you wish to go?"

"It is a place called Spruce Creek. Do you know it?"

"Sure. Pishy-poshy fly-in community. I'll reprogram." She hit some buttons on the console.

He said, "I am sorry if there was confusion."

"No problem. This is easier than the big airport, especially on a perfect day like this."

"Good."

She settled back in her seat, scanned her control panel, and said, "Eighty-four nautical miles, flight time forty-one minutes, expected fuel burn nine and a half gallons. Piece of cake."

"No, thank you."

She looked at him, then laughed. "No, I mean… it's like slang. Piece of cake. Means, like, no problem."

He nodded.

"I'll keep the slang down to a minimum. If you can't understand me, say, 'Stacy, talk English.'"

"Yes."

"Okay, we're climbing through twenty-five hundred feet, passing due east of Jacksonville Naval Air Station. You can see it down there. Take a look. The other air field to the west was called Cecil Field, also Navy, but that's been decommissioned. Do you see any jet fighters out here? They're doing some practice crap on most days. Keep a lookout. Last thing I need is some jet-jockey up my ass-pardon my French."

"French?"

"Forget it." She said, "Hey, none of my business, but why are you going to Spruce Creek?"

"I have a business appointment there. A collector of Greek antiquities."

"Okay. About an hour on the ground?"

"Perhaps less. No more."

"Take as long as you need. I'm free all day."

"It will not take long."

"You know where you need to go when we hit the ground?"

"Yes. I have the information."

"You ever been there? Spruce Creek?"

"No."

"Pishy-poshy. That means people with too much money. Well, they don't all have big bucks, but lots of them have their noses in the air. You know? Lots of doctors, lawyers, and businessmen who think they know how to fly. But you've also got lots of commercial airline pilots-active and retired. They know how to fly the big stuff, but sometimes they get themselves killed in their little sports planes. Sorry, I'm not supposed to talk about crashing to the customers." She laughed again.

Khalil smiled.

She continued, "Anyway, at Spruce Creek you also got some retired military guys. Real 'Right Stuff kind of macho types. You know? I mean, they think they're God's gift to women. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Hey, the guy you're going to see wouldn't be named Jim Marcus, would he?"

"No."

"Whew! Good. I used to date that idiot. Former Navy, now a US Airways pilot. My father was a military jet pilot. Told me never to date a pilot. Good advice. Hey, what's the difference between a pig and a pilot? Give up? A pig won't stay up all night to screw a pilot." She laughed. "Sorry. You didn't get it anyway. Right? Anyway, if I never see that SOB again, it will be too soon. Okay, enough of my problems. Down there on the left-you can't see it now, but on the way back you can-is Saint Augustine. Oldest settlement in America. I mean, European settlement. The Indians were here first. Right? Gotta remember my PC."