“A little over an hour and twenty minutes,” Craig replied. “But please finish what you were saying about Pinochet.”

“Okay. I’ve got some urgent calls to make, but in a nutshell, a Spanish judge issued a warrant for the general’s arrest and they snagged him when he came to London for medical care. But it took the British courts over a year to rule that Pinochet must be extradited to Spain to stand trial.”

“But… he was sent back to Chile,” Jillian said.

“True,” Sherry agreed, “but only because he was finally judged too sick to stand trial anywhere. The key British ruling, that a former head of state has no protection from criminal responsibility, no sovereign immunity, was a great step forward with a big problem attached. What happens if the bad guys use it against the good guys?”

“You mean,” Craig began, “someone like President Harris?”

“Exactly. Instead of having a bloody dictator arrested, suppose country Y misuses the treaty’s legal procedures to capture an innocent government official from country X, because country Y is angry with or at war with country X?”

“Who, though?” Craig asked. “Who was country Y in Athens? The Greeks?”

She glanced at Matt Ward and shrugged. “I doubt it. I haven’t a clue which country was responsible back there. There are a lot of countries in the so-called family of nations that still hate us. Fidel doesn’t have a corner on that market.”

They all fell silent for a few moments as the sound of the slipstream outside filled the small entry alcove with white noise. The aroma of warmed sweetrolls wafted from the galley, along with the pungent scent of fresh coffee.

“The nightmare,” Matt Ward interjected, “is that someone like Saddam Hussein or Milosevic or Muammar Gaddafi could trump up a warrant based on accusations that U.S. military strikes authorized by the President tortured their people, or other such garbage.”

Sherry was nodding agreement and looking at her watch again as she spoke. “Under the treaty – which Greece ratified, by the way – they could theoretically have John Harris arrested in Athens and extradited to face a kangaroo court, and a gallows, in Baghdad.”

Jillian’s hand went to her mouth. “You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. It’s a real threat, and thank God, Captain, you were thinking fast. President Harris doesn’t want to believe it, but I’ll bet that’s what almost occurred, although Iraq’s probably not behind it.”

“Any country can issue a warrant, then?” Craig asked.

“Any one of them,” Sherry affirmed. “Any judge in any obscure corner of the world could come up with a list of charges and issue an international arrest warrant, and once issued, that warrant can be used virtually anywhere to apprehend anyone, even if the name is John Harris, Jimmy Carter, George Bush, or Jerry Ford.”

“Good Lord!” Craig replied.

“At the very least,” she continued, “they could keep an American ex-President under arrest for a year or two, causing the U.S. great embarrassment.” She paused and checked her watch again. “I’ve got to get on the phone. My GSM cellular doesn’t work in flight.”

“Me, too,” Matt Ward added. “All of my cell phones are inoperative.”

Craig let his eyes wander to the third row of seats in first class to President Harris, who had his reading glasses on. He was studying something intently. One hundred eighteen other passengers were aboard, most of them reading or dozing.

Craig turned back to Sherry Lincoln. “You can find out when we get to Rome what that was all about, can’t you?”

He could see the sudden cloud drift across her face as she thought about an answer.

“Rome is your destination, isn’t it?” he pressed.

She looked staggered and he could see the blood drain from her face.

“I’m sorry… what?” Sherry asked.

“You folks did want to go to Rome, right?”

She nodded, licking her lips and looking at Matt Ward. “Yes, but… oh my God, I hadn’t had time to think this through!”

“What?” the Secret Service agent asked.

“If there’s a warrant in Greece,” Sherry Lincoln replied, “there could be a warrant waiting in Italy, too. Italy also ratified the treaty.”

“Are there any countries that haven’t ratified?” Craig asked.

“None we’d want to fly to,” she said. “Of course the United States didn’t get around to ratification until nineteen ninety-four?” She turned to Jillian. “Is there a satellite phone aboard? I need one desperately, and I’ve got to get my Palm Pilot out of my purse.”

“Any of the seat phones,” Jillian replied. “They’ll automatically switch to satellite if they can’t get a normal signal. But… wait, use the phone up here.”

Sherry started to turn, but Craig gently caught her arm.

“Ms. Lincoln, wait a minute. Are you… are you saying he could be arrested in Rome, too?”

“Call me Sherry. I don’t know. How much time did you say until we land?”

“About an hour and ten minutes.”

“If I can reach the right people…” She hesitated, looking him in the eye and sighing. “I’m very much afraid I already know the answer. If some country’s gone to the trouble to issue a warrant for the arrest of an American President, you can bank on the fact that they won’t give up easily. Yes, they’ll be waiting.”

“And you’ve no idea who’s behind it?”

“No.”

“Maybe we should land somewhere else,” Craig said. “Of course we have the other passengers to consider…”

“Where else could you land?” Sherry interrupted, her tone suddenly hopeful.

Craig shook his head. “I don’t know. We have enough fuel for Switzerland, France, maybe Spain, and Germany. Of course, I’m already in serious trouble with my company. Everyone thinks we’ve been hijacked. There will be hell to pay when they find out otherwise.”

“Really?” She shook her head again. “Oh, man! That could make one thing easier, though.”

“How so?”

“You say air traffic control thinks we’ve been hijacked?”

“Yes. And my company does, too.”

“Then Washington will already know about it.”

Jillian was holding out the telephone receiver, and Sherry Lincoln almost lunged for it.

“Excuse me, Mr. President?” Craig Dayton was leaning over from the aisle.

“Ah! Captain. I know Sherry was talking to you, but I want to thank you for… well, getting me out of there.”

“You’re entirely welcome, sir.”

“I seriously doubt it was necessary, but she seems to think so.”

Craig squatted down to meet Harris at eye level. “Sir, they told us a delegation was on the way in from town with a warrant for your arrest. There were no minced words, and we had seven cops on the jetway.”

John Harris chewed his lower lip for a second as he looked Craig in the eye. “There is a concern we’ve all had…”

Craig nodded. “I know. The Pinochet warrant. She was briefing us.”

“What degree of trouble have you created for yourself?” Harris asked.

“Don’t worry about it, sir,” Craig replied.

“Well, I am going to worry about it. And if they try to come down on you, I’ll do my very dead level best to halt the process.”

“Thanks, Mr. President.”

“If you’re laying over in Rome, would you let me take you and your crew to dinner tonight?”

Craig smiled. “If it works out, sir, we’d be honored.”