A little less than an hour later, Malone sat on the steps of the landing ramp that led up to the open door of the big Air Force transport plane on the runway. The plane was waiting, and so was Malone. He didn’t feel confident, or even excited. He felt just a little bit frightened. Burris’ complicated warnings had had some effect, and Malone was fighting down a minor case of the shakes.
Next to him, her face wreathed in happy smiles, sat a smartly-dressed grey-haired woman in her sixties. She wore an unobtrusive tailored suit and a light jacket, and she looked as if she might be one of the elder matrons of the society set, very definitely an upper-crust type. In spite of the normality of her clothing, Her Majesty looked every inch a Queen, Malone thought.
“And that, Sir Kenneth, is only natural,” she said sweetly. “Even when traveling incognito, one must retain one’s dignity. And I don’t object at all to using the name of Rose Thompson in a good cause; it was used for so many years it almost feels like part of me.”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” Malone said mildly.
A voice from above and behind him interrupted his worried thoughts. “Mr. Malone!” it said. “Mr. Malone?”
Malone screwed his head around and looked up. An Air Force colonel was standing in the doorway of the plane, looking down with a stern, worried expression. “Yes?” Malone said. “What is it?”
“Takeoff, Mr. Malone,” the colonel said. “We’re due to go in fifteen minutes, and our clearance has been established.”
“Fine,” Malone said.
“But your passengers,” the colonel said. “Where are they?”