"Take it easy, chum. I just need to—"
Another burst of turbulence slammed the wings, tossing the cabin in a sickening lurch to the left.
Now.
He lunged backward, flinging his hand around to catch the leather purse and sweep it, upended, onto the floor. With a clatter the contents sprayed down the aisle. Comrade Karanova popped alert, reaching out too late to try and grab it. Her eyes were shooting daggers.
"Ho, sorry about that. Damned thing just . . . Here, let me try and . . ." He bent over, blocking her view as he began sweeping up the contents off the carpeted aisle— cosmetics, keys, and documents.
The name in the passport was Helena Alsace. Inside the boarding packet was a hotel reservation slip issued by an Athens travel agent. The Savoy.
Well, well, well. Looks like T-Directorate travels first class everywhere these days. Learning the ways of the capitalist West.
"Here you go. Never understood why women carry so much junk in their purse." He was settling the bag back onto the seat. "Sure am sorry about that. Maybe I can buy you dinner to make amends. Or how about trying out that room service I told you about?"
"That will not be necessary, Mr. Warner." She reached for the bag.
"Well, just in case I'm in the neighborhood, what hotel you staying at?"