That's when it finally dawned on her. This idiot must think I'm Vera.
Now he was withdrawing a white packet of English cigarettes and offering her one. Instinctively, she reached out.
"So how can I help you, Major Androv?" Eva flashed him a smile as he lit her English Oval with a match.
"It's the test flight tomorrow. Nobody should be near that cockpit who hasn't been certified to at least ten G's in the simulator. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen."
"Ten G's?" She was trying to keep him talking. "That's—"
"Damned dangerous. But we need it to bring the scramjets up to rated thrust, at least the first time. They've never been tested in flight. We just don't know."
"And nobody else here has been certified?" She wasn't even sure exactly what "certified" meant, but she tried to look concerned.
"Exactly. Now all of a sudden he wants to stick a couple of his Nips in the cockpit there with me, probably crop-duster screw-ups from Mino Industries." He finally lit his own cigarette, with a suggestive flourish. Christ, she thought, why do all Soviet pilots think they're God's gift to women. "I tell you it's idiotic." He exhaled through his nose. "You've got to help me make him see that, before it's too late."
She glanced sideways at the two impatient Japanese. From their blank faces she realized they hadn't understood a word.
Well, she thought, right now I've got nothing to lose.