13. Dmitri's Drinks Party by Clair Wright

 “It says here, ‘finish it’.” That is all.  So that is what I propose to do, ladies and gentlemen.” Dmitri beams, and tucks the telegram back into his pocket.

The temperature seems to have risen by twenty degrees in the cabin, and it’s not only due to the afternoon sun piercing through the porthole windows.  The air is rapidly becoming fetid; sweat and fear overpowering the aroma of cigarette smoke.

At Dmitri’s signal, Johnson sits, perched on the edge of his seat as if ready to bolt. I wonder where he thinks he’s going to run to.  We are like rats in a trap in here. 

The curtain at the front of the cabin is pulled back and it takes me a moment to recognise Charlie Markman, cool in a crisp white pilot’s shirt, complete with epaulettes and braid. I stifle a smirk; this plane is an absolute crate.  Charlie nods at the Creightons and I see James bristle, his fingers gripping the arms of his seat.  Charlie sees it too and grins, before settling himself into the seat beside Johnson. He looks like he is enjoying himself. Johnson does not. That twitch is back.

Megan Creighton glances across to Vanderbilt, looking for what? Reassurance? A cue? His face is impassive, he looks resolutely forward.  She shifts in her seat, fiddles with the strap of her clutch bag. 

I can sense JJ behind me. I wish he was in my eye-line.  But he always seemed to know what I was thinking; it’s been a while but I’m counting on that.

Behind us I can hear a murmur of disquiet from the remaining passengers not party to this little stand-off. I wonder what they are thinking.

“Drinks, I think!” announces Dmitri, gesturing expansively as if he is a host at a cocktail party.  Valerie hands me a gin and tonic, with ice. Not a flicker of recognition.  

Megan downs her champagne in one and raises her glass for a refill. Dmitri laughs.  “Absolutely, Mrs Creighton!  Why not?” 

Johnson shakes his head as Valerie reaches his seat. He looks green.

“Are you not joining us, Mr Johnson? Do you insult me?” 

Johnson shakes his head, muttering, but Dmitri laughs again. 

Dmitri is enjoying this a little too much.  He was always something of a ham at Cambridge, hanging around with the Footlights crowd.  Perhaps our unexpected reunion has triggered some nostalgic longing. His little performance in my hotel room, whether for the benefit of Valerie or his charming side-kick, showed me he hasn’t lost any of his taste for a scene.  

I hope I can trust him. It was a gamble to contact him after our first encounter, but I needed to know where Valerie was and I guessed he could tell me.  He had recognised me too, but as I remarked on the phone, it didn’t stop him roughing me up. “The role required it,” was all he said by way of explanation. 

So far Dmitri has been as good as his word; Valerie is safe, and he got the visa for me. In return I hinted to him that the plans may not be all they seem. I’m not sure he believed me .How far can we stretch old loyalties?  He’s right of course, we all have our roles to play.  

Either way, I wish he would get to the point. The heat really is unbearable. 

The Creightons are up to something.  Megan has rested her head on James shoulder, as if for comfort. From my vantage point I can see her muttering out of the side of her mouth, James is inclining his head slightly to hear her. I glance towards Dmitri to see if he has noticed, but he is goading Johnson into drinking vodka with him.  

“Nobody move!” Megan shrieks; she’s up on her feet and waving a pistol wildly. She shuffles down the aisle, James behind her, and grabs Charlie Markman’s arm. She pushes the pistol into his temple. 

“Up!” She yanks him to his feet, and starts to pull him towards the front of the plane.  James pushes him from the rear, flicking nervous glances over the rest of us.  Charlie’s eyes are wide with a mix of shock and disbelief, he gives a weak laugh of embarrassment.  In the stifling silence I hear Dmitri put down his glass. 

“My dear Mrs Creighton, Mr Creighton, please sit down.” His tone is calm, reassuring even, but the Makarov pointing at the back of James’ head somewhat counters the effect.  “Don’t tell me, you are planning to make Mr Markman here fly us all to South Africa?  Surely you have understood by now that the game is over for you, and for your Uncle George there. You are really only here to make up the numbers. Now sit down!” He gestures with his gun and the Creightons slink back into their seats, Megan sobbing softly. Charlie straightens his shirt and returns to his seat. He gulps the remainder of Johnson’s vodka. 

“So ladies and gentlemen,” says Dmitri, toying with the Makarov. “Let us get down to business at last.”  He pauses, and surveys his audience.  “Let us be direct with one another, One, or maybe more than one of you, has the plans for the successful Comet 4 test flights. It would seem that all of us want them, but sadly that cannot be.” He shakes his head, looking mournfully at Johnson, who is sweating profusely.  

“So,” he continues, strolling up and down the aisle as he speaks, “now we have all had time to contemplate our situation, perhaps we can get to the bottom of this tricky case.  And to focus our minds, I propose this: one of you will die, every hour, until the plans - the complete plans - are handed to me.  Do you understand?”

He stops, by my seat. I look up at him, as he presses the muzzle of the gun into my chest.  “We have been here about an hour, already, wouldn’t you say, Alan?”

Behind me, I can hear JJ is holding his breath. Over Dmitri’s shoulder, Valerie is reaching into her jacket. Is this part of Dmitri’s game too?

Just then the door at the front of the plane swings open.