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One arm of his shiny civilian suit was hanging empty. Instead, he was led outside, to where an American single-decker bus was pumping thick clouds of black exhaust into the rapidly darkening sky. Those who had scurried for pole position in the terminal queue had been rewarded with a better-than-average shot at carbon monoxide poisoning. In an instant their horses had carried them into the safety of the city. All winter, men from every nation had sought to mimic the trick, galloping up and down the meadows outside Antioch until their hands were raw and their horses half-lame. They had done five drops that day, one in the pre-dawn twilight, three in daylight, and one as dusk shaded into night. The last, darker drop had been easier, the various lights on the ground providing more of a yardstick for judgement, but there was no guarantee of similar assistance in the countryside west of Berlin. A moon might make things easier, but it would also render them more visible. Russell found himself hanging on to the thought that the Soviets really wanted this operation to succeed, and would not be dropping him to a likely death just for the fun of it.

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It took all the steam out of his anger. I guess he thought no woman could resist big black boots and a ten-gallon hat. And Mousy Husband began acting… well, highly suspicious. Was this just a ploy to keep the two lovers apart for a few more chapters. Was there any significance to the fact mat Anna Floyd was writing about murder instead of the usual abduction and seduction themes. Lorelei and her husband, was this plot inspired by something in real life. I mean, the murders are solved, the other two weddings are over, one way or another. Perhaps it was the assembled relatives. If I saw the practical jokers leading Jake off toward the airport, would I really want to interfere.

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