Terminal Four of Heathrow airport and looked about her. Spotting the team she thought
she was supposed to be joining, she sauntered over and sidled up to the chief steward.
“This the flight to Iceland?” she asked.
“Yeah … BA0217 … but what’s it to you?” the man with the mincing attitude and high
pitched voice replied.
“I’m Trixy … got a message from the office to report here ... seems like someone called
Sandi’s phoned in sick … I’m to replace her…”
“No-one told me that…”
“So you want me to leave? Let you fly one short?”
“Hey, hold on! Don’t get your knickers in a twist … I didn’t say that! I’m Jack …
welcome to the team…”
“Thanks,” grinned Janet as she shook the man’s limp wrested hand. “When do we
board…?”
**
In a deserted yard behind the terminal building, British Airways employee GB1756294 –
otherwise known as Sandi Goldman – lay hidden behind a rubbish skip, her slowly
cooling body dressed only in a bra and panty set…
**
I take my seat inside the Airbus and smile at the young woman sat next to me, her face
turned towards the window she is sat next to. She twists round in her seat and returns my
smile … instantly the pictures that Mister Graves had shown me flash though my mind
and one springs to the forefront – the Bulgarian pistol expert called Bistra. My smile
never flinches as I look her trim figure over – just who does she think she is fooling dying
her hair like that…?
An hour later and the Loki assassin still hasn’t made her move … not that there is much
she can do on board a fully loaded, pressurized airliner – not with her weapon of choice
anyway. The pair of us chat as if we are old friends and I’m just about to ask her where’s
a good place to stay in Iceland when, with a polite cough, the stewardess leans in, her
impressive rack several inches in advance of the rest of her, and asks if we’d like a drink.
“Dry Martini cocktail,” the seated would-be assassin replies instantly then, as the
stewardess turns her dead, grey eyes towards me, I add, “And I’ll have the same … but
make mine a double.”
“Certainly, Sir,” replies the hostess before she straightens up and heads back towards the
gallery…
Checking carefully that she is alone and unobserved, Janet prepares the two cocktails
then, into the larger, carefully pours a few drops of a fast acting poison from a small
bottle she has been caring in her pocket. With a smile, she places the two glasses onto
her tray before leaving the galley and heads back towards row eighteen…
I look up at the hostess then smile as she says, “Your drink, Sir.”
“Actually, I think I’ve been a bit greedy here,” I mutter apologetically. “I really think
that I should only have had a single…”
“That’s okay,” chips in the blonde beside me, the typical flaw of greed displaying itself in
her character, “If you don’t want it, I’ll do you a swap … they are the same drink after
all…”
The hostess’s professional smile suddenly fades as she pulls back a little. “I’m not sure
that this is permissible…” she mutters…
“I’m sure it’s alright,” I placate as I pluck both glasses from her tray before she can
protest further, handing the larger one over to Bistra. “Chin, chin…”
“Cheers, as you say,” the Bulgarian replies even as I watch the ‘flight attendant’ hurry off
towards the rear of the plane…
The woman sat beside me takes a deep mouthful of her drink, and she closes her eyes as a
satisfied smile spreads across her face, “Hmmm … and this is why I always insist on
flying first clauugh--“ Bistra’s beautiful eyes grow wide in bewilderment as she puts a
hand to her breasts, her chest heaving in an attempt to take in air. “Hugck--” she ventures,
increasingly alarmed at the strange noises coming out of her mouth. She pats her chest
frantically, staring at me in silent, abject, pleading terror as her drink quivers precariously
in her hand. “Allow me,” I chip in as I reach over calmly (very important to remain
ridiculously calm in these cases) and pluck the glass out of her unresisting right hand,
which now clutches at her windpipe. She squeezes her eyes shut, silently retching, her
little pink tongue poking out of her mouth, and after only a scant few moments collapses,
falling limply sideways onto her window. I have to say that I’m impressed – that was one
very effective poison. Her eyes are closed and her face is now the picture of serene calm.
It looks perfectly, blessedly as if she nodded off. I glance up and down the aisle of the
aircraft … no sign of the sexy stewardess who’d served us … not that I’d expected her to
hang about. Still, the plane has to land at some point…
Walking towards me from the forward section of the plane is one of the stewards.
“Excuse me,” I say, leaning out into the aisle. “This lady seems to have nodded off. I
don’t suppose you have a pillow and a blanket for her, by any chance?”
“Not a problem, Sir,” the man replies, his eyes roving over my body approvingly. “I’ll
fetch some immediately…”
