Tamara stood at the hangar gate, her arms folded, watching the spyplane climb. "Russians are so morbid," she said. "He’s a very sweet boy, for KGB, but I don’t trust him in our business. He’s got Death written all over him." She shivered, and buttoned her jacket. "Besides, he might brag about me ... Get rid of him for me, Lekhi, there’s a dear. Tell my husband that Captain Khoklov has a bad attitude. We’ll find ourselves a different pilot. Someone who hasn’t killed more people than I can count."