‘I don’t understand,’ whispered Harald. ‘But when they ask questions, let me answer, sir. OK? You say nothing.’ ‘OK.’ Carl looked away, out of the window. A large black car was just driving up the airport building.
The black car stopped outside the airport building and a police officer opened the door. Helen Sandberg got out and went quickly inside. Upstairs, in the control room, the Chief of Airport Police, Inspector Holm, was waiting with a soldier. Helen’s secretary, Michael, was there too.
‘Good evening, Prime Minister,’ said Inspector Holm. ‘This is Colonel Carter, of the Special Commando Section.’
‘Good evening, Colonel,’ Helen shook hands with the soldier and looked at him. He was a thin, tough-looking man, about forty years old, with a brown face. His hand was hard and strong. ‘I hope you know your job,’ she thought. ‘I may need you.’
She looked out of the window. There was a large plane on the tarmac about two hundred metres away. All its lights were on. ‘Is that the plane?’ she asked. ‘That’s it, Prime Minister.’
Right, give me the facts. How many people are on it?’
Inspector Holmes answered. ‘One hundred and eight passengers, five crew.’
What nationalities are they?’
‘There are twenty-nine Americans, fifteen British, two Brazilians, two Indians and one Chinese. The others are from this country.’
