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‘It wasn’t there in my dream.’

‘I’ll come and get you, sir, once we’ve been cleared to disembark,’ said the senior flight attendant, none the wiser.

‘This is your captain speaking,’ said a voice from the flight desk. ‘We will be starting our descent shortly and the good news is that we’re a few minutes ahead of schedule.’

Only Ross knew why.

•••

Special Agent Buchanan thanked the director of air traffic control for his assistance. A triple-A request from the FBI usually meant the arrival of a head of state or a criminal on the ‘most wanted’ list. He hadn’t asked which.

James left him and made his way across to Gate 41, the nearest exit to the highway, although he accepted not even his boss could control the bumper-to-bumper traffic into Manhattan – a monster with a mind of its own.

‘BA017 has just landed,’ said James over the radio to his number two back at HQ. ‘Make sure the operations team are waiting for me in the briefing room by the time I get back, and ask Professor Rosenberg if he would be kind enough to join me in my office, as I need to ask him to make a sacrifice for his country.’

He made a second call to the director to bring him up to date as he watched Concorde turn off the runway and begin to taxi towards him.

The director told his special assistant, ‘I have spoken to the President and assured him the letter is on its way.’

•••

When the seat belt light went off, Ross was the first out of the blocks. He quickly opened the locker above him, grabbed his briefcase, and clung on to it as if it were full of precious gems. One uncut diamond.

‘Follow me,’ said the authoritative voice of the chief steward – a command Ross was happy to obey, stopping only when he reached the front of the cabin to observe several inquisitive eyes staring up at him, wondering who he was.

When the door was finally heaved open, Ross jogged downthe steps and almost fell into the arms of Special Agent Buchanan. Without a word passing between them, Ross opened his briefcase, took out the large brown envelope and handed the baton on to the next relay runner in the team.

James extracted the letter but didn’t comment until he’d finished reading it – a second time.

‘I’m convinced,’ he said with a shrug of the shoulder, ‘but I’m not the person who can offer an authoritative opinion. But if Rosenberg isn’t willing to stamp his imprimatur, I may have to stand my team down.’ He slid the letter back into the envelope, opened the back door of the car and asked, ‘Do you want to join us at the auction?’

‘Can’t risk it,’ said Ross. ‘There will be two people sitting in the front row who, if they spot me, just might work out why I’m there.’

James simply replied, ‘On behalf of a grateful nation, thank you, Inspector.’ He then shook Ross by the hand as if he was an American general awarding him a medal. ‘That sounded a bit pompous, didn’t it?’ James added. ‘But I meant it.’

‘Will I see you at my wedding?’ asked Ross as James climbed into the car.

‘Wouldn’t miss it. I can’t wait to meet the woman who’s willing to marry you.’

Ross left him to join the other passengers as they made their way into the airport.

Once he’d gone through passport control followed by customs – nothing to declare other than a half-empty briefcase – he headed straight for the BA counter to book the next flight back home.

•••

‘Out on Concorde and back on economy on the same day,’ said the booking clerk, unable to hide her surprise. ‘That’s a first for me.’

‘Me too,’ admitted Ross without explanation.

The booking clerk began tapping away, looked up and asked, ‘Are you Mr Ross Hogan, by any chance?’

‘Sure am.’

‘Then you’re already booked to fly back on the Concorde.’

‘Can’t afford it, I’m afraid,’ said Ross.

‘Yes, you can,’ said the booking clerk, ‘because you won’t be paying.’