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Page 11.

Pascal lowered his eyes. The boss at times seemed to have ambition for becoming the world's next Attila the Hun or Napoleon Bonaparte.

"With this technology," he told Pascal, "I will be able to revolutionize aviation and space technologies. I will create a lighter, stronger, semi-intelligent air skin that can interpret its way through the air. That means more efficient fuel usage, weather-adapted flying, and so forth." He smiled mysteriously. "I'll brief you people all at once when I have you assembled in the board room here in the airport." So saying, he opened an overhead compartment, placed the precious briefcase inside, and closed it. He flipped the lock idly, never noticing it did not completely catch.

Hannah Smith's sullen, vengeful eyes did not miss a thing from halfway down the fuselage tube on her couch, where she reclined like a stylish and beautiful ornament.

Wan and Pascal, accompanied by Yoichi and Savia, walked toward the Embraer Legacy's main fuselage door. There, the ever-cheerful Swedish women bowed slightly, in the Asian manner, as the three men and Savia passed through en route to the docking tunnel and thus to the reception hall. There, a conference room specially chartered by Wan Industries awaited a key group of corporate executives—the new world order's daimyo or feudal lords.

The pilot and copilot—Asian men in elegant black uniforms—stepped out of the cockpit and flirtrf with the Swedish women. The captain wore the traditional four circles on his sleeves, while the copilot wore three. Each Swedish women wore one gold ring around her slender sleeves. On larger flights, there'd be a chief steward with two rings.

Hannah was just as glad that Wan disdained to even tell her to stay, or wish her good day, or anything. She was property, like a ceramic dog or a bowl of fresh fruit. That was what she'd signed up for. But she had not signed up to be traded around and abused, as she had been; and letting her mother die in a cheap Los Angeles apartment had not been part of the bargain.

From her seat, alone on the couch about twenty feet back, in the rear section of the cabin, Hannah wiped her tear-swollen eyes and felt an intense wave of rage welling up inside. The pilots and the flight attendants chatted and laughed together as the captain led his three companions into the cockpit for a more intimate conversation.

Hannah seized the opportunity—this might never again come.

She did not care what happened to her.

Rising from the couch in a blur of motion—only half tracking consciously what she herself might be doing or thinking—she raced toward the table. Leaning one hand on the table, she reached up with her other hand and tried the latch. Wan's casual flick had not pushed it fully shut. Down came the metal hatch flap, and there lay the leather case, which was the size of a shaving kit. Hannah clicked a little suitcase latch open and, standing on tiptoes, held the case open with both hands without removing it from the hatch.

Inside were papers—and a wine-colored object containing the secret of Wan's future rulership of world industry, as emperor (in all but name) of CEOC. The data were stored on an ALEC drive like she'd seen advertised on TVideo, thick as her index finger, round, could fit in her palm, and no heavier than a chocolate bar. She held it up for an instant. It gleamed dark merlot in the light—very pretty, and worth a billion dollars at least. It was a jewel worth a king's ransom, and it was now hers.

She stuffed it into a pocket under the ao doi, and strode down the ramp into the tunnel. Rather than continue around the bend into the main lounge, where Wan or Yoichi might spot her, she opened a service door.

She blinked as wet, windy air ruffled her bangs in front.

Am I free yet? Or is this an illusion?

It was a long drop down.

I'm ready to die for my freedom, but I'm not crazy. I want to live.

But a metal ladder extended—from beside the door in the ramp—down to the tarmac.

Living well is the best revenge, and I plan to hand him payback.

Quickly, she clambered onto the ladder.

Now or never.

She pushed the door shut, hoping to gain a few minutes before anyone figured out that she was gone, or where she'd gone. She placed the leather case back into its compartment and latched the door tightly as Wan had done. She'd buy some time before he discovered he'd been robbed of the crown jewels—and eventually figured out who had done it.

The steel rungs felt cold, wet, and slippery. If she fell now, she'd lie in a crippled heap on the ground almost twenty feet below. Determined, she gripped the rungs tightly and went as fast as she could, hand under hand, swinging her slender body with her monkey-like motions, until ten seconds later she felt hard ground under her rubber soles.

Luckily, the shoes they'd given her in wardrobe were like sneakers—practical, comfortable, and elegant without sacrificing flexibility. She could dance before her owner, kneel, perform on him as he wished.

Now they were made for running.

And run she did—through the rain, loosening the dark blue silk ao doi top as she went. She discarded it among some parked orange steel baggage carts. From another cart she lifted a man's dark, dirty work jacket and put it on. There was even a badge, in case she needed to get through locked doors. Hannah was on the run with Wan's irreplaceable plan for the future of aviation, and his next zillion or so yuan.

Presently, she was gone.

The airport loomed at its glacial mountainous maximum, swimming in lights and rain, drowning in mist and stray voices, snatches of music amid the steady roar of the vast city that lay beyond—Paris, City of Light, place where you could hope to lose yourself and make deals with the devil and get away with murder and mayhem.

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