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suite finally closed to cut off the noises from the house and envelop the
rooms in silence, she was putting on the flight-attendant's uniform except for
the shoes. After that she used Celia's things to attend to her makeup.
Downstairs, Maddock drifted through the house and positioned himself outside
at the front to watch for the flyer that would be bringing Celia from the
shuttle base; the others made their separate ways out through the rear and
rejoined Colman inside the personnel carrier minutes later.
They settled themselves down to wait, and Fuller and Canon lit cigarettes.
"Still think it'll go okay, Sarge?" Stanislau asked. "I could do a quick
hair-job in there." He had brought the things with him, just in case.
Colman shook his head. "There shouldn't be any need. Celia's hair is a lot
shorter.
There'll be fewer people around later. It'll be okay - . . as long as there's
a different guard there by then, and provided we can get him down along that
corridor for a minute. And anyhow, they'll be expecting people to be going in
there then."
"If you say so," Stanislau said.
"How long before the flyer shows up?' Carson asked.
Colman looked at his watch. "About half an hour if it's on schedule."
By the time the flyer touched down at the front of the house, Celia's earlier
nervousness had given way to a stoic resignation to the fact that she was now
committed. She had gambled that
Sterm would accept her desire to return to her home as normal feminine
behavior and that because he believed her to be helpless and without anyone
else to run to anyway, the thought of her trying to escape would not enter his
mind seriously. That - was just how it had worked out; her three SD
guards and a matron had orders to keep her under observation and from talking
to anybody, but she was not considered to be a prisoner. Her only worry now
was that Veronica might have failed to contact Colman or that for some reason
he might have been unable to 4° anything.
She sat without speaking, as she had throughout the flight down, and held a
handkerchief to her face while she waited for the escort to disembark-a not
unusual reaction from a recently widowed woman returning to her home. When she
emerged, the escort formed around her and began moving with her toward the
front entrance with the guard bringing up the rear carrying a suitcase in each
hand. Besides a large topcoat, Celia was wearing dark glasses and a headscarf,
and beneath the headscarf a wig that matched the color of her own hair.
The party ascended the main staircase, at the top of
-which the two leading guards took up positions outside the door to the suite
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while the one with the suitcases accompanied Celia and the matron inside. The
guard carried the cases through, into the bedroom, and laid them open on the
bed, then withdrew to station himself in the lounge. While
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Celia began selecting and packing items from the drawers and closets, the
matron went to the door at the back to look into the bathroom, swept her eyes
round in a perfunctory check for windows or other exits, and then came away
again to assumes a blank-faced, postlike stance inside the lounge door, moving
only when Celia went though to collect some papers and other items from the
desk beyond. Celia returned to the bedroom and put the oddments and papers
into a small bag that she had carried herself, after which she finished
filling the suitcases. Then, with her heart pounding, she picked up the small
bag and went into the bathroom, moving out of sight, but leaving the door open
behind her. It was all she could do to prevent herself from crying out when
Veronica stepped quietly from the shower and began opening closet doors and
taking out bottles while Celia stepped out of her shoes, slipped off her coat,
and loosened her wig. There was no time for smiles or reassuring gestures.
Veronica put Celia's shoes on her feet and the flight-
attendant's shoes in Celia's bag; the wig went into place easily over her new
haircut; the coat went over her uniform, and she tied the scarf over the wig
while Celia took over the job of putting bottles, jars, brushes, and tubes
into the bag to keep up the background noise. Veronica pointed at the closet
in which she had hidden the fatigues and nodded once, following it with a
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