Crew-Neck’s face was now so clogged with blood that Brian began to be afraid his entire head would explode. He had once seen a movie where that happened. He did not want to see it in real life. “You can’t talk to me like that! You’re not even an American citizen!”

Nick Hopewell moved so fast that Brian barely saw what was happening. At one moment the man in the crew-neck jersey was yelling into Nick’s face while Nick stood at ease beside Brian, his hands on the hips of his pressed jeans. A moment later, Crew-Neck’s nose was caught firmly between the first and second fingers of Nick’s right hand.

Crew-Neck tried to pull away. Nick’s fingers tightened... and then his hand turned slightly, in the gesture of a man tightening a screw or winding an alarm clock. Crew-Neck bellowed.

“I can break it,” Nick said softly. “Easiest thing in the world, believe me.”

Crew-Neck tried to jerk backward. His hands beat ineffectually at Nick’s arm. Nick twisted again and Crew-Neck bellowed again.

“I don’t think you heard me. I can break it. Do you understand? Signify if you have understanding.”

He twisted Crew-Neck’s nose a third time.

Crew-Neck did not just bellow this time; he screamed.

“Oh, wow,” the stoned-looking girl said from behind them. “A nose-hold.”

“I don’t have time to discuss your business appointments,” Nick said softly to Crew-Neck. “Nor do I have time to deal with hysteria masquerading as aggression. We have a nasty, perplexing situation here. You, sir, are clearly not part of the solution, and I have no intention whatever of allowing you to become part of the problem. Therefore, I am going to send you back into the main cabin. This gentleman in the red shirt—”

“Don Gaffney,” the gentleman in the red shirt said. He looked as vastly surprised as Brian felt.

“Thank you,” Nick said. He still held Crew-Neck’s nose in that amazing clamp, and Brian could now see a thread of blood lining one of the man’s pinched nostrils.

Nick pulled him closer and spoke in a warm, confidential voice.

“Mr Gaffney here will be your escort. Once you arrive in the main cabin, my buggardly friend, you will take a seat with your safety belt fixed firmly around your middle. Later, when the captain here has assured himself we are not going to fly into a mountain, a building, or another plane, we may be able to discuss our current situation at greater length. For the present, however, your input is not necessary. Do you understand all these things I have told you?”

Crew-Neck uttered a pained, outraged bellow.

“If you understand, please favor me with a thumbs-up.”

Crew-Neck raised one thumb. The nail, Brian saw, was neatly manicured.

“Fine,” Nick said. “One more thing. When I let go of your nose, you may feel vengeful. To feel that way is fine. To give vent to the feeling would be a terrible mistake. I want you to remember that what I have done to your nose I can just as easily do to your testicles. In fact, I can wind them up so far that when I let go of them, you may actually fly about the cabin like a child’s airplane. I expect you to leave with Mr—”

He looked questioningly at the man in the red shirt.

“Gaffney,” the man in the red shirt repeated.

“Gaffney, right. Sorry. I expect you to leave with Mr Gaffney. You will not remonstrate. You will not indulge in rebuttal. In fact, if you say so much as a single word, you will find yourself investigating hitherto unexplored realms of pain. Give me a thumbs-up if you understand this.”

Crew-Neck waved his thumb so enthusiastically that for a moment he looked like a hitchhiker with diarrhea.

“Right, then!” Nick said, and let go of Crew-Neck’s nose.

Crew-Neck stepped back, staring at Nick Hopewell with angry, perplexed eyes — he looked like a cat which had just been doused with a bucket of cold water. By itself, anger would have left Brian unmoved. It was the perplexity that made him feel a little sorry for Crew-Neck. He felt mightily perplexed himself.

Crew-Neck raised a hand to his nose, verifying that it was still there. A narrow ribbon of blood, no wider than the pull-strip on a pack of cigarettes, ran from each nostril. The tips of his fingers came away bloody, and he looked at them unbelievingly. He opened his mouth.

“I wouldn’t, mister,” Don Gaffney said. “Guy means it. You better come along with me.”

He took Crew-Neck’s arm. For a moment Crew-Neck resisted Gaffney’s gentle tug. He opened his mouth again.

“Bad idea,” the girl who looked stoned told him.

Crew-Neck closed his mouth and allowed Gaffney to lead him back toward the rear of first class. He looked over his shoulder once, his eyes wide and stunned, and then dabbed his fingers under his nose again.

Nick, meanwhile, had lost all interest in the man. He was peering out one of the windows. “We appear to be over the Rockies,” he said, “and we seem to be at a safe enough altitude.”

Brian looked out himself for a moment. It was the Rockies, all right, and near the center of the range, by the look. He put their altitude at about 35,000 feet. Just about what Melanie Trevor had told him. So they were fine... at least, so far.

“Come on,” he said. “Help me break down this door.”

Nick joined him in front of the door. “Shall I captain this part of the operation, Brian? I have some experience.”

“Be my guest.” Brian found himself wondering exactly how Nick Hopewell had come by his experience in twisting noses and breaking down doors. He had an idea it was probably a long story.

“It would be helpful to know how strong the lock is,” Nick said. “If we hit it too hard, we’re apt to go catapulting straight into the cockpit. I wouldn’t want to run into something that won’t bear running into.”

“I don’t know,” Brian said truthfully. “I don’t think it’s tremendously strong, though.”

“All right,” Nick said. “Turn and face me — your right shoulder pointing at the door, my left.”

Brian did.

“I’ll count off. We’re going to shoulder it together on three. Dip your legs as we go in; we’re more apt to pop the lock if we hit the door lower down.”

“Don’t hit it as hard as you can. About half. If that isn’t enough, we can always go again. Got it?”

“I’ve got it.”

The girl, who looked a little more awake and with it now, said: “I don’t suppose they leave a key under the doormat or anything, huh?”

Nick looked at her, startled, then back at Brian. “Do they by any chance leave a key someplace?”

Brian shook his head. “I’m afraid not. It’s an anti-terrorist precaution.”

“Of course,” Nick said. “Of course it is.” He glanced at the girl and winked. “But that’s using your head, just the same.”

The girl smiled at him uncertainly.

Nick turned back to Brian. “Ready, then?”

“Ready.”

“Right, then. One... two... three!”

They drove forward into the door, dipping down in perfect synchronicity just before they hit it, and the door popped open with absurd ease. There was a small lip — too short by at least three inches to be considered a step between the service area and the cockpit. Brian struck this with the edge of his shoe and would have fallen sideways into the cockpit if Nick hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulder. The man was as quick as a cat.

“Right, then,” he said, more to himself than to Brian. “Let’s just see what we’re dealing with here, shall we?”