For that was Sabrina Carver’s forte: she channelled her astonishing physical fitness, her sporting prowess, even her beauty and considerable intellect, into becoming one of the greatest cat-burglars ever known. And she used her skill to equip herself, perhaps uniquely, for her ruling passion: not just stealing, but stealing diamonds.
Philpott, who had his finger clamped firmly on the pulse of international crime, became aware of the swiftly rising star (she was still only twenty-seven) and watched her subsequent career with interest and not a little pleasure. He waited for her first mistake, and when she made it in Gstaad, trusting a greedy lover, Philpott had snatched her from the Swiss police and enrolled her as a part-time agent of UNACO.
Philpott paid her lavishly enough for her not to have to steal again, but, as he freely acknowledged, a girl with Sabrina’s brains and stunning beauty had never actually needed to be a thief; she simply enjoyed it. Stealing was what she did best, and neither Philpott nor her position as a UNACO field operative would prevent her from doing it. That was why she was a part-time agent.
She sat in the foyer of Manama’s most splendid hotel and quickly adjusted to the idea that most of the diamonds in Bahrain would be worn by men. She was idly sketching in her mind a plan to penetrate the Sheikh’s palace when she was forced to relinquish pleasure and get back to reality – Joe McCafferty strode in through the ornate revolving doors.
McCafferty spotted her immediately, for she was wearing the uniform of Airman First Class in the USAF. He had been heading for the reception desk, but changed direction when he saw Sabrina. As he got closer his stride faltered and he blinked. Sabrina Carver had that effect on men; she was breathcatchingly lovely, with a cascade of dark brown hair falling to her shoulders, framing a face elliptical in its contours, from the central hair parting high on her forehead to the dimple in her chin. Her brow was deep, her eyes wide-spaced and large, and her nose and mouth were set in exquisite classical proportion.
McCafferty completed the journey with outstretched hand and slightly glazed eyes. ‘You’re Prewett’s replacement, I expect,’ he said. A Flight Traffic Specialist (the equivalent of a stewardess on a civil airline) had dropped out at the last moment, and he had been warned by radio that a substitute would meet Air Force One in Bahrain. Fairman was able to make the outward trip with only one stewardess, but he needed two for the passenger-run to Washington. As always with the President’s jet, all new attachees to the crew reported in the first instance to the Head of Security. Sabrina stood up, saluted and handed over her identification documents, as she had been briefed to do by Basil Swann after Philpott had fixed the Pentagon.
She took McCafferty’s hand and felt his strong fingers enclose her own. She was careful not to return equal pressure, though her hands were undoubtedly a good deal more adaptable and educated even than his. ‘AIC Carver, sir,’ she said, ‘reporting as directed to Air Force One. You’re Colonel McCafferty, sir?’ Mac confirmed the introduction; he was still faintly dizzy from the impact she made on him. ‘Right then, C–Carver,’ he stammered, ‘or may I call you whatever it is, since we’re off duty?’
She smiled winningly and replied, ‘It’s Sabrina – strictly while we’re off duty. Do I keep calling you “sir”, sir? Only for off-duty, that is?’
‘Ah – no. My name’s Joe, but most of my friends call me Mac.’
‘Which do you prefer?’
‘I’ll leave the choice to you.’
‘Well, since we’re apparently going to be friends, perhaps I’d better make it “Mac”,’ Sabrina rejoined with not a trace of coyness. McCafferty smiled a shade awkwardly and she decided that the file photographs of him which Basil Swann had shown her did not do the Colonel justice. He was decidedly handsome in an aggressive and somehow unflattering way, with a hint of pugnacity, or perhaps cruelty, in the determined set of his mouth and chin; his nose was long, wide and straight, and his eyes coloured a piercing blue.
She questioned him about their schedule, and McCafferty explained that they intended making a convenience refuelling stop in Geneva while picking up stores which were not easily obtainable in Bahrain. They would stay in Switzerland overnight. Take-off from Manama (he consulted his watch) was in four hours.
‘Do you have a room here?’ McCafferty asked innocently, then blushed as he realised how his question could be taken. ‘I – I didn’t mean – for God’s sake – well, you know – I’m not that fast a worker. Wh–what I meant was—’
‘What you meant,’ Sabrina replied, enjoying his discomfiture and liking him for it, ‘at least what I hope you meant, was do I, like the rest of the crew, have a room at the hotel where I can freshen up before the trip.’
McCafferty breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks for letting me off so easily. I’m not really that sort of guy – despite anything you may have heard to the contrary.’
Mac groaned when he saw how deeply he had landed both feet in it this time, and sent up his hands to cover the flush that threatened to suffuse his entire face. Sabrina burst out laughing, but quickly apologised to save him from even more acute distress. He could not, after all, possibly know that she was able to recite the names of every woman Mac had slept with over the past five years, as well as their assessments of his capabilities – in and out of bed.
‘I really don’t have that sort of reputation,’ Mac protested earnestly.
‘I’m sure you don’t, Colonel – sorry, “Mac” – but since you’ve given me the impression that you do, maybe I should think twice about accepting that dinner-date in Geneva you were on the point of offering me.’
Mac looked at her in amazement. ‘How did you know I was planning to buy you dinner in Geneva tonight?’ he exploded. ‘I hadn’t even got around to the preliminary – uh—’
‘Preliminary seduction moves?’ she whispered, wide-eyed and girlish. ‘Gosh, gee and golly, I’ve never been seduced by an expert before, by a famous Lothario like the great Joe McCafferty—’
‘Now you’re toying with my emotions,’ Mac protested, drawing himself up sternly. ‘In my capacity as Head of Security on Air Force One, and as the first crew member to set eyes on you, I consider it my military duty to protect you from that crowd of rampant wolves by ordering you, AIC Carver, to dine with me this evening in Geneva. Is that understood?’
‘Aye aye, Colonel,’ she responded, throwing him a second smart salute, ‘as long as it’s purely in the interests of protective discipline, of course.’
It was Mac’s turn to smile. ‘I don’t normally beat the crew,’ he said, ‘but I could always make an exception of you, if that’s what turns you on.’ Sabrina reddened prettily and gulped. ‘I think we’d better end this conversation and continue our “on duty” relationship, sir,’ she said.
‘But you’ll make it for dinner tonight?’ Mac pleaded.
‘You bet.’
They parted, and the Arab sipping an ice-cream soda in the screened-off bar area to their left, laid his binoculars case on the table and jotted an entry in a slim blue notebook.
Sabrina received a message from a man who announced himself as Chief Steward Master Sergeant Pete Wynanski from Air Force One. The Commander, he said, had ordered a crew muster in the hotel lobby. She saw the group at the far end away from the bar as she left the elevator. McCafferty was not with them, and she felt unreasonably disappointed. She saluted Colonel Fairman and met the crew, each of whom looked at her perhaps a little too much, to Fairman’s evident amusement.
‘I can see you’re going to enjoy it with us, Carver,’ he grinned. ‘Even if you don’t, the rest of the crew obviously will.’
Sabrina smiled back and inquired for McCafferty’s whereabouts. ‘Aah,’ moaned the delicately structured, poetic looking Latimer theatrically, ‘already smitten with our dashing Head of Security, I can tell. Swashes his buckle at anything