At London's Heathrow Airport, four men and women whose lives were at that moment interrelated – and destined in the span of the next few days to become even more so – stood waiting for the loading announcement over the loudspeakers for BOAC's morning flight to Athens.

Outside, through the glass observation windows, tendrils of soup-like English fog trailed across the pattern of runways. Tall, blonde young Sharon Court watched the gray wisps with apprehensive eyes and clung tightly to the arm of the lean, muscular young man who was her husband, Neal. "Will your plane be able to take off in all that fog darling?" she asked him. "I don't see how it can; you can hardly see anything at all…"

Neal – wearing a heavy tweed overcoat over a conservatively-cut gray business suit that was befitting of his position as a rising executive with the British firm of Greater Continental Packaging, Ltd. – laughed reassuringly and kissed his wife's cheek. "Don't worry, honey," he said. "Everything is done by instruments and radar. The men in the Control Tower have had a lot of practice operating in fog like this."

"I know," Sharon said quietly, "but you know how nervous I am about flying anyway. And with weather conditions like this…"

"You're an old worry-wart," Neal chided gently.

"Well, maybe I am but I love you and I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, babydoll," he said. "This is just a simple, routine business trip to Athens. I'll be back in a few days, you know."

"I know, but…"

"No buts, now. You're not going to be fretting about me the whole time you're with Lena Alvaro, are you? I want you to have a good time, honey; after all, Lena is the boss' wife."

"Oh you don't have to worry about me making a good impression," Sharon said with a hint of petulance. "I won't do anything to put you in a bad light."