Brian turned slowly from the window, his eyes filled with scorn. “Boyo, we all get what we deserve. In the end.”

Tempelhof was a mess around the edges, but the field had been cleared and the terminal itself was still there. After the tomb city they’d seen from the air, the airport seemed dizzy with life, swarming with uniformed ground crews and greeters. A young lieutenant, full of hair and chewing gum, was waiting at the foot of the stairs, picking out faces as they disembarked. The sick soldier had staggered down first, running off, Jake guessed, for the men’s room.

“Geismar?” The lieutenant stuck out his hand. “Ron Erlich, press office. I’ve got you and Miss Yeager. She on board?”

Jake nodded. “With these,” he said, indicating the cases he’d been lugging off the plane. “Want to give me a hand?”

‘What’s she got in there, her trousseau?“

‘Equipment,“ Liz said behind him. ”You going to make cracks or give the man a hand?“

Ron took in the uniform, with its unexpected curves, and smiled. “Yes, sir,” he said, giving a mock salute, then picked up the cases in one easy movement, impressing a date. “This way.” He led them toward the building. “Colonel Howley sends his regards,” he said to Liz. “Says he remembers you from his days in the ad business.”

Liz grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll take his picture.”

Ron grinned back. “You remember him too, I guess.”

“Vividly. Hey, careful with that. Lenses.”

They went up the gate stairs behind the congressman, who seemed to have acquired an entourage, and into the waiting hall, the same tawny marble walls and soaring space as before, when flying had been a romance. People had come to the restaurant here, just to watch the planes. Jake hurried to keep up. Ron moved the way he talked, breezing a path through the gangs of waiting servicemen.