She watched them trail dispiritedly toward the waiting De Havillands. Her father took his leave of her. Prince Michael hobbled out ahead and some of the others waited to help him into the airplane. Cosgrove went blindly along behind-he seemed even more benumbed than the others by the sudden collapse of the enterprise.
The two Americans were last out of the building. They stopped, flanking her, and Buckner looked out toward the empty road while Spaight put his kind eyes on her face and reached out to squeeze her hand.
Buckner said, “It was a fine dream while it lasted.”
“It was more than a dream for a while,” Spaight said.
“Maybe. But that’s all it’ll be from now on-a badly remembered one.”
That was when she saw the faintest movement in the mists far out along the road.
It was a Finnish ambulance. The breath caught in her sucking throat like a handsaw jamming in wet wood.
The ambulance halted at the gate and there was the tedious ritual of idents and clearances and then the gate swung open and the white van rolled forward. She tried to see through the windshield.
Then it stopped forty feet away and the door opened and Alex stepped out.
He waved and turned to help Sergei down; Sergei had a bulky white bandage about his shoulder. The stretcher bearers carried a third man out of the ambulance on a litter.
Alex said something to Sergei and then came away from him.
Irina walked blindly into his arms. Her fingers raked the back of his coat and the tears burst from her beyond control.