THIRST
Goltsman sipped something out of the thermos mug. Without taking his eyes off the surface of his drink, he said:
“It’s obvious that Umansky’s plane got caught in the stream of thinner air left behind the aircraft that took off before it. They flew too close together. A few seconds. If they hadn’t been late for take-off… Is that enough for you?”
“We have to find out why the flight was delayed. What did Raisa Mikhailovna lose? What was this thing without which she wouldn’t fly?”
Goltsman did not reply. Perhaps he wanted me to leave, wanted to sit by himself, but he had to work and to remember who his commanding officer was and who paid his salary.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Sorry about that back there… I think my blood pressure shot up. But I need to get checked up.”
The Empe
