Suddenly two men wearing masks entered the bedroom her room. She screamed and pulled the covers up over her. “Who the hell are you and how did you ...et in here?” she screamed in a terrified voice. “It doesn't matter who we are or how we got in here, we got here,” one of the strangers replied in a deep voice. “What the hell do you want?” “Don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you. All we want are some papers your husband has in his safe.” “What papers? I couldn’t help you if I wanted to. I don’t. The blouse bearing her name, Shafiqa, embroidered on it seemed to be a size too large for her and she was obviously wearing no brassière. Every time she bent over to put a coffee, or a drink or his food on the small table in front of him the neck of the blouse gaped, giving him a perfect view of her plump breasts, often letting him see where the olive skin changed to the dark areola surrounding a prominent nipple.It was an odd aircraft, in that some of the First Class seats were surrounded by. More

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