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Trudy looked puzzled, but then she flashed a big smile. "Oh, I know! How wonderful!"

I asked, "Will the people speak English?"

"Oh, yes," said Jill. Everybody has to learn English in school. It's not their national language, but everybody will understand you. They're very proud of their little homeland and anxious to explain it to you, and for you to enjoy your visit."

I was stumped, and looking at Tom and Annette I could see that they were, too. But before we could talk about it any more, the wheels touched down on the runway and we glided to a perfect landing, without a jolt or a jiggle.

As we taxied toward the terminal building, Pete materialized and said, "Welcome to Keflavik International Airport, in the Republic of Iceland. I've been trying to get passports arranged for you, but I couldn't quite get all the strings pulled in time for our arrival. We'll take a ride in a State Department van to the American Embassy in Reykjavik, and they'll issue your passports there."

"Will it take long to get there?" asked Tom.

"Oh, maybe 40 minutes. But if you want to use a rest room first, there's one just inside the terminal, on this side of the customs checkpoint."

I could tell that Trudy was happy about visiting Iceland, just by looking at her face. She was positively radiant. "Pete, do you know how long we'll be here? I want to see everything there is to see, but we've had a long day. If this is a quick turnaround, I'll stay up and look around. But if we've got a few days here, I'm going to crash on the first bed I see."

"No telling how long this will take. If you'll pardon the pun, we're trying to keep you folks on ice till we can eliminate the threat. But we're still working on that, so you'll have plenty of time to sleep first and tour later."

* * * * * * * * * *

The embassy people were friendly and welcoming. I wondered if they got many customers in such an out of the way place. Pete signed some sort of authorizing document, and he commented that with one stroke of his pen he had saved us each $95 and a wait of at least a month for passports. While we were waiting, a man took Tom and Annette into a room to discuss their situation. They went in, moderately annoyed and worried. Ten minutes later they came out, practically skipping, and all smiles. I was glad to see the improvement, and Tom explained, "Mr. Brown is the cultural attache, but I'm guessing he's also involved with the FBI. He already had all sorts of info on us, and we verified it and gave him a couple of names that he didn't have. He'll tell our families, the bank that holds our mortgage, our employers, the pastor of our church, and the police department that we've been unavoidably detained overseas by the government, through no fault of ours, but are in no danger.

"The FBI is picking up our mortgage payment and utility bills while we're away, and he signed us both up as confidential consultants for a month. Then he gave us each a voucher for a thousand dollars that we can go and cash at the bank, as our payment in advance so we'll have some spending money while we're here. He said some law forbids our employers to take our jobs away from us while we're here on government business, so now we can go off and enjoy our vacation with not a worry in the world. He said some lady will talk to us about our hotel and local tourist information. Uh, I wouldn't be surprised if that's the lady coming in now with all those little colored pamphlets."

The pamphlet lady turned out to be a petite blonde, who could have passed for a college girl.

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