I, Spy? Read online

  The folly of passengers. They see the plane going down the runway and still, somehow, believe they can catch a wing and get to their seat. Like this is Charlie’s Angels or something. You know that bit in the film where they open the plane door and freefall? At that height, everyone in the plane would have got sucked out with them and they’d have all died.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, not meaning it at all, because he looked like a loser. “It’s really not possible. Your bag is on its way up. You can catch the next flight. I’ll have to take you back to check-in—”

  “No, you don’t understand—”

  At that moment the door from the jetbridge opened and Luca came out, a holdall slung over his shoulder. “Mr. Brown? A word with you, please?”

  I frowned, and I’d just opened my mouth to say something when Mr. Brown turned and followed Luca like a puppy. The door swung shut behind them and I stood, frowning some more.

  Then I went back to the desk and called through to check-in that a passenger had missed the plane, so could they remove him from the system and close the flight? I tallied up the boarding cards and scribbled a bit more on the report. I watched the Titan Airways plane trundle towards the runway and out of sight around the corner of the departures satellite.

  I doodled a pretty design on the report. I shook out my hair and pinned it back up again. I sang the Ace theme tune through twice before I remembered how damn annoying it was. I latticed the boarding cards into a pretty pattern and shuffled them like a deck.

  Then I leaned against the desk some more and waited for Luca to come back. What the hell was he doing? Reading Brown a personal riot act for not turning up on time? I know it was annoying, but it happened all the time. It wasn’t really a big deal.

  Then I heard a thud from the jetbridge and suddenly felt hot.

  There was no one else in the satellite. No passengers or staff, even Dino had vanished somewhere.

  I looked around in panic. Could just be Luca dropping the bag on the floor. Those floors were noisy sometimes. Hollow-sounding.

  I edged over so I could see through the little window into the jetbridge. Luca had Brown by the collar, shoved against the wall.

  Horror flooded me, and I fumbled for my pass to open the door. “Luca, what the hell are you doing?”

  There was a sticky second of silence as both men glared at me. “Go away,” Luca said, and his voice sounded different. I squinted at his face and thought I saw a bruise around his left eye. “Sophie, just go away.”

  “You can’t beat him up! I know you’re having a bad day, but Luca—”

  Luca glared at me, and I suddenly realized what was different about his voice. His accent was totally gone. He sounded as English as me or Brown.

  All sorts of awful thoughts ran through my brain. Since 9/11 they went through incredible security checks on anyone applying for an airside pass, but if Luca got his pass before that then they might not have been so thorough. That was how sleeper agents got in. They got their jobs years in advance, when they were still respectable citizens.

  He could be anyone. He could be a terrorist or a lunatic or a criminal.

  Oh, God, I’m in bad trouble.

  “Sophie,” Luca said, and his voice sounded like he was using a lot of control to sound calm, “will you please pick up Mr. Brown’s bag and take it back to check-in? I’ll escort him back in a minute.”

  The next thing that happened was really weird.

  Usually I’m a total wimp, like I’ve said. I’m pretty good at fooling people into thinking I’m really mean, but inside, I’m as soft as a mouldy banana.

  “No,” I said, and even I must have looked surprised to hear it. Luca looked astounded. “Put him down, or I’ll call the police.”

  There was a very, very long moment when I was pretty sure one or the other of them was going to pull a gun on me.

  Then Luca, still gripping Brown by the collar, gave an exasperated little laugh.

  “Sophie,” he said, “I am the damn police.”

  I stared, frozen, as he pulled off the fire training pocket that hung from his security chain and tossed it over to me. “Inside,” he said, and I opened it to find a warrant card and a second security pass, this one red instead of green like mine—an all-access pass, with an older picture of Luca on it.

  Only it had him listed as Luke Sharpe, and his position was Special Agent.

  Oh.

  Holy.

  Bollocks.

  For quite a long while I stared at the pass, my head totally empty. I really couldn’t think of a single thing to say or do.

  Eventually Luke put out his hand. “I’ll need that back,” he said with a faint smile, releasing his hold on Brown.

  I handed over the plastic pocket and watched him clip it back into place. Then he reached for something inside his jacket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He fastened Brown’s wrist to his own and picked up the holdall.

  “Sophie,” he said, “I’m going to take him down to the station, and then I’m going to meet you in Ponti’s, okay? Go straight there.”

  I stared at him.

  “Sophie? Go straight there. I’ll explain this when I get there. Don’t go anywhere else or say anything about this to anyone, okay?”

  Do not pass Go, do not collect £200.

  I nodded dumbly and stumbled through the doors, swiping my card three times before I got it right, nearly dropping it twice, having to go back for my bag when I realized there was nothing heavy over my shoulder.

  But I didn’t go to the coffee shop. I walked back to the terminal, as fast as I always did, keeping my eyes away from everyone else. BAA had cameras all over the place: surely they’d seen what went on? Surely they’d know and they’d do something about it?

  I walked up the steps to the office behind the check-in desks, put my gate report in the tray and turned to Tem, the assistant supervisor, another huge flirt.

  “Hey, baby,” he said. “You okay?”

  I blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You look really white.”

  I shrugged, relaxing. I have pale skin and the Mediterranean staff is always asking if I’m okay.

  “I always look really white, Tem. Where’d you want me?”

  He grinned. “Anywhere, baby.” He peered over the wall above the desks. “Just open up another desk, will you? It’s pretty quiet.”

  So I opened up another desk, sitting there feeling almost normal, and even checked someone in without freaking out too much. But I’m pretty sure I hardly checked the passport and barely looked at the seat map as I did it. I don’t know what weight I put in the system for the bag. I read out a totally inaccurate boarding time and sent the passenger away with a dazed smile.

  Then the phone rang.

  I almost didn’t answer it. I was sweating all over. I was icy cold and nearly crying with terror.

  “Soph, can you close down and come up?”

  It was Tem. I stammered a reply and lifted my bag, which suddenly felt like the heaviest thing in the world. Fifty kilos at least.

  When I got to the top of the steps Luca—no, fuckit, Luke—was waiting there, looking pissed off, his eye turning a shade of damson that clashed with his shirt. A uniformed policeman stood next to him.

  “Hey,” I squeaked.

  “Hey,” Luke replied, glaring at me.

  Tem smirked. “You are in big trouble, baby,” he said. “Look.” He showed me the supervisor’s log, which had Sophie is wanted by the police in big letters. Red ones.

  “Cheers,” I muttered, my teeth chattering.

  “If you could just come with me,” the copper said.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  He shook his head. “Just come with me, please.”

  Shaking, I tripped after him, looking down at the baggage belt as I crossed the catwalk over it, wondering if I could chuck myself on it and escape.

  Luke nodded to the policeman as we left the Ace desks and the copper walked away, leaving me with Lu
ke, feeling rather vulnerable.

  He walked me over to Ponti’s and asked me what I wanted to drink.

  I stared at him. Was this like a last meal? Better make it good, then.

  “Coffee,” I whispered. “Black.”

  He got one for me and another for himself and we went to sit down at the table behind the serving station, where we were hidden from public view.

  God, he could kill me, and no one would see. No one. I wished the uniform was still with us.

  “Look, Sophie,” Luke said, “this isn’t really easy to explain.”

  “Am I really in trouble?” I whispered, visions of courtroom trials and prison sentences flashing through my head. What would I wear in court? I didn’t have anything respectable enough.

  Oh, though. That suit I had for Nannan’s funeral. That was quite sober. And my pink blouse—no, the white one. Or would I need more than one? Those things went on for days. It could be really expensive. I wonder if the court would give me a clothing allowance?

  “No,” Luke sighed. “But you do know more than you should. We’ve been after a group of counterfeiters for a while now. Brown was one of them. Now we have him, we might start getting somewhere. I was going to board that flight myself, but whoever did the rosters obviously didn’t know that. I thought we might have missed him.”

  He exhaled and stirred his coffee. One hand strayed up to gently touch his discolored eye, and he winced.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that in the jetbridge. I was going to take him back like a regular decontrolled passenger. His bag was full of counterfeit notes.”

  My eyes widened. “Really? That holdall? Were they good forgeries?”

  He gave a faint smile. “Not bad. You’d need a specialist to tell they were fake.”

  I sat back against my seat. “So now you’ve caught him, is that it? Are you leaving Ace?”

  He cocked his head, looking more like sexy Italian Luca. “Would you miss me?”

  “Only if my aim is off.”

  He laughed. “Funny. No, look, I have to stay on a while longer. I need you to keep it a secret who I am. The duty managers know, but no one else. You have to keep it a big secret. Understood?”

  I shrugged, then nodded. “Seeing as I don’t really know who you are, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

  That brought a smile. “Good girl.” He looked down at my drink. “Are you going to finish that?”

  I hadn’t even started it. I picked it up and gulped a load, scalding my mouth, managing a weak smile. “I need the caffeine,” I said, and he nodded understandingly.

  “I hear you. Are you on tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Early again.”

  “Okay.” He looked at his watch. “Look, why don't you go home early? I’ll square it with Paola.”

  I must have looked as doubtful as I felt, because Luke laughed.

  “If you get into trouble, I’ll cover for you. I’ll even pay you the difference.” He stood. “Finish your coffee, then go.”

  I nodded.

  “And, Sophie?”

  I looked up.

  “If you tell anyone about this, I may have to kill you.”

  I stared. Luke grinned, then walked away.

  Chapter Two

  When I started this job, they told me the social life would be great. No one parties like airport people, they said. And there’s such a mix—people from all over the world, different ages and backgrounds and languages and races—it’s amazing. Your social life will go through the roof.

  Really?

  Last time I went out clubbing with the guys from work I went home, changed my clothes and went straight off to work again at four-thirty. And then I fell asleep at the desk and nearly got fired.

  My usual social life consisted of watching Buffy videos, with or without my best friend Angel, and occasionally going to the pub. With my parents. God, I needed a life. I wonder if you can get them on Amazon?

  I let myself in with a big sigh of relief. Tammy, my fluffy little baby, was mewling around her bowl, looking all tiny and helpless.

  “Aw, poor baby,” I scooped her up and felt her purr against me. “Did you run out of squirrels to kill?”

  Tammy gave me a dirty look and squirmed to get down. She killed anything that moved: mice, birds, squirrels, even small dogs if she got the chance, and yet she was so small I could hold her in the crook of one arm, like a baby.

  A baby with teeth, and really sharp claws.

  I found her some biscuits, remembering guiltily that she hadn’t been fed since lunchtime yesterday, and forked out a huge can of food.

  It must have been twice her body weight, but she ate it. God, I wished I was a cat. You got to eat and eat and eat and never get fat, you had gorgeous glossy hair and fantastic cheekbones, and people were always telling you how beautiful you were. Well, they were always telling Tammy, anyway. Right now I didn’t feel very beautiful. I felt haggard.

  I moaned as I remembered I had a third early tomorrow. That was the last time I swapped shifts with anyone.

  The way my shifts worked was that I did two late shifts, then two earlys, then I got two days off. If you were totally insane, like Angel, you could apply to work twelve-hour shifts, four days in a row or four nights in a row, then four days off. There were all sorts of overlaps, and the part-timers sometimes worked on a three-on, three-off pattern that would drive me mad. This was how it was hard to remember who was going to be on when, because we all only got the roster sheet for the people who were on the same shift as us.

  But this month they stuck Luca’s roster on the end of my sheet. Or should I say Luke?

  The whole thing was insane. An undercover…what? Policeman? Government agent? Spy?

  Ooh, a spy. That was quite sexy, actually.

  I wondered if he’d have any other stuff to spy on? I wondered if he’d been spying on me?

  Pervert.

  Four in the morning and I was on my way to work again. When the alarm went off, I muttered my usual “I have got to get a new job,” but like I said, that was my morning mantra. I never did squat about it. I mean, everyone I trained with had moved on to supervisor level, or to dispatch, or down to the ramp. The really smart ones left. It was really only just me who was still on check-in.

  Chalker, my brother, said I had a lack of direction. Well, it was fine for him. He knew when he was five what he wanted to do. “I wanna be a rock star,” he said when he saw Back to the Future and how cool Marty looked with his guitar.

  I saw Back to the Future and wanted to be an inventor. Or a mechanic at the future car garage. Or a gunslinger in the Old West.

  By the time I was ten, I had run through every possible career, from pearl diver to Tom Cruise’s personal assistant (that one was crushed when Chalker pointed out I was already taller than my hero). When it came time for my unutterably boring careers interview at school, I was told to play to my strengths and apply to university to study whatever I was interested in.

  And thus we have the great academic drive to utterly belittle a university degree by making sure even the illiterate have one. I actually know someone who’s half qualified to be a teacher, and she can’t read words longer than five letters. They’re so desperate to send you off to university that even when Chalker stood up and said he’d no interest in taking A levels, they still tried to persuade him that studying Schubert for another two years would be really worthwhile to a future rock star.

  And me? I’m so directionless that I applied to six universities on the sole premise that they were the same ones my boyfriend wanted to go to.

  His great plan was to become an accountant. I should have seen it coming from that. His name was Pete, he worked in a supermarket, he was okay in a boring sort of way, and the only thing I remember actually liking about him was that he fancied me. When I was eighteen, I was so fed up of being single I just took the first guy who came along who was a) taller than me and b) not into hard drugs. Now, of course, I know better. There are so many arseholes out
there—it’s sooo much better being single. I don’t have to shave my legs or anything.

  Okay, forget I said that. That’s gross.

  Two months into an English Lit course (what everyone studies when they don’t know what to study, right?) I walked into his room to find him boning the tart from down the hall.

  I was really insulted. If he was going to cheat on me, it could at least have been with someone really hot.

  So I packed up and left. I think I intended to go to some other college at that time, but it was Chalker who made me realize that wasn’t what I wanted to do at all. He was doing what he wanted, and it made him happy, and my parents hadn’t kicked him out yet. That and my gran died, so I moved into her flat temporarily, and just never moved out.

  Truth was, I didn’t know what I did want to do. That was really why I was still doing my job at the airport. I didn’t seriously hate it, despite how much I complain. I didn’t really like it, either, but I figured a lot of people actively hated their jobs, so I was a step ahead.

  According to my roster, Luca was supposed to be on shift today, but I didn’t see him as I trudged up to the office and signed in. Angel was there, looking tired but excited at the prospect of going home in an hour. The unexpected bonus of working nights.

  Cow.

  “I’ve got you on a desk next to Sven,” she winked. “You’re checking in the Stavanger so you’ll be able to ask his advice a lot.”

  I smiled gratefully. Angel understood my desperate need to be close to the beautiful people. There really weren’t a lot of hot men around here, so I had to take what I could get.

  Angel, of course, could get anyone, or really anything, she liked. Her mother was a famous actress and model, her father a songwriter. Between them they generated enough royalties to keep Angel living in a very nice style. Plus she had inherited her mother’s tiny blondeness, with big blue eyes and glossy curls. If I didn’t adore her so much I’d really hate her.

  Sven greeted me and told me I looked tired. Chalker reckons that’s an insult but to me it’s observation. And concern. It was sweet of him to care.

  I touched up my lipgloss when he wasn’t looking.