I, Spy? Page 3

  I settled into the sleepwalking routine of checking people in, wondering if any of them were counterfeiters, if Luke was secretly watching any of them. Occasionally Special Branch contacted us when we were running a Belfast or Derry flight, because they wanted to do surveillance. It never freaked me before, but then before this all I ever saw of it was people filling out embarkation cards.

  Everything went normally—that is to say, chaotically—for the first couple of hours. I took a coffee break and sat stirring my drink until the plastic spoon splintered. Part of me wanted to see Luke again. We shared a secret now. I was In On It. But part of me was scared. Maybe I’d blow it. Maybe I’d call him Luke instead of Luca. Maybe something else would happen and I’d miss it.

  Maybe that Brown guy would come back, or send one of his mates round, maybe they’d recognize me (I’m pretty easy to describe and I sound good on paper) and gun me down.

  Maybe I was caffeine deprived and needed to get out more.

  I trudged back to check-in and slobbed back down to the desk. Stavanger had closed, Sven had moved on, and I was checking in Roma. Is Rome in Eenglish. I couldn’t help comparing the Italians’ accents with the way Luca spoke. Thing was, he sounded authentic, and I’d heard him speaking Italian to Italians, and they hadn’t looked suspicious.

  I guess you believe what you’re presented with until someone tells you otherwise.

  We had maybe a dozen more passengers to check in when the floorwalker’s clipboard slapped down on my desk and a familiar voice purred, “Do you have an end-bag for me?”

  Luca. Of course.

  I looked up, and there was no hint in his face that he was anyone else. But I knew he wasn’t called Luca, wasn’t Italian, wasn’t at all who he presented himself to be.

  “Sure,” I said, handing him a little case. “No offer of dinner this time?”

  “But you only got me one bag,” he replied. “It’s three bags for dinner.”

  Another passenger strolled up, wearing expensive sunglasses, immaculately turned out. Italian. She handed over her passport and I looked up at Luke with my most charming expression.

  “Would you like to ask her the security questions?”

  Without missing a beat, he rolled them off and the woman answered with a smile, obviously appreciating Luke’s dark liquid eyes and casually attractive biceps.

  He gave me a smug smile and leaned against the desk next to me. I glared at him and ripped the boarding card out of the machine.

  “Ecco la porta,” I ringed the gate number, “e l’ora d’imbarco. Grazie.”

  Don’t get all impressed. That’s pretty much all I can say in Italian. That and I can ask for directions to the post office, but if someone answered I’d never understand.

  Luke raised his eyebrows. “You look tired,” he observed as the passenger sashayed away.

  “Will people stop saying that? It’s seven-thirty and I’ve been awake for four hours. Of course I’m bloody tired.”

  “Did you have sex last night?”

  I stared, cheeks flushing. “Excuse me?”

  “You look like you had sex last night. Tired and…” He waved his hand. “Happy.”

  I was pretty sure I didn’t look happy. He was just trying to rile me. And I hadn’t had sex in… Well, I stopped counting when the months got into double figures.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than stand here and harass me?”

  He shrugged. “I’m going to the gate in ten minutes. Not really anything better to do.”

  “Can’t you go early?” I muttered peevishly.

  Luke grinned. “You want to get rid of me?” He swung my monitor round to face him and tapped a few things on the keyboard. “Only two people checked in on my flight.”

  “Milan?”

  “Si.”

  “And drop the bloody accent,” I hissed.

  Luke regarded me with his head on one side. “You want to get rid of me?” he repeated.

  Now I felt rotten. He was only behaving the way he always had, flirting outrageously with me. I used to find it flattering. Now it unnerved me.

  “Keep an eye on things for me,” he muttered, accent gone, and chucked me under the chin.

  Then he was gone, taking his dark eyes, his rolling accent and his fine arse with him.

  Get a grip, Sophie. Don’t start lusting after a man with a fake ID.

  It happened when I got up to change the LED display to read flight closing. I happened to glance down the line of desks, checking out Sven’s profile, and then I gazed out over the queue of passengers in front of him.

  Then I did a marvellous double take.

  John Brown was standing about twenty feet away.

  I swear I nearly rubbed my eyes in disbelief. The same man Luke had grabbed yesterday was standing in the check-in queue for Alicante.

  I moved fast. Luke was boarding the Milan flight, so I opened that up in the system and got the gate number. They hadn’t started boarding the passengers in the system, but that wasn’t to say they were all already on the plane and the gate agent just hadn’t put the information in the system yet.

  I got out my little black book of useful airport information (sadly, not Sven’s number), grabbed the phone and dialled the number for the Milan gate.

  It rang out.

  Shit.

  I glanced up at Brown again. He had a laptop case and was gripping a holdall tightly against him, and I just knew it was all full of counterfeit money.

  Palms sweaty, I rang the airport police. This had never freaked me before, because usually I called them with an enquiry or to get them to check firearms documents. Never because I thought there was a criminal standing very close.

  He shifted his grip on the holdall and all the hairs on my arms stood up, because if he wasn’t carrying a gun under his jacket then he had a thing for replicas. They were illegal on flights—understandably, they scared the hell out of people—so whatever he was doing, he was in trouble.

  And so was I.

  The dial tone droned on against my ear and my foot tapped in impatience. Come on, answer it, you’re the damn police! Maybe I should have called the emergency services. Maybe I’d still be there next year waiting for someone to answer.

  Eventually a woman came on.

  “I need to get hold of Luke,” I babbled. “Luke Sharpe.”

  That had to be a made-up name.

  “Excuse me, who is this?” the WPC asked.

  “Sophie Green, from Ace. He’s working undercover for Ace and I need to get hold of him because there’s—I think there’s a situation he needs to deal with here.”

  There was a long pause, and it occurred to me that maybe even the police didn’t know about Luke. Maybe Luke had lied to me. Maybe none of it was true.

  Then, “I’ll give him the message,” she said, and my heart started beating again. “What number are you on?”

  Seconds later the phone rang and without any preamble, Luke said, “What’s going on? Sophie, you can’t just call—”

  “Brown,” I interrupted, and Luke shut up. “John Brown, from yesterday? He’s standing right in front of me. Three desks down. He’s about to check in for Alicante.”

  “Brown?” Luke said. “That’s impossible, he’s—”

  “I swear it’s him,” I said. “I’m really good with faces.” If I was wrong, I would never live it down.

  Sven’s passenger moved on and the line shuffled forward. Depending on whether the group in front of him were all together or not, Brown could be next to check in.

  “Shit,” Luke said. “I know what this could be. Okay, I’m coming back.”

  “There’s not enough time! He’s nearly at the desk!”

  “Then you’ll have to keep an eye on him for me. If he checks in, excuse yourself and follow him. Try to delay him but don’t alarm him.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Liar, I thought as the phone went dead. It took at least fifteen mi
nutes to get back from Sat 1. Unless Luke could fly, which I was pretty sure he couldn’t.

  Although really, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Sweating all over now, I watched Sven check in the group in front of Brown. Then they left. Then he checked Brown in.

  I looked at the passenger list. There were no Browns listed, but of course he wouldn’t be that dumb.

  The holdall was tagged and sent down the belt. Sven weighed the laptop case and waved it away as hand luggage. He gave Brown his boarding card and sent him away.

  Double shit!

  I got to my feet, my legs shaking, and switched the belt off as I climbed over it. A woman came rushing up to the desk.

  “Scusi, scusi,” she bleated, waving a flight itinerary at me. I tried to ignore her but she pointed at the flight closing display and babbled desperately in Italian.

  I threw a frantic look at Angel, who was the next one down, two desks away, next to Sven. “I have to go,” I said. “I really have to run. Can you…?”

  She frowned, but nodded and beckoned to the woman, who was giving me a filthy look.

  I ignored her and bolted. Brown was nearly at the bookshop on the corner now, and he didn’t look as if he was going straight to Security. He was heading away, around the other corner, and I speeded up, grateful I wasn’t wearing huge heels.

  “Excuse me,” I called, not knowing what I was going to say to him, “sir…”

  I’d make up that he’d left something behind or there was a problem with his ticket. Yes! The payment hadn’t been processed. That always takes forever to sort out. I’d be safe.

  But he saw me, blanched and darted away.

  Triple shit.

  He was running back towards check-in. What was going on? Had I got it wrong? Where was he going?

  He rushed up to one of the empty desks up at the end and leapt over the little gate on the baggage belt. For a second I halted, staring, disbelieving. Surely he wasn’t going to do what it looked like he was going to do?

  He ducked and threw himself onto the main belt.

  He must be insane! Apart from the fact that it was unbelievably illegal to even lean out over the belt (not that it stopped us, heh heh), it was really dangerous to walk on it.

  Or so they always tell us.

  But I couldn’t just let him go. If he really had a gun, he could pull it on the ramp guys. I had to stop him. Nobody who acts like that is innocent.

  “Crap.” I stamped my foot and ran after him, tripping over the little belt and throwing myself onto the main conveyor.

  Really it was just like one of those moving walkways that go on for miles and miles. Except that this one had more twists and bends, flaps and poles to make things lie flat, scanners to make sure no one was packing anything they shouldn’t. I heard a siren go off up ahead, presumably as Brown went through, and steeled myself.

  I scrambled along the belt, knowing my quarry was doing the same thing ahead, and barely noticed as I passed under the scanner.

  It made no noise. Apparently I was legal for airline transportation.

  I could see him up ahead, climbing over the edge and dropping down into the undercroft. People were staring, some of them were running, but no one was trying to stop him. To give them the benefit of the doubt, I think they were shocked. I don’t want to think they were all such cowards.

  “For fuck’s sake, stop him,” I yelled, peering over the edge then closing my eyes as I threw myself over.

  I landed with a thump on my side and dragged myself to my feet. People were rushing over to the plastic flaps that led outside, and I followed them just in time to see one of the airside cars speeding away.

  Fuck.

  I glanced around wildly for something to follow it in, but all I could see was a baggage dolly. Not helpful.

  “Bloody stop him,” I hollered, breathless, and a couple of guys started running after the car. Good boys. But it was going too fast and they would never catch it.

  Brown rammed the car over the grass verge and the wheels started spinning. Thank God they never shelled out for a decent car. I spied a wheel chock on the ground, picked it up and hurled it as hard as I could at the car.

  It smashed the rear windscreen good and proper.

  “Yes!” I aimed a fist at the sky and ran off after the car. The wheels were still spinning, spattering mud all over me and the three guys in their hi-vis jackets who were trying to get into the car. Brown had locked the doors and was looking at the back window as if it might be a good way to get out. But the glass was shattered all over, it’d be instant death.

  He and I stared at each other through the driver’s window for a long second. Then I grabbed the chock and swung it at the window, wincing as the glass shattered. I reached in, snatched the keys out of the ignition, smashed them across his face before he’d had time to react and grabbed his gun.

  I’d like to state here and now that I’ve never fired a gun before and I hardly know which end is which. But apparently I looked convincing, because Brown raised his hands in surrender.

  Someone in an Ace uniform reached in and opened the door, grabbed Brown and held his arms behind his back. “The coppers are coming,” he said, looking at me. “What the hell’s going on?”

  I shrugged, the gun still aimed at Brown’s head. “I’m just following instructions,” I said.

  “Me too,” said the Ace guy. “Yours.”

  A cop car came whistling up and out catapulted a couple of uniforms, followed by Luke.

  “Sophie?” he said incredulously. “Put the bloody gun down.”

  My hands were shaking. “Are you going to take him away?”

  “Yes. He’s going into custody. And so are you unless you give me that gun.”

  Not taking my eyes off Brown, I handed the pistol over and felt my body slump. Luke put his arm around my shoulders, holding me up. It was probably an inappropriate time to notice that his body was very warm and hard, but I noticed it anyway.

  “This yours?” Luke asked Brown, passing the gun, wrapped in a handkerchief, to one of the uniforms.

  Brown nodded.

  “You are in so much trouble,” Luke said as the Ace guy handed Brown over to the coppers.

  I wasn’t entirely sure who he was talking to.

  Chapter Three

  When I got home it was dark.

  I’d been at the airport police station for hours, tired and hungry, shocked and dirty. My uniform was probably beyond repair, torn and splattered with mud, but I didn’t really care. Probably they’d fine me for it. Fuck them. I’d had an unbelievable day. No one was going to fine me for anything.

  Was I in trouble? I kept asking the policemen but they never really answered. They took full statements on every part of the incident and I signed billions of things without really looking at them. Probably I should have looked. I didn’t really care.

  Tammy was scratching around the gate as I unfastened the latch and tripped down into the yard. Really it was supposed to be a little courtyard, but my nannan used to live here, you see, and where she came from it was a yard. It had one sad-looking conifer in a tub and a washing line and a metal dustbin, and that was it. Not what you’d call pretty.

  The security light came on as I pushed the gate open and I didn’t see Agent Sharpe at first, sitting with his back against my door, elbows resting on his knees, changed out of his Ace uniform into jeans and a fleece.

  He looked up at me. “You’re late.”

  I shrugged. “Got held up.”

  “Did you come straight back?”

  I nodded. I’d wanted to go to Tesco’s for some ice cream but I couldn’t face walking around in the state I was in. I’d planned to get changed, walk up to Total and get five of everything that was bad for me. Then I was going to get in a hot bath and stay there until tomorrow.

  “Were you waiting for me?” I asked, rather unnecessarily, but I was feeling brain-dead.

  Luke nodded and got to his feet. “You okay?”

 
“I will be.” I pushed past him to unlock the door, and when the key stuck I felt like crying.

  Luke shoved at the door and it came open easily.

  “Thanks.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I shrugged, and he followed me in. My flat is rather small, just one room with an open-plan kitchen, then a bedroom and postage-stamp bathroom, but it was all mine.

  Well, actually, it was my mother’s, because she inherited it from my nannan, but it was mostly mine. I paid rent and everything.

  I dropped my bag on the floor and went through to the bedroom, picking up comfort clothes as I went and changing in the bathroom. I wasn’t sure I entirely trusted Luke not to walk in on me, so I locked the door.

  “I’ve been waiting about an hour,” he said from the kitchen. I could hear the kettle being boiled. “It’s bloody freezing out there.”

  Poor baby. I threw my uniform in a pile on the floor and kicked it.

  “I didn’t think they’d keep you so long.”

  “Yeah,” I called back, opening the airing cupboard and switching the heating on to max, “well, they did.”

  “It wasn’t all necessary.”

  Now he tells me.

  I stomped through to the kitchen with my muddy clothes, pushed past Luke and dumped them straight in the washing machine. So the colors might run. Did I look as if I gave a crap?

  “Hey—” he caught my shoulder as I turned to the kettle, “—are you sure you’re all right?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. Nothing a hot bath won’t cure.”

  “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks.” I picked up the coffee jar, then thought better of it and got the hot chocolate out instead. Then I ran some hot water in the sink, got out my first aid kit and rolled up my sleeve.

  “Shit,” Luke grabbed my arm, and I winced. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Just a bit of glass. Nothing.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Those two broken windows…”

  “Had to stop him somehow.”

  “Did you really smash them with a wheel chock?”

  I gave him a sullen look and reached for the cotton wool to wipe away some of the crusted blood. It was just a few cuts on my elbow and lower arm, but they’d been stinging all day. I kept thinking longingly about that hot bath and wished Luke would go away so I could get some sleep.