I, Spy? (2 page)

The last of them trickled through, and I started tapping the security numbers of the boarded passengers into the computer. We were two down, and the system had them as Lavery, Anne, and Brown, John.

Luca counted up the cards. “Forty-eight?”

“Yep. Two down.” I reached for the microphone. “This is a further boarding call for the Ace Airlines flight AC109 to Edinburgh. Would passengers Lavery and Brown please make their way to gate eighty-seven where this flight is now closing.”

Anne Lavery turned up straight away, flying through, racing out to the plane. Truth be told, there were several minutes before pushback, but it paid to get people boarded on time. The dispatchers could get pretty stroppy if there was any delay and they weren’t all above putting it down to gate staff on their reports.

I checked the system again. John Brown had one piece of baggage checked in, and I radioed down to the dispatcher that she might want to start looking for it. It was highly illegal for a piece of luggage to travel without its owner. After Lockerbie strict rules were put in place to make sure every piece is scanned and accounted for. If a passenger didn’t travel, then the bag had to be pulled off the plane. It was a bugger, especially since the ramp boys had to search through every bag to find the one they wanted.

I made another call for John Brown and got Ops to put out a call over the terminal PA. Luca was tapping a pile of cards on the desk.

“He still not here?”

I looked around with heavy sarcasm. “Not unless he’s invisible.”

Luca gave a faint smile. He looked pretty damn tense.

“You okay?”

He shrugged. “I’m tired. This is my third early, and I been doing overtime too. Looking forward to my day off, you know?”

I nodded. I was looking forward to it, too. Hours and hours of unadulterated sleep. Bliss.

Luca grabbed the microphone and made another impatient call for Brown. “Failure to report to the gate within the next five minutes will result in your bags being offloaded and the plane will depart without you.”

That usually got them. You could tell them they had fair warning, repeat until you were blue in the face that the boarding time was printed and highlighted on their boarding card (and it always allowed oodles of time for boarding, too), but ultimately, to a passenger, if they missed the plane then it was your fault.

Passengers were stupid. I hated them all.

The dispatcher radioed up. “Any sight of him?”

“Not a squint,” I replied.

“Right, that’s it. I’m getting his bag off. If he turns up send him back to checkin. He ain’t traveling.”

Luca glanced up at me. “I’ll go and get his bag,” he said. “If he comes, keep him here.”

I nodded, watching him go. I got all the sucky jobs. I liked to act the bitch but really, I hated telling people they couldn’t travel. They got so mean. Sometimes they cried and I felt miserable. Sometimes they yelled at me and I got all angry, and when I was done being angry, I went away and cried, because they made me feel little and stupid and worthless.

I let them get to me—that was my problem.

Not long after Luca disappeared, a fat, balding man in a shiny suit came rushing up to the gate.

“Mr. Brown?”

He nodded breathlessly. “Am I too late?”

“I’m afraid so,” I said. “The plane’s about to push back.”

He looked distraught. “I can still make it,” he said, glancing out of the window where the plane was, indeed, angling out of its bay with the help of a tug.

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 checkin—”

“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 checkin 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 checkin? 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 checkin 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 are 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 Luke, 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.”