The Short Forever(99)
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, but I’ve pulled every available man and woman off nearly everything else. We’re concentrating on the security checkpoint, since every passenger has to pass through it.”
“Let’s start there,” Stone said.
With Bartlett leading the way, they made off across the busy terminal.
Morgan reached the security checkpoint, and immediately he was approached by two men in suits, one of whom flashed an ID card.
“Please step over here, sir,” one of them said, taking his arm and moving him out of the line.
“What’s going on?” Morgan asked, as innocently as he could.
“May I see your passport and ticket, please?”
Morgan produced both.
“You are . . .” The officer looked at the passport. “Mr. Barry Trevor?”
“That’s right,” Morgan said. “What’s this about?”
“Just a routine security check, sir. And is this your current address?” The officer held up the passport.
“Yes, it is, and I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“We won’t be a moment, sir. Would you remove your sunglasses, please?”
Morgan took them off and gave the officers a big smile. He knew his security photograph at Eastover made him look dour.
The officers compared him to a photograph one of them produced. They looked at each other; one shook his head. The officer handed back Mr. Barry Trevor’s passport and ticket. “Thank you, sir; sorry for the inconvenience. Here, let me get you through security.” He led Morgan to one side of the checkpoint and signaled to the officer on station, who ran a detector wand over Morgan’s clothes, then waved him through.
Morgan headed for the gate. With a little luck, his timing would be perfect.
Stone arrived at the security checkpoint, and Bartlett called two men over.
“Any sightings?” he asked.
“No; we’ve checked three men, but all seemed okay.”
“Any of them carrying a canvas valise?”
“No; one of them had a briefcase, but there were only business documents inside.”
“Any of them wearing a raincoat and a trilby hat?”
“No, sir.”
Bartlett turned to Stone. “Anything else you want to try?”
Stone nodded. “I hear Spain is a favored destination for fugitives.”
“That’s right; we’ve no extradition treaty with them.”
“Let’s go to the gates that have flights departing for anywhere in Spain.”
Bartlett looked up at a row of monitors next to the security checkpoint. “Three, no, five flights departing in the next two hours, from three gates.” He led the way through the checkpoint, then flagged down an oversized golf cart driven by an airport employee. Bartlett, Stone, and Dino boarded the vehicle, and, on Bartlett’s instructions, it began to move down the long corridor.
Morgan walked along the people mover, dodging other travelers who were happy to stand still and ride. He tried to move quickly, without looking as though he was hurrying. He checked his watch; seven minutes to go.
Bartlett was on the radio, summoning officers to the three gates with departing flights to Spain. “I want two men at each gate, scrutinizing every male passenger even remotely resembling the photograph.” He turned to Stone. “If he’s bound for Spain, we’ll get him at the gate.” His radio squawked, and he held it to his ear. “Say again?” He turned back to Stone. “One of my men has found a raincoat, a shirt, and a trilby hat, discarded in a men’s room. A British passport bearing the name Sir William Mallory was in the raincoat pocket.”
“Costume change,” Stone said. “This guy is starting to do everything right.”
The cart pulled up to a gate, and Stone got out, followed by Dino and Bartlett. The first person he saw was Stan Hedger.
Hedger walked up to him. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
“It’s a public airport; none of your business.”
“Have you seen Lance Cabot?”
“Is that why you’re here? You’re looking for Cabot?”
“That’s right.”
“So is half the country, from what I hear.”
“I thought you had gone back to the States, Stone. Why are you involved in this?”
“It’s personal,” Stone said. “See you around, Stan.”
“Come on,” Dino said, “we’re wasting time.”
Morgan reached his gate two minutes before the flight was scheduled to take off. He went to the counter for a seat assignment.
“You’ll have to hurry, Mr. Trevor,” the young woman said. “We’re about to button up the airplane.”