False Impression

The sales assistant printed the ticket, checked his passport, and said, “If you proceed to Gate Seventy-one, Mr. Delaney, boarding is about to commence.”

Jack walked back toward the coffee shop. Anna was sitting at the counter, engrossed in the book she had just purchased. He was even more careful to avoid her gaze, as he felt sure she now realized she was being followed. Jack spent the next few minutes purchasing goods from shops he wouldn’t normally have visited, all made necessary by the woman perched on the corner stool in the coffee shop. He ended up with an overnight bag, which would be allowed on board as hand luggage, a pair of jeans, four shirts, four pairs of socks, four pairs of underpants, two ties (special offer), a packet of razors, shaving cream, aftershave, soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste. He hung around inside the pharmacy, waiting to see if Anna was about to move.

“Last call for passengers on Japan Airways Flight four-one-six to Tokyo. Please proceed immediately to Gate Seventy-one for final boarding.”

Anna turned another page of her book, which convinced Jack that she must be booked onto the Cathay Pacific flight leaving an hour later. This time be would be waiting for her. He tugged at his overnight bag and followed the signs for Gate 71. Jack was among the last to board the aircraft.

Anna checked her watch, ordered another coffee, and turned her attention to the Herald Tribune. The pages were full of stories on the aftermath of 9/11, with a report on the memorial service held in Washington, D.C., attended by the president. Did her family and friends still believe that she was dead, or just missing? Had the news that she’d been seen in London already percolated back to New York? Clearly Fenston still wanted everyone to believe she was dead, at least until he got his hands on the Van Gogh. All that would change in Tokyo, if— Something made her look up, and she spotted a young man with thick, dark hair staring at her. He quickly looked away. She jumped off her stool and walked straight across to him.

“Are you following me, by any chance?” she demanded.

The man gave Anna a startled look. “Non, non, mademoiselle, mais peut-être voulez-vous prendre un verre avec moi?”

“This is the first call for . . .”

Two more eyes were also watching Anna as she apologized to the Frenchman, settled her bill, and made her way slowly to Gate 71.

Krantz only let her out of her sight after she’d boarded the plane.

Krantz was among the last passengers to board Flight CX 301. On entering the aircraft, she turned left and took her usual window seat in the front row. Krantz knew that Anna was seated at the back of economy, but she had no idea where the American was. Had he missed the flight, or was he roaming around Hong Kong searching for Petrescu?

32

JACK’S FLIGHT TOUCHED down at Narita international airport, Tokyo, thirty minutes late, but he wasn’t anxious, because he was an hour ahead of both women, who would still be some thirty thousand feet above the Pacific. Once Jack had cleared customs, his first stop was the inquiry desk, where he asked what time the Cathay flight was due to land. In just over forty minutes.

He turned and faced the arrivals gate, then tried to work out in which direction Petrescu would go once she had cleared customs. What would be her first choice of transport into the city: taxi, rail, or bus? She would have to decide after she’d progressed a mere fifty yards. If she was still in possession of the crate, it would surely have to be a taxi. Having checked out every possible exit, Jack handed over five hundred dollars at a Bank of Tokyo booth in exchange for 53,868 yen. He placed the large-denomination notes in his wallet and returned to the arrivals hall, where he watched people assemble as they waited for the most recent arrivals. He looked up. Above him, to his left, was a mezzanine floor, which overlooked the hall. He walked up the stairs and inspected the space. Although the area was cramped, it was nevertheless ideal. There were two telephone booths fixed to the wall, and if he stood behind the second one, he could look down on any new arrivals without being spotted. Jack checked the board. CX 301 was due to land in twenty minutes. Easily enough time for him to carry out his final task.

He left the airport and stood in the taxi line, which was being organized by a man in a light blue suit and white gloves, who not only controlled the taxis but directed the passengers. When he reached the front, Jack climbed into the back of the distinctive green Toyota and instructed a surprised driver to park on the other side of the road.

“Wait here until I return,” he added, leaving his new bag on the back seat. “I should be about thirty minutes, forty at the most.” He removed a five-thousand-yen note from his wallet. “And you can keep the meter running. The driver nodded, but looked puzzled.

Jack returned to the airport to find that Flight CX 301 had just landed. He walked back up to the terrace and took his place behind the second phone booth. He waited to see who would be the first through the door with the familiar green and white Cathay Pacific label attached to their luggage. It had been a long time since Jack had waited to pick up one girl at an airport, let alone two. And would he even recognize his blind date?

The indicator board flicked over once again. Passengers on Flight CX 301 were now in the baggage hall. Jack began to concentrate. He didn’t have long to wait. Krantz was first through the door—she needed to be; she had work to do. She headed for a melee of eagerly waiting locals, who weren’t much taller than her. She nestled in behind them before she risked turning around. From time to time, the patient crowd moved like a slow wave, as some people departed, while others took their place. Krantz moved with the tide so that no one would notice her. But a blonde crew cut standing among a black-haired race made Jack’s task a lot easier. If she then followed Anna, Jack would know for certain whom he was up against.

While Jack kept one eye on the thin, short, muscular woman with the blonde crew cut, he repeatedly turned back to check on the new arrivals that were now swarming through the exit in little clusters, several with green and white labels attached to their luggage. Jack gingerly took a step forward, praying she wouldn’t look up, but her eyes remained doggedly fixed on the new arrivals.

She must have also worked out that there were only three exit routes for Anna to consider, because she was strategically placed to pounce in whichever direction her quarry selected.

Jack slipped a hand into an inside pocket, s

lowly removed the latest Samsung cell phone, flicked it open, and focused it directly toward the crowd below him. For a moment he couldn’t see her, then an elderly man stepped forward to greet his visitor and she was exposed for a split second. Click, then once again she disappeared. Jack continually switched his attention back to the new arrivals, who were still pouring out into the hall. As he turned back, a mother bent down to pick up an errant child and she was exposed again, click, and just as suddenly disappeared from sight. Jack turned to watch as Anna came striding through the swing doors. He closed his phone, hoping that one of the two images would he enough for the tech guys to identify her.

Jack’s wasn’t the only head to turn when the slim, blonde American strode into the arrivals hall pushing a luggage cart with a suitcase and a wooden crate on board. He stepped back into the shadows the moment Petrescu paused to look up. She was checking the exit boards. She turned right. Taxi.

Jack knew that Petrescu would also have to join a long line before she could hope to get a cab, so he allowed both women to leave the airport before he came down from the balcony. When he eventually descended, Jack took a circuitous route back to his taxi. He walked to the far end of the hall and then out onto the sidewalk. He ducked behind a waiting bus on his way to the underground parking lot, then continued along the second row of cars and out of the far end of the garage. He was relieved to see the green Toyota still waiting for him, engine running, meter ticking. He climbed into the backseat and said to the driver, “See the blonde with a crew cut, seventh in the taxi line? I want you to follow her, but she mustn’t know.”

Jack’s eyes returned to Petrescu, who was fifth in the line. When she reached the front, she didn’t climb into the waiting taxi, but turned round and walked slowly to the back of the line. Clever girl, thought Jack, as he waited to see how Crew Cut would react. Jack tapped his own driver on the shoulder, and said, “Don’t move,” when Crew Cut stepped into the back of a taxi, which drove off and disappeared around the corner. Jack knew she’d be parked in a side turning only a few yards away waiting for Petrescu to reappear. Eventually, Petrescu reached the front again. Jack tapped his driver on the shoulder and said, “Follow that woman, stay well back, but don’t lose her.”

“But it isn’t the same woman,” queried the taxi driver.

“I know,” said Jack. “Change of plan.”

The driver looked perplexed. Japanese don’t understand change of plan.

As Petrescu’s taxi drove past him and onto the freeway, Jack watched an identical vehicle come out of a side road and slip in behind her. At last it was Jack’s turn to be the pursuer and not the pursued.

For the first time, Jack was thankful for the notorious snarl-ups and never-ending traffic jams that are the accepted norm for anyone driving from Narita airport into the city center. He was able to keep his distance while never losing sight of either of them.