“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.”
“I’ll hurry,” Morgan said, and made for the boarding ramp. There was no line, and a moment later he was strapping himself into a first-class seat.
Stone, Dino, and Bartlett made their way quickly from gate to gate, coming up empty-handed at each one.
“That’s it,” Bartlett said. “We know he’s in the airport, but we don’t—”
“What are other likely destinations for fugitives?” Stone asked.
Bartlett shrugged. “Could be anywhere. There are more than a hundred international flights taking off in the next two hours; I don’t have the manpower to cover them all, and I’m not about to shut down this airport, unless I get a personal call from the Home Secretary.”
“Shit,” Stone said.
“My sentiments exactly,” Bartlett replied. “But let’s keep looking.”
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the flight attendant said. “We are now pushing back from the gate, and in a few minutes we’ll be taking off for our flight to Honolulu. While we’re taxiing, we direct your attention to the video, which will explain the emergency procedures for this aircraft.”
Morgan picked up a magazine. Fuck the emergency procedures, he thought. He wanted a double Scotch.
Stan Hedger left the airport in disgust, along with one of his people, and got into a waiting car. He did not notice, nor did his driver, that the car was followed by another, which kept a respectful distance.
Stone and Dino stuck it out until nearly midnight, when departures slowed dramatically, then they drove back to the Brewer’s Arms.
Carpenter, Mason, and Plumber were all in the suite when they arrived. “Anything?” Carpenter asked.
“Morgan was at the airport,” Stone said. “One of the security people found his discarded hat, coat, and passport in a men’s room. We covered the departures for Spain all evening, but there were too many departing flights to cover them all. What have you heard about Lance?”
“A farmer about eighty miles west of here reported that a light airplane landed and took off again at a disused RAF airfield near his house. Two local police officers found a brand-new BMW motorcycle abandoned there.”
“You think it was Lance’s?”
“It was wiped completely clean of fingerprints,” she said, “and it was properly registered to someone in London. We’re checking it out now, but who else would abandon an expensive motorbike at an old airfield and wipe off the prints?”
“I doubt if he’s coming back for it,” Stone said.
“The police are keeping a watch, to see if anyone picks it up.”
Stone sank into a sofa. “This hasn’t gone well, has it?”
Carpenter sat down next to him. “No, it hasn’t, but it’s not your fault; you were a big help. And you’ve lost all that money.”
Stone raised a hand. “Please, don’t mention that again.”
“I’ll do what I can to get you reimbursed, but I’m not very hopeful. My management are very annoyed that we’ve let these people get away.”
“Can I g
ive you a lift back to London?”