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A Change of Plan
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Alex watched absent-mindedly as the taxi drove off through the gates, leaving him alone outside the airport. He still hadn’t shaken off his earlier, gloomy mood, and stood gazing at the bustle of people entering and leaving the building.
After a short while, he walked in through the automatic doors, rummaging for his tickets as he went. The concourse was small and sparsely populated. Alex always disliked provincial airports, preferring the anonymity of larger terminals.
He looked at his ticket again; it read Stanstead as the destination. He’d been trying to work it out during the taxi ride. He had assumed he’d be going straight back to the safe-house in Prague. He was only a couple of hundred miles away from London; he could probably drive it in the same time as fly. Still, it wasn’t that peculiar that they kept him in the dark. Just strange that Dragor hadn’t mentioned anything.
He had a couple of hours before the flight, so he toured the newsagent and bought himself a newspaper. He sat in the coffee bar for the rest of the time, drinking weak, tepid coffee.
“Mr. Green?” came a voice from behind him, and he snapped out of his reverie. Green was his cover name. He looked around to see a squat, powerful-looking man, wearing a dark, ill-fitting suit that pulled at his broad shoulders. The man approached his table and sat down in the chair opposite.
Alex nodded a welcome, whilst surreptitiously easing his chair away from the table.
“There’s been a change of plan,” grunted the man. He was balding, in his mid-forties, thickset and muscular — yet his movements were quick and elegant. He carried himself like a boxer, thought Alex.
“Your fee is here, not at your destination. Someone will give it to you later, before you board your plane.”
“Isn’t that a little risky?” asked Alex slowly, looking up from his newspaper. The big man shrugged as though he couldn’t care less, then stood up and left without looking back.
Alex carried on reading his paper and took a sip of coffee, seemingly unaffected by the encounter. He didn’t look up; he knew he’d never spot any surveillance, whether they were there or not — and he was sure that they were. Outwardly, he looked like any calm traveller, relaxing in a café. But inside his mind was racing.
What the hell was going on? He always picked up his fee from a locker at the destination airport. He’d never met the thickset before, so what had gone wrong? Or was he being set-up? It made no sense. They knew he was bound to worry if they dropped something like this on him; so why didn’t he get an explanation?
The call for his flight came over the public address system, and he nonchalantly stood, and made his way up the escalator. He walked slowly, warily glancing at the other travellers, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary.
He handed his ticket to a weary-looking stewardess, and walked out on to the tarmac where his plane waited.
The man said they’d give him his fee before he boarded the plane, thought Alex, yet he was almost at the steps now. Had they messed up? He put his foot on the first step.
“Sir! Your case, sir!”
A stewardess dashed breathlessly up towards him.
“That gentleman —” she gestured behind her, “oh, he’s gone — anyway, he said you’d left your case in the café.”
“Oh, dear me, heavens how stupid of me!” exclaimed Alex. “Oh thank you, thank you,” he said. He looked hard into her face for any sign of recognition, but there was none.
“You really should be more careful, sir,” she chastised. “You should never leave your belongings unattended. Would you like to check that everything’s still there?”
“No, no I’m sure it’s alright; there’s nothing really of value in it anyway — just a few odds and ends.” He flashed her an apologetic smile. “But thank you; you really are most kind and considerate — an angel.”
She smiled in embarrassment and wished him a pleasant flight, then walked back into the airport.
Alex’s heart raced, but he climbed the steps without hesitating and looked for a seat. He chose one next to a nervous-looking businessman who pretended to be engrossed in a newspaper. The man was about fifty years old, chubby, with a short, neat beard. He looked up for a second as Alex sat down, then quickly turned back to his paper, eager to avoid eye contact.
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Alex sat staring at the case on his knees. It was a normal-looking, slightly battered laptop case. He drummed his fingers on the lid, deep in thought.
Five minutes passed.
He came to a decision.
He took a deep breath, and turned, with a beaming smile on his face, to the large man in the window seat next to him.
“Well, my friend!” he exploded in a hugely exaggerated accent. “Such a fine day to be travelling, yes? Around this beautiful country, all these beautiful people!”
The businessman stared at him in horror, turning visibly pale.
“This is your country, no? England, beautiful England, yes?”
He beamed a ridiculous grin at the man, who shrank further into his seat.
“Er, I’m sorry?” stuttered the panicking man. “Er, yes, I’m English,” he muttered, trying to turn back to his paper.
“I love England! I love English! You are all so very friendly!” Alex carried on in his ridiculous tone. He was leaning up close to the man, leering gaily at him. “I come from Poland, and have been three times in England now; you all so very friendly!”
“Oh, er, thank you,” whimpered the man, trying to bury his face further into his newspaper.
Alex, still beaming, placed a warm, friendly hand on the man’s arm, pushing the paper down a little.
“I’m in shoes!” he exclaimed to the horrified man, who had now fully realised that he sat next to the passenger from hell.
“What?” he blurted out, eyes wide with panic.
“Shoes! I sell shoes! All around Poland; everybody wears my shoes! Josef Plotsaw!” he yelled, offering his outstretched hand to the stricken man.
“Er, Benning, George Benning,” blurted out the man before he could stop himself, feebly shaking Alex’s hand.
Alex found it hard not to laugh; the English were so easy to manipulate, he thought — so polite. He released Benning’s hand, and with his other, Alex surreptitiously placed the man’s stolen wallet into his pocket.
“We fly soon, George?” he asked leaning a little closer.
“A couple of minutes,” replied George, looking green.
“Good! You know I think I take a piss first!” he laughed heartily, squeezing Benning’s arm.
“Er, yes, down the aisle,” gasped George in relief at getting rid of the madman, even for a few seconds, then quickly turned to the window, scrutinising his paper.
Alex stood up, still grinning stupidly, and opened the overhead locker, placing the laptop case inside. He shot a glance at Benning, who was still studying his paper, desperately ignoring him. Alex calmly took out Benning’s trench coat from the locker, closed the door and walked down the aisle whistling.
He walked through the dividing doorway, past the toilets and into the next aisle. He had pulled on the stolen coat by now and flipped up the collar. It was enormous on him, but it would have to do.
Everybody was seated, awaiting take-off. A stewardess noticed him, and walked down the aisle to where he stood looking nervous.
“Sir, you’ll have to return to your seat now; the plane is about to — oh god!”
Alex had doubled over in agony, and then slumped to the floor clutching his chest.
“Sir! Are you alright? Can you hear me?” The frantic stewardess knelt beside him trying to loosen his tie. Alex coughed and sobbed, thrashing around as though he were having a fit.
“I can’t do it! I can’t! Please!” he moaned through clenched teeth.
“Sir, you’ll be alright, I’ll get some help, just a moment.”
“It’s my pills,” he said between gasps, “I lost my pills; I’m terrified. I can’t fly without them,” he sobbed again, still clutching his chest. Passengers looked on in concern, and several more stewards had gathered around.
“I must get off! I must get off!” he coughed hysterically. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be alright,” said the stewardess, a little calmer now. She sighed, and turning to one of the stewards said quietly:
“Steve, inform the captain that we need to remove one of the passengers, and that we’ll need a paramedic.”
She turned to where Alex lay sweating and wild-eyed.
“Do you think you can walk?” she said. “You do realise that you will miss this flight if you get off now?”
“Please, just let me out; I haven’t got my pills; I need my pills...” he sobbed in another attack of mania.
Two stewards helped him out of the plane and across the windswept tarmac, Alex stooped over, with the collar of Benning’s coat hiding his features. Ten minutes later he was sitting in an office, with a blanket around him, sipping hot chocolate.
“I’m so sorry to have been such a nuisance,” he said in his very best British accent. “I normally have these pills you see; absolutely terrified of flying, of dying in a crash; always have been; but I forgot them; the pills.”
The kind-hearted travel operator nodded sympathetically, interspersing Alex’s apologies with warm words of understanding.
Eventually, after a long pause, she said:
“Well, if you are sure you are up to it, your flight will be the eight-o-three, which I’m afraid gives you just under four hours to kill.” She winced at her choice of words.
Alex stood up and thanked her for her help, as they walked out of the office together.
“Oh, there’s Tracy,” she exclaimed. “She’ll be on the next flight; she’ll look after you. Tracy! Hi. This is Mr. Benning. He had a bit of trouble on the four-twenty; he’s a little nervous of flying — could you be a dear and look after him on the eight-o-three?”
Tracy, a short, cheerful girl, gave Alex a warm smile.
“Of course,” she beamed. “I’ll meet you at the gate before you go on, and we can board together.”
“Thank you,” said Alex gratefully. “You’ve all been so kind to me, I don’t know how I can thank you enough.”
“It’s all part of the job Mr. Benning,” laughed Tracy.
“Please; call me George,” he said with a smile.
Alex walked quickly from the concourse, his oversized coat pulled tightly around him. He hailed a taxi and seated himself in the back seat.
“Where to?” grunted the driver.
“The coach station, please,” he replied. He sat back as the taxi pulled away, and watched the planes as they took off and landed. He could always try and pick up the case when he got to London, he thought; although something told him it might be wiser just to forget all about it.