“Check again.”
The woman did. “Actually we have a late cancellation. I can put you on standby.”
“Standby?”
“There is a waiting list.”
“Put me on the top of it.”
“I can’t do that.”
Darby palmed three hundred dollars across the counter. “Yes, you can.”
The woman whisked the bills under the counter. “May I have your credit card and photo ID, please?”
* * *
• • •
DARBY HAD one more problem. There was no way he was getting his gun through security. He went into the men’s room, took his jacket off, and slipped out of the shoulder holster. He draped his jacket over his arm, covering the holster and gun, and found a bank of storage lockers. He stuck the gun and holster into locker 67, slipped the key into his pocket, and went to security.
Darby did not have TSA precheck, so he had to go through the whole aggravating routine. He took off his shoes, his belt, and his jacket, put them in a plastic tray, and sent them through the scanner. He put his watch, his wallet, the change in his pocket, and the key from the storage locker in a little plastic bowl. He stepped into the scanner and held up his arms while the X-ray machine performed its inspection, and the guard on the other side waved him on. He put on his shoes, his belt, and his jacket, and retrieved the items from the plastic bowl. The wallet went in his hip pocket, his key and change in his front pocket.
He slipped on his watch. As always when putting it on, he checked that the mechanism was working. He pushed the stem sideways, and surreptitiously pulled out the razor-thin wire, just an inch, just enough to make sure it was gliding smoothly.
It was.
All systems were go.
Darby set off looking for his prey.
8.
TEDDY WAS ENJOYING the perks of the priority lounge, in particular the cappuccino he’d managed to coax out of the machine. It had taken some doing. You had to know what buttons to press. Part of the operation was a touch screen and part of it wasn’t, and knowing which was which was the key to success. Teddy felt like he did watching kids play video games. A kid would have figured out the machine in a snap. With no kid available, it took Teddy a little longer.
Teddy took a sip of cappuccino, and set it down on the table in front of him. As he glanced up, a man on the other side of the lounge looked away.
In and of itself that was not suspicious, but something about the guy raised a red flag. Perhaps it was that he appeared to have no luggage at all—not even a small bag for a day trip—or just that he looked a little out of place in the exclusive priority lounge.
Could someone be onto him so soon? Apparently someone could. Teddy had no idea who the man was, or how long he’d had been there, but he guessed it had been a while. Surely he couldn’t be planning to make his move on the plane? A dead man on a cross-country flight, even if he wasn’t discovered until after it landed, would lead to unpleasant inquiries. The assassin—for Teddy suspected that’s what he was—would have to make his move now.
* * *
• • •
DARBY HAD NO intention of getting on the plane. He needed to take care of business before the plane boarded, so he could skip the flight to New York, exit security, and retrieve his gun and holster from the storage locker. So when it came close to the time when the flight would board, he allowed himself to be spotted by his quarry, hoping that would induce the man to do something elusive, to make a move, to try and get away. While that might work with the safety of the security gate to scuttle through, here in the priority lounge there was no place to hide.
It had to be here. And while the authorities would doubtless put together the dead passenger in the priority lounge with the other priority passenger who failed to take the flight, all that meant was the identity on that credit card and ID would have to be retired. It didn’t matter. He had several others. In that event, he wondered if the powers that be would decide that L.A. had become too hot and reassign him.
His quarry got up and headed for the buffet table. There wasn’t much that time of night, just a few cookies to go along with the coffee from the machine. Before he got there, the man made a quick right turn and headed for the men’s room.
Darby gave him a head start and then followed him in.
The priority men’s room was small and plush. Two urinals, three sinks, and three toilet stalls. The doors on the stalls were not cheap metal affairs you could see under, but floor-to-ceiling solid wood doors that closed and locked, automatically changing the VACANT sign to OCCUPIED.
There was no one in the men’s room, but one of the stalls read OCCUPIED. The others read VACANT. Darby checked them anyway, just to be safe, but there was no one there. Darby stationed himself in front of the occupied stall. He pressed the stem on his watch and slid out the wire.
A passenger entered the men’s room. He saw Darby standing by the occupied stall, and figured he was waiting for it. He saw the vacant signs on the other stalls and frowned. What was wrong with them? He gave Darby a look, and pushed one open. Apparently it met with his approval because he went inside and locked the door.
The click of that bolt was followed by the click of another; the sign on the door Darby was watching went from OCCUPIED to VACANT. Darby tensed the wire.
The door cracked open, a hand snaked out and yanked him inside. His right arm was snapped in a sudden motion like someone cracking a whip, but his cry of pain was choked off in his throat. It took him a second to realize it was the razor wire, wound around his own neck by the whip-like action and twisted tight as it bit into the flesh. Darby flailed against it, but it was hopeless.
Soon he was beyond realizing anything.
9.
TEDDY FAY RELAXED in his business class seat while the flight attendant refilled his glass of champagne.
“Enjoying your flight, Mr. Barnett?” She gestured to the empty seat next to him. “You certainly have room to spread out, since your friend didn’t show.”
“I’m traveling alone. I have no idea whose seat that is.”
“Would you like his champagne, too?”
“Now you’re being naughty,” Teddy said.
* * *
• • •
FAHD CALLED HIS contact in New York. “There’s a man named Billy Barnett on the red-eye from L.A.”
“Yes?”
“He was supposed to be stopped before he got on the plane. My man has not called in, so I suspect he failed in his objective. I want him met at JFK. See that he doesn’t reach Manhattan.”