Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📕

terminal was huge. The roof was far away. But people could not take flight and use the space. They were trapped on the ground. They crossed paths again and again. Saskia shared the air with thousands of people. It was cold but not fresh. It smelled like the café in Brussels, where she had become wrapped in claustrophobia. It would be difficult to remain. Hannah touched her shoulder. She turned in surprise. “Can you wait here? I need the toilet.”

He was tired and distracted. He did not appreciate the spell he had broken. When Saskia smiled he was surprised. “Of course.”

He jogged along the wall and disappeared into the toilet. Saskia leaned against a huge poster advertising a travel company. She felt the picture change. Minutes passed. She gazed at the ceiling and wondered if clouds might form up there. Hannah grabbed her arm.

“Finally.”

Hannah’s face was close. It was ashen. “Proctor’s here.”

The crowds faded and they were alone. “Here?”

“Look.” Hannah opened his hand. It held a crumpled plastic sachet. Saskia shook her head. She didn’t understand. Then she saw the text. It read: Rinse and Shine at the Horse n’ Groom! Underneath, smaller, was: Wickering Breweries Ltd., Northallerton.

“Proctor’s hotel,” Saskia said. She could think of nothing else. Then she asked, “But when was he here? Perhaps he has come and gone.”

Hannah had the thin smile of certainty. “It was on a basin that still has condensation. I felt the bowl. Still warm with hot water for his hair. The other bowls are cold. It’s him. He’s cleaning up.”

“Fine, good, OK,” Saskia said. She looked away from Hannah in order to concentrate. “If we follow our original plan, then Proctor is travelling to America. To Nevada. We should check the departures board.”

David stepped from the lift into the basement locker area. His motorcycle boots had been replaced by a pair of Brogues. The floor was tiled and sang underfoot, tick-tock with each step. There were few people about. An attendant was slouched over the counter of his kiosk with his nose on a newspaper. He ignored the world around him. As David walked past, a terracotta army of lockers emerged on his right. They had been arranged in perfect rank and file. About half were ajar.

Locker J371 was a short walk away. David moved slowly. He was conscious of the tapping that betrayed him, but he saw nobody. He did not see the woman, some metres to his left, step back into shadow.

“Ego, I’m here.”

Ego said, “Good. Type in this code: P7L6WE2.”

David did so. The locker sprang open. It was as tall as a man and deep enough for several large pieces of luggage. It was empty but for an envelope. It was addressed to ‘D’. He checked up and down the row before tearing the seal. Nobody. He did not see the woman duck out of sight once more, but he heard her footsteps on the tiles. The sound came from everywhere. Because it was receding, he ignored it.

Inside the envelope was a single ticket to Las Vegas, Nevada. That was unsurprising. So he was en route to Jennifer. He was more interested in the text on the piece of paper. The paper had been perfectly white; now, as he touched it, it began to darken. The text became less distinct.

“What is on the paper?” asked Ego. “Tell me immediately.”

“It says, ‘Jennifer Proctor…’ Christ, it’s fading.”

“A security precaution. Keep reading.”

“‘Sounds like a car-parking attendant belongs to the finest.’ That’s all.”

“Information stored and encrypted.”

David laughed mechanically. The tiredness of the bike journey seemed to overtake him once more. He sagged against the locker door. “‘Sounds like a car-parking attendant belongs to the finest.’ What is that? A crossword clue?” The paper had turned black.

“Please, David, examine the ticket.”

David rubbed his eyes. He had a headache and found focussing difficult. “A ticket to McCarran International, Las Vegas. Via Chicago. So what?”

“The time?”

“12:30 a.m.”

“It is now 12:10. I would suggest that you leave immediately. It is unlikely that you will still be at liberty for the next flight.”

David noted the check-in details and tucked the papers into his jacket pocket. He hurried away.

“One final thing,” Ego said.

“What?”

“You must eat the paper.”

“Bloody hell.” He reached for the paper and stuffed it into his mouth. It tasted like liquorice.

The flight left in a few minutes. As they ran, Hannah told Saskia that it might be too late to ground the plane. They had to get aboard. The simplest method was to buy a ticket and arrest Proctor in the air. They found the check-in and jumped the queue.

Saskia glanced at some faces. She did not linger on their interested expressions. Proctor would be on the plane already. Hannah knew the same. He slapped his hand on the counter and demanded two tickets for Las Vegas. The attendant shook her hand indulgently. “That flight leaves in fifteen minutes, sir.”

“Yes, with us,” Hannah said. He produced his documents. The attendant studied the passport. In the pause, Saskia placed her FIB wallet and passport alongside Hannah’s. As her fingers left the surface, she was a chess player committing to a move. Jobanique had told her to remain in the European Union. She needed to take the next flight back, and she needed to have Proctor in tow.

The attendant looked over Saskia’s shoulder. The glance was deliberately indifferent. Saskia turned. A plain-clothes security guard stood behind them. Hannah saw her movement and turned too. The queue became still.

Hannah snorted, “Who are you, the bloody prefect?” He pointed at the attendant then stabbed a thumb in the direction of the security officer. “Tell him to piss off.”

As the attendant explained to the security officer, slowly to be clear, that Hannah was a policeman, David Proctor, who was standing not far behind, stepped sideways from the queue. His hands, which had been dry, began to drip sweat. His face, recently shaved, itched. He walked to the next attendant and said, quietly but not too quietly, “Excuse me. My flight leaves