Checking In - Suspect Package, Page 4

said. “I have no idea where you’re going. And frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

  “Don’t get many colonels using Global Airlines Lite,” Rob said, ignoring the rudeness.

  “Not bloody surprised.”

  Rob smiled a micro-smile. “We have our own major, Colonel. Major Tom. He looks after security.”

  “And I care about this, why?”

  “He was a hero in Iraq,” Rob said.

  “Fascinating.”

  “Won all sorts of medals for doing brave things,” Rob said, selecting a seat near the toilet for the miserable old—

  “Really?” the colonel said, showing interest for the first time. “Which regiment?”

  “Paras, I think.”

  “I was seconded to the paras,” the colonel said, standing up a little straighter. “A major? I would probably know him.”

  “Hang on a second,” Rob said, “and I’ll go get him.”

  “If you must.”

  Rob crossed to the staff door, leaned in, and said something before returning to the desk. He glanced at the screen and moved the colonel and his dear little wife away from the toilet.

  Major Tom stepped over the baggage belt and stood behind Rob. “What’s so important I have to leave my coffee?”

  “Major Tom,” Rob said, “meet Colonel Butler.”

  Major Tom looked quickly at he colonel, took a step back, banged his legs against the conveyor, and sat down on the belt.

  The colonel looked at Major Tom for several seconds before speaking. “No,” he said at last, “I don’t know you. Go away.”

  Rob frowned, but his eyes were alive. “Bit odd, though,” he said, “you not knowing each other.”

  “Not really,” Major Tom said, getting up quickly, ready for a rapid retreat, “there were thousands of us over there.”

  “This…” The colonel pointed a finger at Rob. “This person said you were with the paras. Which regiment?”

  “Err…” Major Tom said. “Three para.” Then he felt more was needed. “At Najaf.”

  Sometimes less is more.

  The colonel frowned. “Three para was in Basra. I may be old, but I still have my faculties.”

  “Oh, I meant two para,” Major Tom said quickly.

  “Easy mistake to make,” Rob said mischievously, “there’s only a one in it.”

  “This annoying individual,” the colonel said, flicking a finger in Rob’s direction, “said that you were awarded medals. Is that so?”

  Somewhere in the distance, Major Tom could hear the carpenters erecting the scaffold. His mouth was dry, and he could hear a blowfly buzzing in his ear. “Err…”

  “Well, were you or were you not awarded medals?” The colonel seemed miffed. Odd, that. “It’s not a difficult question, is it?”

  “Err…” Major Tom decided to man up and tell it like it is. “No. I mean yes. Well, no.”

  That worked well.

  The colonel eyed Major Tom suspiciously and opened his mouth to say something, but Rob beat him to it.

  “Got an ‘I saved marines from certain, gruesome death’ medal, haven’t you, Major Tom.” He didn’t give the poor man time to respond. “And there’s the one for parachuting behind enemy lines and blowing up a dam.”

  The colonel spluttered and shook his head to clear it. “Behind enemy lines?” More spluttering. “There were no enemy lines in the Iraq war.”

  “I saw enemy lines,” Rob said.

  The colonel stared at him through slit eyes and dared him to continue.

  “They were on the roads heading for home as fast as they could,” Rob continued. “And,” he said quickly, before the old duffer could butt in, “our Major Tom here was right behind them, kicking them in the ass to hurry them along.”

  The colonel’s eyes opened, and he looked back at Major Tom. “Three Para, you say?”

  “Yes,” Major Tom said quickly. “Among others. I was bounced about quite a bit over there.”

  The colonel nodded. “We all were, Major.”

  ‘Major’, that was a good start.

  “I’d like to see your medals,” the colonel said.

  Major Tom’s face dropped.

  “But I have a plane to catch. Perhaps another time?”

  “Yes. Yes. Any time. Whenever you’re in the… err… vicinity.”

  “I’ve got you a nice window seat, Colonel,” Rob said, squashing a smile.

  Major Tom retreated through the staff door at an undignified pace.

  “That fellow,” the colonel began.

  “Oh, don’t worry about him,” Rob said, smiling. “He’s getting old, and all that nuclear fall-out from Iraq has scrambled his marbles.”

  The colonel took the boarding passes and tickets from Rob and hurried his wife away, glancing back repeatedly, as though afraid the madman would follow.

  Rob looked back at the staff door and smiled.

   

   

  Shirley looked up from her magazine again as Major Tom came back into the staffroom a bit too quickly. “Is everything okay out there, Major Tom?”

  “No. Yes. I mean Rob is dealing with the colonel.”

  Shirley stood up quickly. “What colonel? Why wasn’t I informed there is a colonel? Is he a VIP?”

  “Yes,” Major Tom said.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! What is the matter with you?” Shirley stood up sharply, threw the magazine onto the couch, and marched out to do her VIP duty.

  Rob’s head appeared around the door as she approached. “Give me a hand, Maurice. I need to go.”

  “Use your own bloody hand,” Maurice said, shocked. “What do you take me for?”

  “No,” Rob said with a sigh. “I mean take over out there, I need to pee.”

  “Oh,” Maurice said.

  “Are you dealing with a VIP?” Shirley asked.

  “No.”

  “Major Tom said you were dealing with a colonel.”

  “Oh, him,” Rob said. “He’s gone.”

  “I told you to call me before handling VIPs—”

  “I never touched him,” Rob said, raising his hands in mock horror.

  “I’m going to escalate this to Mister Marks.”

  “Why, is he on the top floor?” Rob asked and ducked back out of sight.

  Maurice stepped past Shirley and followed him out.

  “Did you see that, Janet?” Shirley asked.

  “That’s the trouble with working for a tin-pot company,” Shirley said tiredly, “all your colleagues are morons.”

  “When I was at Virgin,” Shirley said with a sniff, “we had quality people from top to bottom.”

  “Get rid of all the rubbish, did they?” Janet asked pointedly.

  “I’ll have you know, leaving was entirely my idea!”

  Janet shrugged. “PMS can be a terrible affliction.”

  “Well, I never!”

  “Perhaps not, dear,” Janet said, returning to her paperwork, “but I can tell you, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Shirley struggled to find a suitable retort, but was saved by George, the maintenance man, banging the door full open and squeezing his huge bulk in through the gap.

  “Somebody report that the baggage belt is missing?” he asked, a little breathless from the effort of moving his twenty-stone lump about.

  Shirley brightened. “Ah, yes. That was me.”

  “Well,” George said, “I am pleased to inform you that the baggage belt was found next to the check-in desks after a short search.”

  Shirley’s mouth opened and closed.

  “And someone reported evidence of an oil leak from the motor?”

  She nodded slowly. “That was Rob.”

  “Right. Tell him the evidence has now been removed.” He backed out and made a token attempt to reach for the door handle before giving up and waddling off.

  Shirley shook her head slowly and stared at the open door. “He couldn
’t be serious,” she said, almost to herself.

  “I believe he is quite serious,” Major Tom said. “That was George.” As if that explained everything.

  “But that’s insane!” Shirley said.

  “And your point?” Janet added without looking up.

  Before they could explore the madness of George any further, Rob and Maurice stepped up to the open door, and Rob beckoned to Major Tom.

  “Better get out here, Major,” he said, half-turning and pointing… out there. “We’ve got a problem.”

  Major Tom made a visible effort to return to reality from wherever it was he’d retreated. “What’s the problem?” he said, setting off towards the door. A little more slowly than his best pace. “It’s yoofs, isn’t it? Always the same at this time of the morning. I think it’s all that modern coffee… it hypes them up. A spell in the army is what they need, spot of discipline.”

  “No,” Rob said, leaving a silence for dramatic effect. “It’s a suspect package.”

  They all froze.

  The fire-exit/executive office door banged open, and Dickie almost fell out. “Suspect package!” He caught his balance and took a moment to regain his composure. No point letting the staff see him as anything but perfect. “Where? What? How big? Has the bomb squad been called? Are the police attending? Are we safe in here?”

  Yes, perfect.

  Rob shook his head in answer to one of the questions. “I’ll skip the first questions and cut to the chase, shall I? I’ve never been one to beat around the bush or to use a sentence where a word will do. You know me, I call a spade a shovel. It’s not in my nature to ramble on or blather, so to speak, so I’ll just get straight to the point. Right from the shoulder, tell it as it is—”

  “For Christ’s sake… begging your pardon, ladies,” Major Tom said. “Just tell me what is the nature of the suspect package?”

  “Suspect,” Rob said helpfully.

  “I mean,” Major Tom said in an exasperated tone, “where is this suspect package?”

  Rob pointed vaguely towards the concourse. “Out there.