Marta glanced over at the attendant by the open door to the boarding tunnel. “What is it?”
“Probably nothing,” McGarvey said. “Just hang on.” He went over to the counter. “May I use your house phone?” he asked the attendant who’d just finished making the boarding announcement.
“The lady must get aboard now, sir, or she will miss her flight,” the young man said.
“May I use your house phone? It’s very important.”
The attendant hesitated a moment, but then sighed and handed over the handset. “What number would you like, sir?”
“The airport security duty officer.”
A look of alarm crossed the attendant’s face. “Sir, is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Get me the number, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
A moment later the call went through. “Security, Bellus.”
“Monsieur Bellus, my name is Kirk McGarvey. I am an American. “
“Oui, monsieur, what can I do for you?”
“One or more of my countrymen, from my embassy… security officers…
are presently somewhere here at the airport. It is imperative that I talk with them.
Immediately.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Monsieur McGarvey, but I am very busy…
“You do know. Call them, and give them my name. Please, this is important.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Boarding gate E17.”
“Swissair?”
“Yes, please hurry.”
“I will require an explanation.”
“Yes, of course.”
The line went silent. Everyone was looking at him. Marta came over.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. The flight attendant had come over from the boarding tunnel door and was watching.
Bellus was back a minute later. “Monsieur McGarvey. The answer is that unless your message is extremely urgent, they’d ask you to contact the appropriate… office at your embassy.”
“I see.”
“Is it extremely urgent?”
McGarvey looked out at the Swissair jetliner. “No. I thought they were friends and I just wanted to say hello.”
“Pardon me, monsieur if I find that odd, since you will be flying to Geneva aboard the same aircraft. You are at E17?”
“Yes,” McGarvey said. “Actually I didn’t know if they’d arrived. I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you.”
“Are you a resident of Paris, Monsieur McGarvey?”
“Yes,” McGarvey said. He gave the cop the number of his apartment on the rue Lafayette in the tenth Arrondissement.
“And you are known at this address, and by your embassy?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I will verify this, Monsieur. Have a good flight.”
“Oui, merci.” McGarvey hung up.
“Well?” Marta asked.
“It was nothing,” he said and he kissed her. “Goodbye, Mati.”
“Just like that?” she asked, her eyes filling again.
He nodded. “Have a good flight.” He turned and walked off without looking back.
“What was that all about?” Cladstrup asked as Roningen came back from the telephone.
DuVerlie was across the room out of earshot if they talked softly.
“Does the name Kirk McGarvey ring any bells?”
Cladstrup had to laugh. “You’d better believe it. I was just coming into the Company when he was being booted out. Late seventies. Something to do with Chile, I think.
He screwed up.”
“He’s living here in Paris, and he was involved with that incident at our embassy this winter.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Well, he’s apparently here at the airport, and he called security and asked to speak to us.”
“By name?” Cladstrup asked.
“I guess not, but I told Bellus that I’d speak to him if he had something urgent for us. Apparently he didn’t, because he backed off. But get this: Bellus thinks he might be on this flight. He called from E17 next door.”
“Is his name on the manifest?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“What the hell?” Cladstrup glanced over toward DuVerlie. “Do you suppose there’s any connection?”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him?”
“I could pick him out of a crowd.”
“Go see if he’s aboard, and I’ll call Lynch and find out if he knows what’s going on.”
DuVerlie jumped up from where he was seated, but Cladstrup 30
waved him back. “It’ll be just a minute,” he told him, going over to the French cop at the door to the boarding tunnel. “I’m going to check out the plane before we board.”
“As you wish,” the cop said, stepping aside.
Cladstrup entered the boarding tunnel and hurried out to the plane, where he showed their tickets and his identification to the stews. “We’ll be just a minute,” he said.
“Is everyone else aboard?”
“Yes, sir. I believe so,” one of the women said. “The preliminary headcount tallies except for you and the other two gentlemen with you. You’ll be the only three in first class.”
“Every other seat is taken?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mind if I look?”
The captain was watching from the cockpit. “Have we got a problem?” he asked.
“Not at all, Captain. There’s a possibility someone we know may be aboard. I’d like to check it out.”
“Make it snappy, I want to get out of here on time.”
“Will do,” Cladstrup said, and he turned and made a quick walkthrough. McGarvey was not among the passengers.
“Is your friend aboard?” the head stew asked.
“No,” Cladstrup said. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried back up the boarding tunnel to the VIP lounge. Roningen was just getting off the phone.
“He’s not aboard,” Cladstrup said. “What’d Lynch have to say?”
“He hasn’t heard anything either, but he’ll check it out.”
“In the meantime?”
“We go to Geneva. What else?”
The American-designed but French-built jeep bumped along the dusty road just off the end of the active runway. From where Boorsch watched from the back of the van, he could only see the one man behind the wheel, and no one else.
This one was probably a supervisor and had been sent out to check on the gate guards.
There’d be no reason for him to bother with a maintenance man on an apparently legitimate call.
But the cop would have to pass right by the van, which was exactly what Boorsch wanted.
He couldn’t afford to have a cop at his back, cutting off his escape route.
When the jeep was about twenty yards away, Boorsch stepped out from behind the van, and waved. The jeep slowed almost immediately.
He knew that he was in plain sight now of anyone with a good set of binoculars who might be watching from the tower, but it could not be helped. He could see with the naked eye that the Swissair jetliner had been backed away from the boarding gate and was now turning out toward the taxiway. Time was running short.
Boorsch walked up onto the road as the jeep pulled up. “Hello. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” the cop said. His name tag read Dubout. “How is it going out here?”
“I have a little problem. I’m happy that you came along. I need a second set of hands for just a moment. It’s that damn antenna assembly.”
“It’ll have to wait. First I have to check on my people.”
Boorsch glanced back in the direction of the guard hut about two miles away. “What, you mean those two at the gate? I don’t think it’s their fault.”
Dubout’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You saw them?”
“Of course. How’d you suppose I got out here?”
“What did you mean: Their fault?”