Or maybe Homeland knows about M being on the plane and hasn’t shared the data with the FBI because they want him dead, not captured.
So many issues to consider. Want some more?
Who’s to say M hasn’t already landed? He could in fact already be at the airport, enjoying a drink, or having a leisurely dinner. He could be sitting in chairs at one gate after another, all afternoon, pretending to wait for various flights to board, and at ten tonight, he’ll head to baggage claim to catch his ride.
He might not have any baggage to claim.
Another problem is the limo driver, who might not be a driver at all. What if he’s an assassin? If he is, he could be working for them, us, or both. His job might be to kill me while I’m trying to find the limo. If I’m out in the limo parking lot looking for a license plate, and he’s waiting for me, I’m a sitting duck.
Another problem is accomplices. What if M is traveling with others on the same flight? If someone sees me holding the sign at baggage claim and approaches me, how will I know for sure it’s M?
Beyond all that, I don’t like the idea of standing in baggage claim holding a sign that shows any possible double-crossers who to shoot.
There’s only one way to sort these possibilities out. One way to successfully identify and kill the bad guy: I’ve got to put myself in M’s shoes. If I’m M, I know the airport is my greatest point of vulnerability. If I’m M, I also know if I can get out of the airport, onto an interstate, it’s game over. I win.
If I were M, how would I do it?
I think about it a few minutes, and come up with a foolproof plan for M.
Now all I have to do is come up with a plan to defeat it.
By the time I land, I’ve got one.
33.
If I’m M, I’m already at the airport. I landed an hour ago, and I’ve got several hours to kill before my driver shows up. Instead of going to the main terminal, I surround myself with people by going from gate to gate, and sit among the crowds waiting to board the various planes. I sit at gate A12 for a half hour, then go to A27 and read a book or check my emails. Then I go somewhere else. I’m not worried about my unclaimed luggage because I didn’t check any. I’ve got a single bag that contains my laptop, a modest amount of cash, and a few articles of clothing. My cell phone is not only turned off, but the battery has been removed.
My three accomplices will be arriving, or have already arrived, on three separate flights. They also randomly move from gate to gate until we’re all sitting at the same gate, waiting for a particular flight to land, probably around 9:45. We don’t make eye contact or acknowledge each other in any way, but when the passengers exit the plane at this gate, the four of us merge with them and head to baggage claim.
The driver and limo company I’ve reserved are people I trust. Which means I have a way of knowing if the guy holding the sign is the right guy. He’ll signal us that everything is okay, or if there’s a problem. Something we’ve predetermined, such as which hand he holds the sign in, or if his other hand is in his pocket, if he puts on a hat, or whatever. Which means Darwin’s plan to use me as the limo driver wouldn’t have worked.
But I already knew that.
If I’m M I have one of my accomplices approach the limo driver. The rest of us are at three different locations, with line of sight to the driver. If all goes well, Accomplice #1 and the driver get in the car and make a circle around the airport, and end up at passenger drop off upstairs, where Accomplice #2 is waiting. He walks out the door and climbs into the limo. They drive away, get on the interstate, go a few miles, turn around and come back. I’m downstairs again, at baggage claim. When the limo driver comes in the door with a different sign, I walk past him and get in his car. While Accomplice #3 meets him at baggage claim, I drive the limo away, leaving the real driver and Accomplice #3 at the airport.
It’s foolproof, because if at any point there’s a problem, M can just walk out the door and catch a cab. He’d prefer not to, because the cab driver might be able to identify him later. Not a big deal, but still a loose end.
Now all I have to do is figure out which of the four is M.
Assuming I’m right about there being four.
Good thing I’ve got a plan for that. And for getting away after I shoot him.
34.
When I land at the private airstrip in San Francisco, I assemble my gun, load it, and put it in my shoulder holster. I tape a strip of Velcro to the silencer, and tape two companion pieces to my left calf, under my pants leg. Then I attach the silencer to the strips. Later, I’ll bring another strip of Velcro material to tape to my left arm, because if all goes right, this silencer will spend time in at least three different places over the next two hours.
I climb into the waiting cab and catch a ride to the airport. Once there, I find a quiet place to sit. Then I take off my jacket, spread it over my lap, and use it as a shield to hide my actions as I remove the silencer from my calf, and trust the Velcro to hold it in place underneath the chair.
Next I go to security, identify myself, and present my Connor Payne ID and security clearance papers. The folks at airport security escort me to the US Marshall’s lounge, and give me the information I require, which is nothing more than telling me which luggage carousel the 10:19 plane will use to unload its baggage.
Carousel #6.
After I’m thoroughly patted down, vetted, and scanned, I request anonymity, explaining I’m on special assignment, testing baggage handling security. I tell them I don’t want to be seen with any employees of the airport, or members of its security force. They have no problem with my requests, since my security clearance outranks all of them put together. They give me a special plastic security badge to wear around my neck in case someone tries to stop me, and a universal key card that allows access to the baggage handling areas. Then I start heading back to the seat where my silencer is hiding, and notice a kid jumping up and down on it. His mother is sitting across from him, completely oblivious. I’ve got the credentials to put a scare into both of them, but don’t want to draw attention to the area, since I’ll soon have a use for that silencer.
I work my way behind the scenes where the luggage to Carousel #6 will be unloaded in a couple of hours for the 10:19 pm flight. What I’m really looking for is an escape vehicle. I can’t find one, so I call Lou Kelly and ask him to have a car and driver stationed behind the loading area to Carousel #6 at 10:15 tonight. When I come out, that car needs to be ready to go. I also need a military helicopter, and someone at the entrance gate who can make sure the gate opens when I’m ready to leave.
Twenty minutes later, Lou tells me the car, driver, and gate person will all be in place. The helicopter is a problem, since the area outside baggage service is a no-fly zone, as is the entire airport.
“It’s an airport,” I say. “How can it be a no-fly zone?”
“Only scheduled flights,” he says. “You can’t not know this.”
“Well, schedule a flight.”
“You can’t schedule a helicopter flight to land in an airport baggage claim area. Why do you want one?”
“I want to create a diversion.”
“Well, it won’t be with a helicopter. But think it through. Do you really need a diversion? You’ve got the getaway car, the gate guy, and your private jet is less than a mile away.”
“I need a diversion.”