Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📗

he heard the officer turn his attention to the next person in the queue. His fingers trembled as he dumped his wallet into the little pot on the conveyor belt. The briefcase followed. He stepped through the archway. A waiting police officer with a sub-machine gun cast a lazy eye over him. Would he be recognised? The picture he had seen on posters was old: he had longer, darker hair, a heavier build. Did they expect him to flee the country? He checked around. There were at least three security cameras. Would a computer recognise him? Nothing happened. No alarms. He collected his wallet.

He was getting closer. Closer to the plane. Closer to a future he could not yet imagine.

Saskia had watched the man for a few seconds. She tried to recall Proctor’s height, but could not. She turned to Hannah and dug him in the ribs.

“What?”

“Him. The man walking through the detector.”

Hannah squinted. His breathing was still heavy. They were about six metres away. “Could be.”

“The passport checker talked to him for a long time.”

“Did he?”

David took two strides before he remembered his briefcase on the conveyor. He laughed a little too loud. He caught the eye of the armed police officer. The man’s face was blank. David turned. He was more relaxed now. He reached for the briefcase. He looked directly into the eyes of Saskia Brandt.

She did not react quickly enough. The man was too dissimilar to his picture. His hair was much shorter. His eyes were hooded, shadowed. He had lost some youth. He was thinner. But he was David Proctor.

“Proctor! Stop!”

She barged into the man in front of her, who tripped, dropping his case. Hannah cut in from the other direction. He trod on the dropped case and twisted his ankle. He pitched forward. His shoulder caught Saskia behind the knee and they both went down. It happened so quickly that people could do nothing but stare. The passport control officer and his colleagues were frozen. The armed police officer was motionless but for his thumb, which found his weapon’s safety catch and pressed.

Saskia tried to stand but there was a man sitting on the small of her back. She flicked her elbow at the narrow end of his thigh muscle. She heard a scream and the man convulsed off her. She climbed to her knees, blew her hair from her eyes and located Proctor.

Her hand went to her holster. She undid the strap with her thumb and withdrew the revolver.

There was another scream. “Oi, she’s got a gun!”

David froze too. His hand remained on the handle of the case. He was so close to the plane. It was ready to leave. It would get him out of here. He stared at the nose of the revolver.

The armed officer looked at David. His expression was blank, but the muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched. David grabbed the briefcase. He heard someone shout, “She’s got a gun!” He expected to see people flee. Instead, the crowd roared. Like a tide, it turned on his two pursuers. Saskia went under.

The armed officer pressed his ear piece and said, “Red, red, red.” Then he advanced on the crowd. His machine gun was pointed at the floor. David hurried towards his gate.

Saskia struggled. Somebody was sitting on her again. She felt her ribs bend like bows. In case she lost control of the gun, she felt for the gun’s safety. It was off. She pushed it back.

Abruptly, the man was pulled from her back. She heard shouts. Another man said, “Break it up.”

Saskia climbed to her feet. Thirty or forty people were staring at her. Some of them wore security uniforms. One of them was a police officer with a submachine gun. The blood fell away from her head and she stumbled. She spread her arms for balance and the crowd gasped. She still held the gun.

“Armed police! Drop the gun!”

Saskia bent double and let herself breathe. Her vision began to the clear. She saw Hannah being held down by a frightened security officer. “Föderatives Investigationsbüro,” she said.

The officer looked at her. “Föderatives Investigationsbüro,” she repeated. And then, to the crowd, she said, “I am from the Federal Office of Investigation. I am in pursuit of a suspect.”

The armed officer stepped forward. “Drop the gun now,” he said.

Saskia hissed with frustration. She dropped the gun. She looked at the area beyond passport control. Proctor had gone. A voice from everywhere asked Mr Hannah and Ms Brandt to please board flight IAL 778 immediately.

“Let me show you some identification,” she said to the police officer.

“I totally agree. Slowly. Left hand. Throw it over.”

Saskia slid her badge across the floor. She noticed three more police officers running down the terminal towards her. Each wore the same outfit: black baseball cap, bullet-proof vest, combat trousers, black trainers. Each had a submachine gun pointing at the floor. The civilian security officers began to push people back. The crowd were silent at this unexpected street theatre.

Her ID landed back in her lap. “That’s yours, detective. Nice to meet you, Brandt. I’m Sergeant Trask.” He waved to the new arrivals. “Stand down, stand down.”

Saskia didn’t hear. Hannah, her deputy, was dying. His eyes moved but he didn’t see. He held his chest as though his heart was trying to break out. His skin was grey. Sweat ran from his forehead. “Scottie?” Saskia asked. Her voice cracked.

A shadow fell across Hannah’s face. It was Trask. He said one word. “Paramedic.” Saskia guessed he was talking into his radio.

She reached for Hannah’s hand. The palm was slick. She turned his chin, hoping to make eye contact. Trask touched her shoulder.

“Brandt,” he said. “We were told you were coming down. Didn’t expect this drama though.”

She nodded. Kept her eyes on Hannah. “Neither did I. What is happening to Scottie?”

“Paramedics are on the way.”

Saskia felt his wrist for a pulse. She found none. Hannah’s silver watch read something but it had an analogue display. Hers was digital. It