code names of the people who would be meeting him. In spite of it all
his mind continued to wander. He looked out the window, seeming to
stare across the horizon as, behind the glasses he wore, his eyes seemed
to grow larger and larger as the possibilities were swiftly sorted
through. After today he could actually say for the first time that the
risk had been worth it. All he had to do was survive today.
CHAPTER FOUR
The darkness that enveloped Dulles International Airport would soon be
dispelled by the fast-approaching dawn. As the new day began stretching
itself awake, a cab pulled up in front of the airport’s terminal. The
rear door of the cab opened and Jason Archer stepped out. He carried
the leather briefcase in one hand and the black metal case, housing his
laptop computer, in the other. He put a dark green wide-brimmed hat
with a leather band on his head.
Jason smiled as the memory of making love to his wife commanded his
thoughts. They had both showered, but the scent of recent sex lingered,
and, had there been time, Jason Archer would have made love to his wife
a second time.
He put down the computer case for a moment, stretched his arm back
inside the cab and pulled out the oversized canvas bag, which he slung
over his shoulder.
At the Western Airlines ticket counter Jason exhibited his driver’s
license, got his seat assignment and boarding pass and checked the
canvas bag. He took a moment to smooth down the collar on his
camel-hair overcoat, push his hat farther down on his head and adjust
his tie, which bore soft swirls of gold, hazel and lavender. His pants
were dark gray and baggy. Not that anyone would have noticed, but the
socks were white athletic ones and the dark shoes were, in fact, tennis
shoes. A few minutes later, Jason purchased a USA Today and a cup of
coffee along the terminal’s vendors’ row. He then passed through the
security gates.
The shuttle to the midfield terminal was three-quarters full.
Jason stood among men and women dressed much as he was: dark suits,
touches of color at the neck, rolling racks stacked with bags clenched
in many a weary hand.
Jason’s hand never left the leather briefcase; his legs straddled the
computer case. He occasionally looked around the interior of the
shuttle examining its sleepy occupants. Then his eyes would eventually
wander back to his newspaper as the shuttle swayed and bumped over to
the midfield terminal.
Sitting in the large, open waiting area in front of Gate 11, Jason
checked the time. Boarding would begin soon. He glanced outside the
broad window, where a row of Western Airlines jets sporting the familiar
brown and yellow stripes were being readied for early morning flights.
Slashes of pink streaked the sky as the sun slowly rose to illuminate
the East Coast. Outside, the wind pushed fiercely against the thick
glass; airline workers hunched forward against the invisible thrusts of
nature. The full measure of winter would be settling in soon and the
winds and icy precipitation would blanket the area until the following
April.
Jason pulled out the boarding pass from his inner coat pocket and
studied its contents: Western Airlines Flight 3223 from Washington’s
Dulles International Airport to Los Angeles International Airport with
direct, nonstop service. Jason had been born and raised in the Los
Angeles area but hadn’t been back there in over two years.
Across the aisle of the massive terminal a Western Airlines flight
destined for Seattle, after a brief layover in Chicago, would also be
boarding shortly. Jason licked his lips, a trickle of apprehension
playing through his nervous system. He swallowed a couple of times to
work through the dryness in his throat. As he finished his coffee, he
thumbed through the newspaper, halfheartedly observing the collective
aches and miseries of the world that poured forth from every colorful
page.
As he glanced over the headlines, Jason noted a man striding resolutely
down the middle of the concourse. He was a six-footer with a lean build
and blond hair. He was dressed in a camel-hair overcoat and baggy gray