John Locke - Vegas Moon

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.”

Lou sighs. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“What about a bomb?”

“Excuse me?”

“A bomb is perfect,” I say. “Much better than a chopper.”

“A bomb.”

“It’s perfect, don’t you see? Bombs freak people out. Especially in airports.”

“You want me to find someone who’s willing to bring a bomb into an airport. And then detonate it?”

“Yes, of course. And can you have him here within the hour?”

“You’re joking.”

“How long have we known each other?”

“What kind of bomb?”

“A loud one.”

“A loud one,” he says.

“Right. No damage, just noise.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Let me know before nine. That’s when my phone goes dark.”

35.

A couple of baggage guys ask about my security clearance. Not questioning it, just impressed. One woman is extremely suspicious. After giving me more attitude than Hop Sing gave the Cartwrights on Bonanza, she makes me stand by her desk while calling me in to the folks upstairs. When she hangs up her attitude is different. Now she wants to feel my bicep.

I head back to retrieve my silencer, and see that the boy who’d been jumping up and down on the chair has found it, and is blowing into it like a flute. Now he’s chasing his sister around the area, trying to hit her over the head with it.

I need that silencer. It’s essential to my plan. I don’t understand why this family is sitting there. It’s upstairs, by the check in counter, where people sit while waiting for a wheel chair ride to the gate. They’re taking up space that rightfully belongs to people who need help. Of the three, only the little girl seems normal. She’s about three, and has the sense to stay away from her brother. The mom is large, and wearing some sort of shapeless patterned material. I know it can’t be easy being a mom to a six-year-old criminal, but based on her demeanor, where she’s sitting, her unkempt hair, lack of makeup—she’s either given up, or never bothered to start.

I rush over to where the kid is starting to use my five thousand dollar state-of-the-art silencer as a hammer. I come up on him from behind. He winds up, intending to give it a huge, crushing blow against the chair arm, but I snatch it out of his hand and start moving away rapidly.

This event stirs the slumbering seed of motherhood that’s been dormant in this woman since I began watching her. From some unknown pocket of flesh, or possibly her purse, she produces a whistle and blows it fit to bust. The boy is screaming and running after me in a fit of rage. The little girl laughs and claps her hands, thrilled to see her brother bested.

Security converges on me from all sides. I stop where I am, hand over my silencer, and tell them I need to take it with me to have it analyzed. They pass it around and it winds up in the hands of the US Marshall, who shows up with the head of airport security.

The whistling mom, her juvenile delinquent son, and normal daughter are standing with us. The mom is still blowing her whistle. The boy is yelling and kicking the shit out of my leg. I growl at him and he starts crying and hides behind his mother, which causes her to finally remove the whistle from her mouth.

“Did you see that?” she screams. “The bastard stole my son’s toy, and now he’s threatened his life! I want him arrested. Right now! I’m pressing charges!”

“Ma’am,” the Marshall says, “This isn’t your son’s toy.”

“Of course it is,” she says. “I bought it at Wal-Mart yesterday. Cost me nearly twenty dollars.”

He holds the silencer up so she can get a good look at it. “You’re telling me this belongs to you?”

She says, “I bought it for my son. It’s his. And I want it back.”

They look at me. I shrug.

“I was trying to secure the weapon,” I said. “I hadn’t realized it was her weapon.”

“Ma’am,” the Marshall said. “You’re going to have to come with me.”

“What?”

“This is part of a weapon. You claim it’s yours. Now we have to report it.” To me he says, “Sorry, Agent Payne, but we’re going to have to confiscate the silencer. It was found on airport property, and it’s about to become evidence. We’re going to have to keep it.”

“Of course,” I say. “Now that we know it’s hers.”

“Mine?” the woman says. “I thought it was the flute I bought my kid yesterday at Target.”

“You said Wal-Mart,” I pointed out, helpfully.

“You shut the fuck up!” she yells.

The Marshall holding the silencer says, “Come with me, ma’am. And if you blow that whistle again, I’m going to cuff you.” They start walking away, so I start walking in the opposite direction.

“Agent Payne?” he calls out.

Shit. He probably wants to make me part of the paperwork. I turn around.

“Yes?”

“It just dawned on me that no one’s thanked you for your vigilance. I appreciate your quick thinking. Sorry it only served to draw attention to you.”

“No problem.”

We continue walking in opposite directions. The mother is fussing loudly all the way to the door of the Marshall’s Lounge. I keep calling it a lounge, but there’s also a small conference room in there, where the Marshalls can get some work done while waiting for their next assignment. I turn to watch as they enter, and see the boy looking at me angrily. I stick my tongue out at him, and he gives me the finger.

Then I call Lou and order another silencer.

“I can’t get one to fit your gun,” he says. “Yours is custom.”