by Eric Walters
The door opened and two men walked in. They wore almost identical suits and ties and similar shiny dress shoes. They looked alike, too, as if they were more than brothers but slightly less than twins. The major difference was that one of them was carrying my bag. He said something to the police officer, who turned and left, closing the door behind him. They came toward me until they were standing over me. They pushed in close, threateningly, and I felt scared.
“You are David Adam McLean?” one of them asked.
“Yes…yes, sir.”
He pulled out my passport and opened it. He held it out and seemed to be comparing me to my passport picture.
“Did you really think you could just sneak into the country without being detected?” the second man asked.
I shook my head. “I wasn’t sneaking anywhere. I was coming to visit and—”
The first man cut me off. “And your passport lit up our system like a Christmas tree.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I really didn’t have the foggiest idea.
“I suggest you stop playing dumb,” he said.
I wasn’t playing anything.
“We can do this one of two ways,” he said. “The hard way or the easy way. Which is it going to be?”
“I like the easy way.”
“Fine. Then tell us what we need to know. Tell us why you have attempted to enter our country.”
“I’m visiting a friend. I met her while climbing Kilimanjaro last year, and she invited me to come to England someday.”
“Isn’t it unusual to purchase a plane ticket with cash?”
I wondered how he knew I did that, but thought I shouldn’t ask. “I had the cash and I don’t have a credit card.”
“And your only luggage is your carry-on.”
“It’s all I need,” I said. “I’m only staying a few days.”
“Only a few days and that decision must have been very sudden since you purchased the ticket yesterday. Do you always make such sudden decisions?”
I couldn’t tell him the truth. “I had a chance to come over and I had an invitation, so I jumped at the chance. You know love.” It had worked with the customs agent—maybe it would work now.
He smirked. “So you are in love with a sixty-seven-year-old woman named Doris?”
How did he know her name was Doris? “Um… yes…you know the way I love my mother and grandmother and—”
He slammed his fist on the metal table, and I jumped. “Do you take us for fools?” he demanded. “I guess it will have to be the hard way.”
“Suits me,” the second man said. “I enjoy the hard way.” He smiled. He was slightly larger and more menacing than the other guy. He looked like he would enjoy it.
“We’ll start by searching your bag,” he said.
“Search away; there’s nothing in there but my clothes and a toothbrush.”
“And if we don’t find anything in there, you’ll be searched,” he said. “Outside—and then inside, by the medical team.”
“Inside?” I gasped.
“Every little crevice and crack. Then you’ll be x-rayed and held to see if you have swallowed something that will pass in time.”
“You just sit there, buck naked, in a glass room with a glass toilet. Eventually, everything passes. We’re in no rush,” the second man said.
“This is all a terrible mistake!” I exclaimed. “You have the wrong person.”
“We have the right person, David Adam McLean of Canada. There is no question. Let’s start with the bag.”
He unzipped the bag. Thank goodness all he was going to find was my clothes…until he got to the bottom. That’s where he’d find over four thousand pounds in British currency and my grandfather’s fake passports—two different countries and two different names with the same picture. The money would be hard to explain, but the passports would be impossible. There was no way out of this, no way to escape what the “hard part” was going to lead to.
The door opened and another man, much older than the other two, entered the room. Any thought of him being here to rescue me vanished when I looked at his expression. He was scowling, and when he looked at me that scowl seemed to deepen.
“Can I help you?” one of my captors asked him.
“I rather doubt it,” he said. He opened up his jacket to reveal a badge.
“Oh, sorry, sir. We didn’t know contact had been initiated with your level of the section,” the larger one sputtered. Suddenly he didn’t look as much menacing as apprehensive.
“My level was instantly contacted. Even someone as junior as yourself should know that.”
“Would you like us to leave, sir?” the other asked.
Whatever his section or level or rank was, he certainly was above these two, and they knew it and acted accordingly.
“Before you leave, I need to ask a few questions. Is this David Adam McLean?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
He looked at me and then back at them. If looks could kill, they both would have dropped dead before my eyes.
“If I were to suggest that this young man was twenty-eight years old, would you find that hard to believe?” the man asked.
“I believe his passport states that he is—”
“I did not ask you to look at the passport!” he snapped. “I asked a simple question. If I told you this person was twenty-eight years old, would you believe me?”
“I would believe whatever it was that you told me to believe, sir,” the larger of the two answered defensively. Now he definitely looked nervous.
“As would I,” the other added.
“How about if I were to say that he was actually thirty-eight?”
Both men looked increasingly uneasy. Where was he going with this?
“He would be an incredibly young-looking thirty-eight,” one of them finally replied.
“But it’s possible,” the second added.
“How about if I told you he was in his late eighties?”
They both laughed nervously and looked even more uneasy. “No, sir, that would not be believable.”
“It’s good to know that you do not believe this young man is in his eighties, because if you had taken the time to actually read the alert, you would have noted that the person of interest who was flagged is in fact in his nineties,” he said.
The two of them exchanged accusing looks, as if the other was to blame.
“I think the two of you should leave now,” he said, “but before you do, you owe this young man an apology.”
“We’re terribly sorry,” one mumbled.
“Yes, terribly.”
The man smiled. “Actually, you will be much sorrier after we discuss my displeasure at being called down here on a wild-goose chase. You should now leave, but please, gentlemen, don’t go too far. We will be chatting.”
They bumped into each other as they scrambled to get out of the room, closing the door behind them.
The remaining man walked over, took the chair from the corner, placed it across from me and sat. His expression softened for the first time.
“I would like to formally offer apologies from the British government for what has just transpired.”
“Thanks…it’s okay.”
“It is not okay. It is a rather sad testament to the quality of junior officers we are able to recruit. Perhaps the ability to read and do simple mathematics should be requirements for admission to the section.”
“What does ‘section’ mean?” I asked.
He smiled again. “We’re all just employees of the Queen. I’d like to explain what happened. Your passport triggered an alert, which requires a secondary inspection. All very common. What is uncommon is that those two—shall we say—gentlemen failed to follow any semblance of protocol, including something as simple as verifying your age.” He paused. “You are not an incredibly well-preserved ninety-three-year-old, are you?”
“Of course not!”
He chuckled. “Just checking. It is unf
ortunate that you share the same Canadian passport and exact name of a person who is of interest to us.”
I almost said, “I’m named after my grandfather” but stopped myself. I had a terrible thought. “Somebody who is in his nineties, right?”
“If not already dead.”
“Yeah, he probably would be,” I said.
“I really think they need to update our alerts. Even if this David McLean was alive, I can’t imagine he would still present a threat to national security.”
“I guess not. Can I go now? I have somebody waiting for me.”
“Certainly.” He reached down and picked up my bag and handed it to me.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I appreciate your being so understanding. I’d like to make sure this doesn’t happen again on your exit from our country.”
“This could happen again?” I gasped.
“Let’s just make sure that if it does, it can be quickly rectified. Take my card.” He reached in and pulled out his wallet. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I caught a glimpse of a holster holding a pistol. He removed a business card and handed it to me.
I took the card. It was simple—white with black lettering: Justin Bourne—British Government.
“Justin Bourne?” I asked.
“Yes, like the movies. Thank goodness my parents didn’t name me Jason…although it would be rather brilliant to be a secret agent—at least I would imagine.”
“What is it that you actually do?” I asked.
“As it says on the card, I am simply an employee of the government. You’d best not keep Doris waiting.”
I stood up and then stopped. “Wait, how did they know—how do you know—that Doris is picking me up?” I asked.
“Believe me, it’s not because of any intelligence coup. They went out to the waiting area and found somebody who was in fact waiting for you. It’s important that you hang onto that card, very important, unless you want this to be repeated, perhaps, when you try to leave the country. It could end in a much less pleasant manner.”
“I’ll take good care of it,” I said. I tucked it into my pocket.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”
He turned on his heels and quickly walked out of the room, the door closing behind him with a thud, leaving me alone. Alone felt very good.
FOUR
I was alone and free to leave. Now I just had to go. I put my beret back on, turned the door handle gently and was relieved when the door opened, and then even more relieved to see an empty corridor stretching out in front of me and neither of the twins waiting for me. I had the feeling they weren’t too pleased with me, and I didn’t want to give them another chance to have me do anything the hard way. If they’d had time to search my bag, I wouldn’t be walking anywhere; instead of them being in trouble, it would have been me.
I looked up and down the corridor. In one direction—the way I’d been frog-marched—was a door that said DO NOT ENTER in bold letters. I decided to go through the unmarked door at the other end. It was unlocked, and I slowly pushed it open and peered out. There were passengers, luggage in tow, flowing in one direction toward an exit. An exit was what I needed. I threw my bag over my shoulder and joined the horde of passengers exiting the terminal. I had the sensation of being part of a herd where I could hide from anybody who might want to pull me into a private room.
The big double doors slid open to reveal a semicircle of people waiting and watching for the passenger that belonged to them. I scanned the crowd for Doris. I didn’t see her. There were so many people. A number of them held up signs with names; obviously, whoever they were meeting was a stranger to them. I caught sight of a crudely made sign that read McLean. It certainly wasn’t Doris holding it; the guy wasn’t much older than me. He was dressed in sort of a retro-style suit and had a fedora on his head. It was strange that my name, which wasn’t common, had come up twice since I’d landed.
I walked the length of the crowd, looking for Doris, without any luck. The two scary agents had obviously talked to her, so she must know that I’d landed, and I knew she was in the terminal somewhere. But she didn’t seem to be here now. Had she gone to the washroom or a restaurant, or had she gotten tired and found somewhere to sit down? No, Doris had climbed Kilimanjaro, so waiting at an airport for an hour wasn’t going to tire her out. It was almost embarrassing to think about the climb and realize that I wouldn’t have made it to the top without her.
I walked back along the line. I must have missed her. I went up to the guy holding the sign with my name on it. “That’s my name,” I said casually.
“If you are DJ, it is wonderful that you recognized it.” He spoke with a very upper-class British accent.
“I am, but you’re not Doris.”
“My grandmother said you were very bright, so I’m not surprised in the least that you can tell that I am not she.”
Did he just take a shot at me? Best to ignore it. “Doris is your grandmother?”
“Again, a fine demonstration of your powers of observation. You would impress Sherlock Holmes himself with such deductive reasoning.”
Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away. I pushed and dodged through the crowd and caught up to him as he exited the terminal. It was cool and raining outside, although we were sheltered under a roof.
“I was expecting Doris, is all,” I explained.
“I was expecting to be out with my friends, so some things don’t work out as we desire. And to top it off, you were terribly tardy.”
“Sorry, but it wasn’t like it was my idea to be detained for questioning.”
“I imagine your delay is related to those two men who came and talked to me. They saw me with the sign and approached me. I told them I was a stand-in for my grandmother. They were more than a little frightening and tried their best to be intimidating,” he said.
“You should have spent time with them alone in a locked room if you want to know what scary is.”
“Were they MI5?”
“What?” I asked.
“British Security Service,” he explained.
“They didn’t tell me anything, including their names.”
“And what exactly did you do to bring them down upon you?” he asked.
“I didn’t do anything. It was just a case of mistaken identity.”
“Isn’t that what every criminal says? Or perhaps they found your beret so questionable they had to—”
I grabbed him by the arm and spun him around so that we were eye to eye—although his eyes were a bit lower than mine. “This beret belonged to my grandfather. He wore it until he died. He left it for me. I wear it in his honor. Is there anything else you’d like to say about it before we go any further?”
He looked shocked and more than a little shaken. Those two men weren’t the only ones who could be intimidating.
“Because my keen powers of observation tell me I’m a lot bigger than you,” I added.
“Are you threatening me?” he stuttered.
“I guess I’m not the only one who’s observant, although technically I’m not threatening you,” I said—although I guess I was. Maybe it wasn’t such a wise thing to beat up my friend’s grandson. He was a jerk, but she probably loved him.
I released my grip on his arm and he straightened his shirt and jacket, which had gotten sort of rumpled in my hands.
“I’m sorry. How about if we start over?” I reached out my hand. “My name is David and I’m pleased to meet you.”
He held out his hand and we shook. “Charles.” That was better. “Now climb in.” He pointed at a green MGB sports car parked at the curb. There was a large yellow ticket on the windshield, held in place by the wiper. He took it, ripped it in two and dropped it on the pavement.
“That’s your car?”
“Again, a brilliant observation.”
I had a further desire to pop him as he took my bag from me, but bringing a bleeding
grandson home would not be the greatest greeting. I walked around the car, opened the right passenger door and there was a steering wheel staring at me. England—wrong side of the car, wrong side of the road.
“Unless you’re planning on driving, I suggest you climb in the other side,” Charles said.
So much for us starting over. All I wanted to do was drive him—one good shot to the jaw. How could somebody as nice as Doris have a grandson who so desperately needed a kick in the butt? We both climbed in, he started the engine, and we drove away.
“Why didn’t your grandmother come to pick me up?”
“She had a slight accident.”
“Is she all right?” I exclaimed.
“Not right enough to pick you up, but she’ll be fine.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I’ll let her tell the story.”
I wanted to press further but knew there was little point.
We turned onto a street hardly wide enough for one car but with two-way traffic. The narrow street was lined by brick, three-story row houses. It felt a bit like driving into a canyon.
“Here we are,” Charles said as we came to a stop.
“Thanks for the ride. I really appreciated it,” I said as I climbed out of the car, bag in hand.
“I’m sure you did.”
He started to pull away from the curb before I’d even closed the door!
“Wait, which house is it?” I yelled.
“Two twenty-one!” he yelled back. He reached over, pulled the door shut and drove off, leaving me in a bluish cloud of exhaust.
“Glad I could help…my pleasure…is there anything else I can do…so nice to meet you,” I muttered to myself, thinking of all the possible responses he could have given.
I looked for the address. There it was, right across the street. I looked to the left, stepped into the street and heard a loud honk and the squeal of brakes. I jumped back onto the curb. A taxi had skidded to a stop. I’d forgotten to look in the right direction: to the right.