by Orca Various
People moved slowly down the corridor ahead of me. I sidled by a few but was stopped by a roadblock of slow-moving passengers. When we reached the actual terminal, the crowd opened up enough for me to get by the first bunch of people. The terminal was loud and crowded, and a line of passengers from the plane stretched out in front of me. I was now in an unacknowledged, unofficial race. I was going to get through before anybody else, including the first-class passengers. I knew that the first people off the plane had a big head start, but I was fast and I had the advantage of being the only one aware that a race was on.
I doubled my pace, moving around people. This was one crowded terminal. I guessed it had a lot to do with the holidays. I had gotten one of the last available seats on both my flight here and the return flight on January 3rd. It seemed like a long way to come for such a short time, but I didn’t have any longer. As it was, I was going to be back at the Toronto airport only a few hours before my mother’s flight was due in. I’d be there to pick her up.
“Sorry,” I said as I bumped into a man who had stopped to tie his shoelace.
People from many other flights were all heading to customs. It was time to open up the competition to not just people from my flight, but passengers from all flights. I started to jog. It felt good to move after being cooped up on the plane. I was practically running as I passed by the baggage carousels and the waiting crowds. Up ahead I saw a big sign: PASSPORT CONTROL.
I felt a surge of energy as I pushed through the double doors. There were a dozen lines, and none of them had more than one or two people. One of the wickets opened up as a family moved through; I raced over and skidded to a stop before a couple behind me could get there.
“You seem in quite the hurry, lad!” the customs agent said.
“I am. I practically ran from the plane.”
“What’s her name?” he asked.
“What?”
“What’s her name, the young lady meeting you on the other side?”
“Her name is Doris,” I said, although I didn’t mention she wasn’t so young.
“Doris! That’s me mother’s name! Nice to know it’s coming around again!”
I pulled out my passport and handed it to him.
“Do you have anything to declare?” he asked.
“Nothing at all.”
“No food products, alcohol or tobacco?”
“I don’t smoke or drink and I don’t have any food with me.”
“And you just have that carry-on bag?” he asked.
“That’s all.”
He looked at me suspiciously, and I had a flashback to the last time I went through customs, in Tanzania, on my way to climb Kilimanjaro. That time I had been detained, searched and thrown in jail on suspicion of drug trafficking before they realized it was just my grandpa’s ashes hidden in the cane I carried.
“If I hadn’t seen you running, I would be more suspicious of you sweating so much…but you do look awfully nervous,” he said.
I had to think fast. It wasn’t like I could tell him about the incident in Tanzania. “I am really nervous, I guess. I haven’t seen Doris for six months, and I guess I wonder if…if…you know…if she still cares for me.”
He smiled sympathetically. “It’s been a while since I was young, but to be honest with you, my missus, Anita, still makes me feel the same way after twenty-eight years of marriage.”
I smiled back. This was going to work. He scanned my passport, and his whole expression changed. He turned away and motioned somebody over. Almost instantly two police officers, both wearing sidearms, appeared.
“Take this man away for a secondary inspection, please,” he said to the officers.
“But I thought that—”
The two officers led me away. I knew there was no point in fighting or arguing. It had to be some sort of mistake, and it wasn’t like I was smuggling drugs or even a forbidden food product. It would all be quickly sorted out. I had nothing to worry about. So why was my heart pounding so wildly?
It wasn’t a jail cell, but it certainly was a detention room. I sat on a little metal chair. The only other furniture in the room was a second chair in the corner and a metal table at my side. It reminded me of the tables they have in doctors’ examination rooms. One of the police officers remained on guard next to the thick door I had come in by. He stood there, arms folded across his chest, staring at me. I had tried to start a conversation a couple of times, but he was having none of it.
The walls of the room were gray concrete, unmarked and without a single picture hanging up. It actually was like a jail cell. I wondered how thick these walls were…could somebody outside hear me scream? Okay, that was just paranoid, although that officer certainly looked menacing and nobody knew I was here. I wanted to ask if somebody could at least let Doris know what was happening, but I figured there was no point in even trying to ask my guard. I’d been in here close to an hour already and I knew she’d be worried.
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 unfortunate 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 unm
arked 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.”