Conspiracy

125

“I need picture ID for the plane ticket,” said the attendant.

“Rules.”

“Oh yeah, right.” Ball reached into his pocket for his wallet. He’d tried to think of a way around using his actual ID

but just couldn’t come up with one. His only solution was to buy tickets to other destinations with the hope of throwing anyone looking for him off the trail.

“Here you go,” said Ball, pushing his license forward on the counter.

He hoped they weren’t looking for him yet. Or if they were, that the usual efficiencies of government bureaucracies would mean they wouldn’t find him until it was too late.