The Black Sun Conspiracy

Chapter Ten

The cab pulled up in the drop off zone outside Amerigo Vespucci Airport. Sam climbed out, reclaimed his bag from the driver and handed over his money. Matteus had already handled his check-in. All he had to do was go straight through security, head for the gate and he would be out of Florence within the hour.

His first destination was Frankfurt, where he had been instructed to make his way to a particular coffee shop and report the loss of his wallet. The wallet that they would give him would contain his next ticket. He had not been told which city he would end up in, but he knew that when he arrived he was to go to the main railway station. Whatever he was to do next, Matteus assured him it would be evident.

Sam stuck his hand in his pocket to check for his passport. ‘Kevin Anderson,’ he reminded himself. ‘I am Kevin Anderson, heading home via Frankfurt. If anyone asks while I’m on this leg of the journey, I’m on my way home from Florence. I’m heading for Glasgow. And if anyone asks while I’m on the next leg, Glasgow is where I came from. Easy enough. I’m not planning to chat to anyone anyway.’

At security he shucked off his shoes, dropped his belt and jacket into the plastic tray and shuffled obediently through the metal detector. It beeped. Sam stepped to the side, stretched out his arms and allowed the security guard to run the wand over him. It came up with nothing. He stood patiently, letting himself be patted down. ‘Today of all days,’ he thought. ‘I know I don’t have anything metal on me.’

“I am sorry, Sir,” said the security guard. “Just one of those things. You can go.”

Sam collected his possessions and looked for a convenient spot to stop and put his shoes back on. As he walked away from security, he thought he saw one of the guards watching him suspiciously. ‘That’s their job, I suppose,’ he told himself. ‘Nothing to worry about. I feel guilty enough going through airport security even when I’m using my real passport. It’s nothing. Just a stupid feeling. Like when you walk past a policeman and think you’re going to get done for something even though you can’t imagine what.’

Nevertheless, he kept an eye out as he wandered through to the waiting area. It was possible that the security guard was scheduled to begin patrolling through duty free right at that moment. Sam told himself firmly that it was coincidence. ‘Confirmation bias,’ he said to himself. ‘You’re on the lookout for trouble, so you see trouble. You think you’re being followed, so you see people following you everywhere. It’s nothing.’

He walked into a newsagent and scanned the racks. He did not have long before his flight, but he would be glad of something to read and hide behind. ‘It’s a great way to prevent conversations,’ he thought. ‘No sense in running the risk that today will be the day when I run into that one chatty person who’ll end up in the seat next to me on the plane. I can do without that just now.’

The newspapers left him cold. All the headlines were depressing, not just on account of their content but because of the odd pang of nostalgia that shot through Sam as he looked at them and remembered the days when he had been the one writing them. He turned his attention to the magazines instead. A vast array of publications lay before him, ranging from celebrity gossip to obscure specialist interest. As tempting as it was to pick up a copy of Art Doll Quarterly for irony’s sake — since his goal was to blend in rather than excite comment he decided to stick to something mainstream and picked up National Geographic.

‘That’ll do,’ he thought. ‘It doesn’t pin me down to a specific country, either. I don’t want to make it obvious where I might be from or where I’m going.’

Having paid for his purchases he returned to the main concourse, only to see that the security guard was there again, standing directly opposite the shop Sam had come from. He certainly looked as if he was waiting for Sam. He also looked familiar, though Sam could not place him, especially not at this distance. All he could tell was that he was looking at a reasonably tall, wiry male, with somewhat craggy features that were partly obscured by dark glasses. ‘Stick a uniform and a pair of shades on me and I could be looking at myself,’ Sam thought. ‘It’s no-one I know. I’m just winding myself up now.’

The gate number for Sam’s flight flashed up on the screen. He shouldered his bag and set off. It was not a large airport, and it did not take him long to reach the waiting area by the gate marked Frankfurt. He took a seat, opened his magazine and pretended to read, turning pages occasionally while stealing frequent, furtive glances round the area.

Sure enough, within a couple of minutes of Sam sitting down, the security guard appeared again. He walked with a steady, measured pace, looking around indifferently, then when he reached Sam’s gate he stopped and stood with his hands on his belt, taking in the scene before him.

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Sam decided. ‘If that guy is following me, there’s no way I’m getting away from him. I’ve got another fifteen minutes before they start boarding. I’m stuck here until then. I can’t run from him or I’ll get shot, and if I wait it out he’ll just have his mates waiting for me beyond the gate to spirit me away to some other part of the airport and then god knows where. I’m going to find out one way or the other.’

Heedless of his bag, Sam stood up and started walking directly towards the security guard. He did not attempt to make eye contact through the dark glasses, and he moderated his step so that it could not be perceived as threatening. He settled for a leisurely, tourist-like amble, but on a direct and unmistakable path towards the guard.

As he got within range Sam’s whole body tensed, adrenaline beginning to course through his system. There would be fight or flight. There would be an end to this matter. His steps quickened slightly. His breathing grew faster and more ragged.

The security guard strolled away, straight past Sam, past the gate, and disappeared in the crowd. Sam stopped, confused. ‘Was that… Did I really just imagine all of that?’ he asked himself. ‘I was so sure that he was after me…’

Feeling like an idiot, he returned to his seat and stared at his magazine until it was time to board. He looked around once more as he stepped through the door towards the plane, filled with a bizarre combination of hope that the security guard would not be there so that Sam would know that he was safe, and hope that he would be so that Sam would be vindicated.

He was not there. Sam skulked onto the plane and thought himself lucky that no-one else had been there to witness the whole embarrassing incident.