The Double Eagle

EPILOGUE

“Please remove any metallic objects from your pockets. Keys, coins, mobile phone, glasses. Place them in the containers before stepping through the detector. Thank you.”

The noisy queue snaked back on itself several times, like the entrance to a ride at an amusement park. Most of the people in it — returning from their holidays, judging from the raw redness of their skin — chose to ignore the security guard until they were almost through the metal detector and X-ray machines, only then scrabbling to empty their pockets of any offending items.

It was this that marked the tall man out in particular. Not his immaculate black suit and dog collar amidst the sea of fluorescent T-shirts and sandals but the fact that well before the gate he had carefully separated all his metallic objects into one hand.

Not that the security guards noticed. The airport had only recently been given a new lease on life, plucked from obscurity by an enterprising low-cost airline and rechristened with the name of a large city thirty miles to the north of it. It was why he’d chosen it. The security was not as tight as at one of the major airports; the quality of the personnel not as high. He had done this before when he needed to slip out of a country unnoticed.

He smiled at the guard as he carefully deposited a small pile of loose change and some keys into one of the gray plastic containers placed at the end of the X-ray machines. Just enough to look normal. He then walked through the machine. It beeped loudly. As he knew it would.

“Any other metal objects on you, Father?” asked the guard in French as he directed the man back through the detector. He patted his pockets and shook his head.

“No,” he answered.

“Okay. Step back through the gate, please.” He did as he was told, but the machine beeped again.

“Please stand over here, Father. Move your legs apart a little. Thank you.” The guard ran a handheld scanner over his black suit. It screamed loudly as it passed over his gloved right hand.

“Can I see?” the guard said, pointing suspiciously.

“Oh, of course.” The man shook his head. “How foolish of me. After all this time I forget all about it.” He had thought this part through carefully. The key was to make it look like he’d been this way for years. It mustn’t seem a recent injury. They might be on the lookout for that.

“Forget what?”

“My hand,” he said, pulling off the glove and revealing a pink prosthetic hand attached to his arm. Some girls in the queue behind him tittered at the sight of it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the guard, blushing, clearly embarrassed for him by their laughter.

“No, not at all, it’s my fault,” he said. “It happens all the time. I should have remembered.”

“Thank you, Father. Sorry, Father. Where are you going?”

“Geneva.”

“Well, at least the plane should be leaving on time. We’ve had so many delays recently with all the extra security checks.”

“I’m in no hurry,” the man said, retrieving his coins and keys. “Believe me, I’ve got plenty to think about.”

“Have a pleasant flight.”

“Bless you. Bless you, my son,” said Cassius.

The security guard watched the one-handed man walk into the departure lounge.

Out of habit, he made the sign of the cross in the direction of his retreating back.