The Lions Of Lucerne

45

“Yah, dis is a problem ven you are a businessman, no?” said Harvath in his German-accented English.

“But it is so sweet. Your wife will be thrilled,” said the Swissair ticket agent as she checked the passport of Herr Hans Brauner.

“Yah, I hope zo. I also bought her a little zomething zpecial,” said Harvath, putting the women’s Pamper Yourself gift basket from Crabtree amp; Evelyn on the counter between himself and the agent. “Do you think she will like it?”

“I think she will love it. You are so sweet to drop everything and rush home to be with your wife when she has the baby. Some things are more important than jobs, aren’t they?”

“Unfortunately, my boss doesn’t approve, and I am forced to use my traveler’s checks to pay for zee flight. I vas supposed to be here for another three veeks, but now vis zee baby coming early, vee do vat vee can, no?” said Harvath as he counted out almost six thousand dollars in American Express traveler’s checks.

It was a risky proposition. He knew airlines were very wary of customers who paid in cash, especially for same-day reservations, but he could not use any of his Scot Harvath credit cards, even if he hadn’t broken them all into pieces and flushed them back at the Georgetown Park mall, because whoever was watching would be able to track him right away. At least disguised and paying cash, he would be harder to trail. Winning the ticket agent over would definitely help him. Had she or another agent been the slightest bit suspicious, they could have created a lot of trouble for him before he even got away from the desk. It had been an expensive gamble, but it looked as if it would pay off.

Harvath continued to smile as the agent asked him the standard questions about who packed his bag and whether it had been out of his sight at any time. With a final glance at his passport, she thanked him, gave him his ticket, wished him and his wife good luck, and directed him toward the business-class lounge, where he could wait until his flight was called.

So far he had lucked out. Harvath’s German was relatively limited, and he would be extremely hard-pressed to carry on more than a brief conversation with anyone, but that wasn’t a problem with the American-born Swissair agent. He knew these agents would converse with him in the language he chose to use. Swissair was a thoroughly professional outfit, and that’s why he had chosen to fly with them. This airline would respect his privacy. To them he was another harried businessman, torn between work and family, and trying to get back home to Europe. Because of Zurich’s close proximity to the German border, there was no reason a German businessman returning home wouldn’t choose to fly into Zurich rather than Munich, especially if time was of the essence and Swissair’s was the next flight out.

Harvath hadn’t eaten anything since his bagel and orange juice that morning. While he could have picked something up at the mall, he hadn’t wanted to waste time. He was thankful for the food in the Swissair lounge and discreetly loaded up while he waited for his flight to be called.

When the 5:40 flight to Zurich was called in the lounge, Harvath stood with the rest of the businessmen and made his way to the plane. A German newspaper tucked under his arm and walking slowly, almost wearily with his bag in tow, Hans Brauner blended in with the rest of the business travelers and boarded the plane without incident.

Finding his seat, he accepted an orange juice from one flight attendant as another took his coat. He felt his muscles relax as the plane pulled away from the gate and taxied out onto the runway. When the plane’s engines revved up, he felt even more of the tension drain away from his body. Placing a Do Not Wake Me for Meals sticker on his headrest, he slipped out of his shoes, donned the Swissair booties and eye-mask from his courtesy kit, and was asleep before the plane reached its cruising altitude.