NaNoWriMo Novel: The Redactor

Sunday 2 November 2014

The Redactor, Chapter 13

My ears popped.
  We were dropping through thick cloud toward Vienna.
  The PA had announced that the entertainment services would shortly be switched off. I wasn’t sure if that included the Internet in Economy, but I hastened to check my email just in case.
  One new email.
  I opened it. It was from Jean.
 
  Jack, now I’m starting to worry, goddamn you. If it were only ADD, I could live with that. Did you break your crown again, Jack? Get on the bottle?
  I checked the URL you sent me. Yes, it exists, but no, the password you sent me doesn’t open it.
  Look, I’m sorry. I just read what I wrote. I’m concerned. Where are you anyway?
 
  I had to suppress the urge to swear. I opened a new browser window and entered the address of Hiero’s blog. It asked me for the password, which I typed.
  And in response I got an Access Forbidden. I was locked out.
 
  I switched back to my email and typed a message to Matt. He got the password once, he could get it again.
  But before I could hit send, the browser died. The screen switched to a world map, with a plane closing in on Vienna. The system had been shut down.
  No suppressing the swearing this time.
 
  We had landed, and I was still stewing on the failed password when immigration loomed, and a new fear spiked my belly. I’d had eleven hours on the plane to concoct my story—Trevor William’s story—and hadn’t done anything. I was walking up cold to a guy trained to spot nervous liars.
  I joined the end of the line, which was moving at snail’s pace. When I reached its head, the officer said, “Good morning, sir,” with a thick Teutonic accent.
  I looked into his eyes and with a sinking feeling saw his was an X-ray gaze. Might as well throw my hands up and yell ‘sanctuary’.
  “Mmm,” I managed, and deposited my passport onto the counter.
  With a smile, he flicked it open.
  My mind raced. Was it more suspicious to watch him or not, or a mix of both? Maybe that was precisely what they looked for! My scalp tingled with that sensation that means you’re going to sweat.
  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
  Wasn’t that Sibelius good? Better with a drink. I could use a drink.
  “You’ve had a hair cut, sir,” he said, looking at his screen with a smile and tapping at his keyboard with deliberation.
  Haircut! You idiot. Was that suspicious?
  I just smiled and ran a hand over my scalp, not trusting myself to speak.
  “And what is the purpose of you visit to Vien, Mr Williams?”
  Purpose?
  “Visiting friends,” I said.
  “Without luggage?” he said, a slight crease forming over his brow, still not looking at me.
  “Good friends,” I said with a breathy laugh.
  “You like Mozart?” he said. “We have a little statue to Mozart.”
  “I like Mozart.” Love Sibelius.
  He tapped some more at the keyboard, gaze still inscrutable.
  “I hate Mozart,” he said, then—
  Bang.
  He stamped the passport. I nearly wet my pants.
  “Have a good stay in our city, Mister Williams,” he said, and was nodding at the next person in the line.
  Just like that I was through.
  I had gone ten paces when another officer came alongside me and said, “Would you please step this way, Mr Williams.”
  I discovered much later that what Mr Huh of Hong Kong meant when he said ‘budget passport’ was that the man I was pretending to be had flags on his passport. He had been caught travelling with small amounts of marijuana that he claimed were medicinal, but which were obviously to be sold to make a little extra holiday money.
  The result of this was a strip search.
  They got two-thirds the way through before my Medline went into the red zone, and when I told them that if I didn’t calm down, they would soon be frisking my corpse, I guess they figured they had scared Mr Williams enough and didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands.
  No mention was made of the name Jack Griffin inscribed on my fifteen-year pen. I guess they thought Mr Williams was a petty thief as well as small time drug trafficker.

  I cleared customs with a curious sense of relief and the smell of latex rubber on my skin.

No comments:

Post a Comment