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Rick's Flight(continued) 15. "What if he's telling the truth?" The officer relaxed and
went over to the agent. "The guy's lying through his teeth. He knows Al-Saber's here.
He probably knows the flight number. He'll fuck up. He'll do some stupid
text message or e-mail thing that'll prove their relationship. Besides,
we'll nab Sayeed. He's been spotted." "But I mean, I don't think Todd knows Al-Saber's connections back
in Pakistan." "I'll buy that part — maybe. The truth is, he might just
be one of those liberal intellectuals who thinks it's always the government's
fault. Some nancy who wants to save the rest of the world and let America
go down the tubes." "Is Todd dumb enough to book the same flight?" "Maybe, but I doubt it. Al-Saber's in the airport, heading for
this terminal. The next few minutes will tell us all we need to know." "We should've bugged the good professor's house." "Yeah, woulda, shoulda, coulda. Always the red tape, Sterling,
red tape." "Always that, right?"
16. Rick went to the waiting room. He's here somewhere, isn't he? A woman's voice sounded over the loudspeaker: "Boarding for British
Airways Flight Number 12 to Shannon, Dublin, and London will be in approximately
30 minutes, please have your..." He didn't listen to the rest, which also became a spiel in French and
German. He checked his watch: 6:20. What the hell possessed me to do this? He's not gonna be on the
same flight as you. And even if he were, what did you plan on doing?
Go up and start a conversation. Especially if Homeland's looking for
him? You could always have a sky marshall wrestle you to the ground
in mid flight. Then he laughed. You watch too many movies, Rick.
Then the chill again: How did he know Sayeed said that to me? Were
they eavesdropping in the Museum? Was it just coincidence? Fuck, I'm
losing it, aren't I? The stream of consciousness blathered on as he walked through the terminal
from gate to gate, then to the stores, then back to the gates, checking
his watch every couple of minutes. Then he heard another announcement: "Icelandair Flight Number
122 to Reykjavik, London, and Zurich will now board at Gate..." London? Rick hadn't thought of that. He checked the time: 6:30. For Christ's sake, you're such an idiot. Just because British Air
is the first name that pops into your mind doesn't mean it's what he'll
take. Jesus Murphy. He walked to the board and saw about three different
flights to London, all leaving between now and 9 PM, only one on British
Air. OK. Keep cool. He sauntered over towards Gate 12. In the crowd, waiting to show his boarding pass, was Sayeed. Rick was
sure of it. Same build. Short hair — but died platinum, which looked
kind of cool against his dark Mideastern features. Sunglasses. Rick quickly turned. There was a newsstand directly opposite, so he
went there and positioned himself in a way to look like he was paging
through magazines, still getting a view of Sayeed. Sayeed turned for a second. He was looking in Rick's direction, but
because of the dark glasses, Rick couldn't tell if there was any eye
contact. Sayeed was next in line. He showed the attendant his pass. She scanned it. After a moment, he
was waved through.
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