Déjà Vu: A Technothriller Hocking, Ian (online e book reader .TXT) 📖

David slipped between two parked buses. A driver, who was loading heavy cases under the impatient eyes of his passengers, scowled as he walked past. David avoided his gaze and walked on. He avoided everybody’s gaze: the groups of teenagers back from Majorca, the retired couples with their redundant sun hats, the families with faces as long and grey as the English winter. All of them tanned, all of them freezing in the midnight chill. David avoided them all. He walked down the length of the large bus shelter and cut across the taxi rank. The terminal building towered like a glass FGcliff. It had a microclimate of exhausts and short tempers.

Inside he ignored the bright yellow signs with directions to arrivals, departures, the shops and the train and bus services. He ignored the ceiling that seemed so far away. He ignored the fleet of roaming trolleys. He stepped over a fallen teddy bear, countless old luggage labels, a Panama hat, and a sleeping man. He ignored the urgent flight calls and the thousand conversations, which reminded him, obliquely, of an orchestra tuning up. He particularly ignored the black-and-white figure of a police officer. The man was walking away from him. He held a sub-machine gun pointed at the floor.

David ignored everything but the arrow pointing to the gentleman’s toilet. He walked over, concentrating on an innocent stride and an innocent expression. There was a guiltiness about both. He stopped to examine an urgent message board. He drew slow breaths.

“You must proceed directly to the toilet to change,” prompted Ego. “The computers linked to the security cameras are quite capable of recognising you, but they sample randomly. To reduce the chance of being caught you must continue now.”

David said nothing. He did not want to arouse suspicion by talking to himself.

He walked further along the terminal. As he came to the toilet, its door opened and an arachnid robot emerged. It carried a number of cleaning utensils. It wore a blue cap and a shiny boot on each of its eight feet. David watched it creep away. A baby in a pram pointed and clapped.

The toilet was large and white. It sparkled. He could see boot-marks on the walls where the robot had climbed. The room had a low ceiling. The stalls were either side of a wall of wash basins. There were no shower cubicles. On the far wall was a store cupboard door. He collected the information without interest. There was a constant flow of people. At a given time, there would be no less than ten people present. If none of them was a security officer, then he had a good chance of assuming his disguise without capture.

He selected a basin in the middle of the row. Not at the end. He did not want to look like a man with something to hide. He dropped the container and massaged his shoulder. He whistled to fill the air and smiled at a teenager two basins down. The teenager offered his back. David opened the container and retrieved his shaving kit. He proceeded to shave. Nothing strange about that, he told himself. Just a normal bloke having a shave.

When he had removed the last of the foam, he leaned into the mirror. Not bad. He was beginning to assume his old, respectable (and, he realised, vain) self. He preferred the beard.

Next he doused his hair with hot water. He cupped it on and relished the burning sensation. It would banish the cold from his fingers for good. He took a sachet of shampoo and rubbed it into his hair. He began to feel that he was being watched. He rinsed the soap away. He was still just a normal bloke washing his hair. He whistled.

His hair was clean but dripping. He gathered his things and retreated into a stall. Locked the door. He slipped off his boots, his nylon coat and the paper overalls. He used the toilet and set about his transformation. Soon he was wearing the suit. He folded the tie from memory, but it would need straightening in front of a mirror. He splashed some aftershave around his neck and gasped. Moments later he opened the briefcase. He checked the contents: his wallet, which contained Ego and some cards; the watch; his passport; his cash. He had no physical business documents. That was normal. Everything would be stored in his personal computer. He dropped the wallet into his inside pocket and closed the briefcase.

He opened the door and walked to the store cupboard he had noted earlier. It was locked but the mechanism was a simple magnetic strip reader. Ideal. There were only two people near him. They weren’t looking. Quickly, he took Ego from his wallet, whispered, “Ego, it’s a magnetic strip lock,” and swiped it through the reader. The door clicked. He eased it open and looked inside. There were paper tissues, a replacement hand drier, an assortment of bottles, and some mops and brushes. Plenty of room. Quickly, he grabbed the container and shoved it inside. A glance around the room reassured him that he had not been seen. He opened the door again and threw a package of toilet rolls over the container. Only the robot would use the cupboard on a regular basis. It would simply work around the obstruction. He closed the door. It locked automatically.

He took his briefcase from the cubicle and left the room, pausing only briefly to straighten his tie in the mirror. Then he flattened his hair with a palm and walked on his way. Just a normal businessman walking out of a toilet. His motorcycle boots rapped a loud tattoo.

The majority of transatlantic flights originated from Terminal Five. The police car stopped at the building’s entrance and its cargo clambered out. Saskia folded her arms and shivered. Hannah leaned through the passenger window, said something dry, waited for a response, and slapped the rump of the car as it rolled away.

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