The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

perhaps for the stockbroker, a lounge employee approached the three men.

“Hate to disturb your little party gentlemen, but British Airways to London Heathrow is ready for pre-board,” she said. “If you will gather your belongings, I can escort you directly to your seats.”

Matt and Charlie grabbed their carryon bags and rose to follow the attendant to the plane. As Matt passed him, the drunk attempted to get up and go after him.

“I wouldn’t,” Charlie admonished him. Leaning in, he whispered, “He’s a lethal weapon from your homeland. He could kill you before you’d even realize you were dead. Cheers.”

The man’s expression changed from anger to confusion and then fear. He sat back in his seat as other patrons in the lounge watched the drama.

As Matt followed the escort through the sliding glass doors that let the noise of the bustling airport terminal into what had been the peace and quiet of the lounge, the two Doha policemen he had encountered earlier were headed his way.

“You again?” the taller officer asked angrily. The lounge attendants waved for the police to keep coming.

“There’s a drunk in a blue polo shirt in there making fun of an Islamic woman’s customs,” Matt told them in passing. With Charlie playing catch up, he too had a few words for the police, only these were delivered through a smile.

“I think he may have just said, and please excuse me – his words not mine, ‘Fuck Qatar,’ or something to that effect.”

As they boarded the jet, a female flight attendant with a face right off the cover of Maxim and dressed in a tan-and-maroon airline uniform welcomed Matt aboard and escorted him to the front of the plane, where his massive first-class seat and all the entitlements were waiting. Leaning in, she said, “If there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to push my button.”

Charlie, on the other hand, was given with a much less enthusiastic greeting and then pointed to the rear of the plane and his much smaller and less comfortable seat in economy class.

“Never a dull moment with you, mate,” Charlie said with a laugh before the two headed their separate ways.

Nearly eight hours, three movies, and two meals later, the two travelers reunited once off the plane and took the nearly 10-minute walk to customs clearance within Heathrow’s Terminal 4. Charlie led the way to the express entry used by diplomats, VIPs, and flight crews. His biometric passport, the one discreetly different than most other UK citizens, was quickly scanned and returned. Matt, right behind him, presented his U.S. diplomatic services passport – a perk that came with his arrangement - and was waved through to proceed to baggage claim, duty declaration, restaurants, bars, shops, transportation, and the airport exits. Charlie and Matt had spoken briefly on their long walk to customs, but now that they were in-country and free to move about, it was again time for them to part company.

“Absolutely sure you won’t stay with Lois and me?” Charlie asked his chum. “She’d love to see you after all this time, Matt.” It was just past nine in the evening London time, but Matt’s body clock was still in Doha and reading midnight. Despite the extravagance of his first-class accommodations in flight, Matt had dropped his carryon bag at his feet and was using both hands to rub some life back into his tired face.

“I’ve seen that face before,” Charlie said as he smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be off to a bar and a bed shortly, but please come into the city in the morning. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“You know me a little too well, Charlie,” Matt said with a laugh. “Thanks for the invite. Tell Lois I promise to join you for dinner, maybe tomorrow night if that works for you.”

Charlie laughed and extended his hand, and Matt, not wanting to be rude, rubbed his right hand on his jean leg, and then grabbed Charlie’s grasp and shook it firmly.

“I’ll be down in the morning, but let’s say elevenish if that’s okay,” Matt suggested. “But first, you’re going to have to tell me who, why, and where you want me to meet, so I’ll know how to dress.” Finishing the handshake, Matt watched his friend’s smile slowly change to a more somber look.

“Dude,” Matt said, expressing concern. “Why so serious?”

“While we were in the air, I received clearance from HQ to bring you in on something.”

“An operation?”

“Depends on how it all plays out, mate,” Charlie said, his British accent always in full bloom. “The latest rage in lone wolf terrorism here in London has been random knife attacks.”

“Yea, it’s scary. I’d prefer a bullet to a blade if I had my choice of how to go out. Less intimate. But from what I’ve read, there’s one slasher who’s almost like a Jack the Ripper. Cut and run. Must be a smart cookie.”

“He is, Matt,” Charlie offered. “We have a suspect. We’ve interviewed him to the fullest extent allowed. We’ve not been able to bring a case against him.”

“And?” Matt asked.

“He’s not some angry vagrant left out in the cold, Matt, he’s one of ours and he’s been a tough one for even me to read. Much easier than the killer of cats who drove you to action back in the states.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Matt first realized he had an innate talent for reading people as a teenager in central Pennsylvania. The town of State College was located dead center in the Keystone State and was home to the main campus of Penn State University. The rolling hills of the Nittany Mountains were where Matt first developed a love for hiking and aside from high school and college football, there wasn’t much else going on that interested him. The hiking gave him the escape, the distraction he sought when his home life wasn’t as safe and secure as it had once been. High school was also where Matt