The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [160]
Noble was banking on. the theory that one or both had been hurt and; fearing further attack from whoever had blown up the train, had crawled away from the wreckage. Both men knew the Cessna would come back for them today, which meant, if Noble was right, that they could be anywhere between the airfield and the wreckage site some two miles away. That possibility was the reason Major Avnel had come along.
Ahead of them was the town of Meaux, and to the right, its airfield. Clarkson radioed the tower and was given permission to land. Five minutes later, at 8:01 A.M., Cessna ST95 touched down.
Taxiing to a stop near the control tower, Noble and Major Avnel climbed out and went into the small building that served as a terminal.
In his mind Noble had no idea what he would face. The hazards of police work were drummed into every cop from his first day of duty. London was no different from Detroit or Tokyo, and the death of any cop killed in the line of duty was the death of any police officer in uniform because it could as easily have been him or her. It could happen to any one of them, on any day in any city on earth. If you were in one piece at the end of each day you were lucky. And that’s how you took it, a day at a time. If you made it all the way through, you took your pension and retired and slipped into old age trying not to think of all the cops still out there, the ones who wouldn’t be so fortunate. That was a policeman’s life, what he or she did. Yet it was not McVey’s. He was different, the kind of cop who would outlive everybody and still be on duty at ninety-five. That was a fact. It was how he was seen and what he believed himself, no matter how often he grumbled otherwise. The trouble was, Noble had a feeling. Tragedy was in the air. Maybe that was why he’d come along with Clarkson and brought Major Avnel, because he felt he owed it to McVey to be there.
There was a leadenness to his step as he approached the Immigration desk and flashed his Special Branch I.D. at the officer on duty. He felt it all the more as he and Avnel pushed grim-faced through the glass doors and into the terminal area itself.
Which was why the last thing he ever expected to see was McVey seated across from him, wearing a Mickey Mouse baseball cap and EuroDisney sweatshirt, reading the morning paper.
“Good God!” he exclaimed.
“Morning, Ian.” McVey smiled. Standing up, he folded the paper under his arm and put out his hand.
Twenty feet away, Osborn, hair slicked back, still wearing the French firefighter’s jacket, looked up from a copy of Le Figaro and watched Noble take McVey’s hand, then saw Noble shake his head, step back and introduce a third man. As he did, McVey glanced in Osborn’s direction and nodded. Then almost immediately, Noble, McVey and Major Avnel started back toward the door leading out to the-tarmac.
Osborn joined them and they walked twenty yards to the Cessna. Clarkson fired up the engine and requested permission for takeoff. At 8:27, without incident, they were airborne.
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AS THE Cessna climbed into the cloud cover over Meaux and disappeared from ground view, McVey explained how they’d escaped the train wreck, spent the, night in the woods near the airstrip, then come into the terminal just before seven-thirty. Acting the tourist, he’d bought the hat and sweatshirt and a packet of toiletries, then gone into the men’s room where Osborn waited, and changed in a stall. McVey shaved and got rid of his suit coat for the ĖuroDisney sweatshirt. Osborn had changed his appearance simply by slicking back his hair. With his stubble beard and fireman’s coat he looked like an exhausted rescue worker come to meet someone arriving by plane. All they’d had to do then was wait.
Noble shook his head and smiled. “McVey, you are an amazing fellow. Amazing.”
“Uh uh.” McVey shook his head. “Just lucky.”
“Same thing.”
Noble gave McVey a few minutes to relax, then brought out a copy of the taped conversation with Benny Grossman. By the time they touched down