The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [36]
She grinned. “I was leaving Bioko for Paris anyway. So I took the assignment.”
“In that case, you should be happy to report that my flight to Manchester connects through London, so there’s no need to chase me all the way there. That is, unless you’re interested in property in the north of England. Have you been to Manchester before?”
“No.”
“Well, if you should happen to come, I would be happy to show you around. Conversely, should you have need for landscape design for either your home or business in Texas, you know where to reach me. Fitzsimmons and Justice, Manchester, England. We’re in the phone book and we’re expensive, but we do excellent work. Now, if you don’t mind, I don’t want to miss my flight. Please give my regards to Mr. White.” With that Marten nodded and started off.
“Which airline?” she called after him.
He looked back, “Why, you want to come with me?”
“No, but I might have you followed.”
“Help yourself.” He grinned. “British Airways.” Then he turned and continued on.
8:22 A.M.
Marten’s study of the departure console had been fortunate in more ways than one. In trying to find the next flight to Berlin, he’d also seen the next flight to Manchester via London, something he’d noted with envy because he would have much preferred going there. Nonetheless it had stuck in his mind and was a welcome immediate and reasonable destination to give to Anne Tidrow. He doubted she believed him, though. She’d been far too blasé in telling him that neither she nor White had fully believed him in Malabo. It had been the same when she’d asked what airline he was taking on his flight home. Maybe she’d been joking about having him followed, but most likely she wasn’t. Clearly they believed he knew something about the photographs and weren’t about to let go until they were certain, one way or the other.
The Air France flight from Malabo brought them to Terminal—or Hall, as it was called—2F. The British Airways flight to London left from Hall 2B at 9:10. That gave Marten precious few minutes to walk from one terminal to the other, buy a ticket to London, find a place where he could call the president back, make the call, and then get to the departure gate. Once there he would wait until passengers began to board, then suddenly duck into a nearby kiosk as if he needed something at the last minute, then go out the other side and make his way to Hall 2D and the 9:30 Air France flight to Berlin. It was a lot of maneuvering but hopefully enough to throw off Anne Tidrow or anyone else who might be following him and let him make the Berlin flight unnoticed.
The thing about Ms. Tidrow, when he’d caught her watching him, was that her reaction had been to simply smile and wave. Afterward, when he’d directly accused her of following him, she’d admitted it and said why. Or at least partially why. Honesty in situations like that was always best. Or at least partial honesty. The trouble was, most people didn’t do it. They hesitated and made up a story and certainly didn’t look you in the eye when they told you the way she had. Maybe that kind of confidence came from sitting on the board of directors of a large oil company or maybe it came from somewhere else. Just where, or what that was, he had no way of knowing.
8:44 A.M.
Marten stopped at the rear of the line entering the security checkpoint, then moved away and took the blue cell phone from his bag and a pen and small notebook from his jacket. He glanced around, then repeated the dialing procedures he had used earlier.
UNITED STATES EMBASSY, OTTAWA, CANADA. 2:44 A.M.
President Harris picked up at the first ring. “I just got off the phone with Joe Ryder. He’ll be calling Theo Haas momentarily. Here’s Haas’s private number. You have something to write with?”
“Yes.”
“030-555-5895.”
“Thank you.”
“After you’ve seen Haas, Ryder wants to speak with you. I do, too. Call me and I’ll get us plugged in on some kind of secure conference call. Don’t know just how it’ll work yet because he’s traveling, but