Chapter 61: Disappearing Act

When they were in the air and the seat-belt lights had been turned off, Tamara signaled to the crew member she had spoken to earlier.

“Is it okay to go see that guy now?” she asked.

“I reckon so,” the woman answered. “It seems that he knows your name, he does. But don’t go to his seat; he’ll meet you in the first-class galley right behind us. I’ll get him now. Oh, I’m Jamie.”

Tamara got up and went to the galley and a minute later the man arrived, looking very puzzled.

Before he said anything, Tamara said quietly, “I’m glad to have an air marshal here, sir...”

“Missy, if I can ask, how did ‘ee know who I was?” he interrupted.

“Dead giveaway,” Tamara grinned at him. “How you showed up for the flight and all; other things too. My dad’s a U.S. Marine; my friend’s dad is a Royal Marine. You all have ‘that look,’” she made finger quotes. “Know of a Col. Stuart Marshall?”

“Blimey. Tiny world, innit; ‘ee wus moi team leader on one o’ moi tours. Wus a cap’n then. So you’re Tamara Alexandre. I got this rush assignment to be on this flight n’ I wus to wait to contact you close to when we arrived.”

“Good; I guessed that you were sent when I saw you come aboard,” Tamara told him. “I’ve had some trouble with industrial espionage agents and had an alert that I might have some problems at Baltimore. I called a friend in London and he got the home secretary involved. I’m to stay on the plane until it’s empty. I still need to make arrangements for the U.S. side to get an escort off the plane.”

“Aye, that be what I were told. An’ not to let anyone take ye off the aircraft ‘less ye said it were alright. But that be my only authority, Miss. Oh, the name be Oliver.”

“Hi, Oliver. Sure. But I did want to meet you, thank you, and be sure you knew about the plans I was making. We both need to be using the same playbook.”

“Blimey, you’re plannin’ this just like a Marine,” he said, grinning.

“Dad taught me. Every detail of a campaign is important. Missed details cost lives.”

Oliver grinned wider at that and nodded. “That’s ace.”

“When I find out what’ll happen in Baltimore, I’ll let you know. Thanks again.”

They shook hands and Oliver returned to his seat. Tamara went back to hers and told the others that the first part of her protection had been arranged. She called her father at 6:30, his local time.

“Hi, Tamara,” he answered when she called. “Saw the text when I woke up. So your lwa says to avoid the Customs checkpoint?”

“Yep. You know how indefinite their messages can be, but that was the best sense I could make of the warning. There’s a Brit air marshal on the flight here and he’ll watch out for me as long as I stay on the plane. I’m guessing that the only way I could be removed from the plane when we arrive would be by police or FBI, not by a Customs person.”

“Not sure, but maybe,” Wilson told her. “But I’ll make some calls. Evan Masters at the State Department should know how to get you to bypass the Customs checkpoint at arrivals. I’ll assume that your reason is the industrial spying problem that you had in Miami?”

“Sure. And the Russian problem in Cambridge this summer too,” she said. “The warning was about something that might happen at the Customs and Immigration Control checkpoint. I might be able to handle the situation but it’s best to just avoid it, right?”

Wilson laughed. “You learned well, sweetie. The best way out of a bad situation is to avoid it in the first place.”

“That’s what I’m doing. Okay, I don’t know if you can call me back and reach me while I’m in the air so I’ll call you back in an hour or a bit more. Gotta go, this call costs about four dollars a minute.”

“Bye, honey.”

An hour and a half later, Tamara called back.

“Any news, Dad?”

“I’ll say there is. It helps when you know people. Evan Masters is clearing you to be checked through Customs and Immigration at the airport’s general aviation area. That’s where the smaller charters and private traffic go and the BWI port director will meet you there. Now, to get there from your aircraft, Masters told me that I should get help from the FBI. He was gonna get someone, but I thought of our friend John Norris, the Miami FBI agent, and called him since it was early and I had his private cell number. He told me that one of the FBI agents who interviewed Mom and me when we arrived in Miami, Sarah Wilkins is her name, is now the special agent in charge of the FBI Baltimore field office. Norris had her private number so when I called her, she remembered Mom and me quite well, and when I explained about your situation, she said that she’d handle it herself. She did hear about your attempted Miami kidnapping and would very much like to meet you. She said to wait on the aircraft and that she’d board it, bypass the arrivals terminal, and get you to the general aviation area. Remember, the name is Sarah Wilkins.”

“Got it, Dad. Thanks.”

“Oh, another thing. I’ll be at the general aviation office to pick you up, so tell Claire and Scott not to worry about where you’ll be.”

“Cool. Thanks again. I’ll let my favorite air marshal here know what’s up. See you in a few hours.”

Tamara asked her crew member Jamie to tell Oliver that she had news for him.

“How do you know him then, dear? Funny to meet someone like that on a transatlantic flight.”

“He served with my friend’s dad in the Royal Marines. They’re a really small, close-knit unit and most everyone knows each other,” Tamara told her.

“Brilliant. I’ll bring him the message.”

They met again in the galley and Tamara told him the FBI agent’s plan for when they arrived.

“Sounds proper bost, Miss. I reckon you must know loads of highly placed folk, don’t you.”

“Actually the ones I know are the ones with those good contacts. But you’re right and it’s those people who get people, like yourself, to help me. Here’s Stuart’s cell and email address if you want to get back in touch with him, and I’ll tell him how you helped me.”

“Cheers, Miss. It’s jobs like this that make my life less borin’,” he joked.

Baltimore-Washington International Airport, Anne Arundel County, Maryland

“The flight’s in on time,” Parker remarked to his partner, Mel Bearton, when Bearton returned to the TSA office near the immigration control area of the airport. “Is the baggage trick all set?”

“Yeah ... the boss got Gondon and his team to do the dirty work. The baggage train will come through the secluded area you picked and they’ll find the right bag and do the drop. Since she’s in first class, they only need to check for the priority tags and the supervisor said they’ll be on the first cart, probably.”

Parker nodded. “She’s on the flight and the Customs people flagged her name on the passenger manifest; they know to signal you or me and a CBP agent will take her to the private inspection area like we discussed.”

About ten minutes later, an out-of-breath man rushed up to where Parker was standing.

“Gondon says to tell you that there’s no baggage for Alexandre,” he told Parker. “I had to run ‘cause we get no signal in that impound area. We can’t hold the carts there any longer.”

“Shit! Boss never thought of that—who travels overseas with just a carry-on?” Parker asked and the man just shrugged. “Okay, tell him to, um, release the carts, find a lost baggage item or something and tag it with her name, and get it over to the baggage claim. I’ll get the agents here to delay her, asking why she left her bag in the claims area. That an item with her name was still there.”

He rushed back off to the baggage area and Bearton came over. “Snag?” he asked.

“Yeah. No one thought of what to do if the target has no checked bag.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t occur to me either,” Bearton said. “Ah ... here comes the first group.”

He went back to where he had been waiting. And waited. And waited while everyone on that flight had been processed through the checkpoint.

The supervisor went over to Parker. “That’s everyone and your person hasn’t come through here.”

“Is everyone off the plane?” he asked.

“Yes; it’s been checked,” she answered. “No one is left in the security area either.”

“So how could someone get off and not go through customs?” Parker asked.

“It’s possible but only with official or inside help and those people would be breaking the law,” she replied. “An airport employee with secure-area flight-line access would have to help someone get through the doors that lead to outside the terminal. That’s the only way anyone can bypass security and avoid customs, but going out that way leads to the flight line and then they’d stand out like a sore thumb for the security people stationed outside at the flight line. They do watch the terminal doors to keep people from slipping through.”

Parker called the airport manager’s office and asked to meet the flight-line crew supervisor; then he called his contact in the NSA signal communications office.

“This is Parker. Has there been any cell phone traffic today for subject Tamara Alexandre? ... None? When was the last traffic? ... I know we don’t have international data yet ... What about any calls she made from transatlantic air traffic? ... Nothing? Damn. So the last traffic on her phone was over four days ago? ... Thanks.”

Bearton had come over during the call; he had gone to check the baggage claim area.

“No baggage left from that British Airways flight,” he told Parker as Parker’s phone rang.

“Yeah? ... You did? Well, the bag’s not there anymore and the subject has pulled a disappearing act too ... I know, the shit’s really gonna hit. I’m still checking. Bye.”

Parker turned to Bearton. “That was Gondon. He put the stack into a 26-inch pink and grey rolling bag and got it on the carousel along with the last of the bags from that flight.”

“What about its baggage tag?” Bearton asked.

“He pulled one off another bag. Had to staple it together since the self-stick got torn. Said that happens sometimes so it’s not unusual. But the bag’s gone, you said?”

“It is, and there wasn’t anything from that flight in the unclaimed baggage office either.”

“How the hell did she do that?” Parker asked, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. He got no answers from up there. “Anyway, we need to get to the management office; I asked to meet with the flight-line supervisor up there.”

When they arrived at the office, a man in a coverall came in right after them.

“You here to see the manager?” a woman asked Parker.

He confirmed that and she showed him into a little conference room and were quickly joined by the coveralled man and a suited one.

After a brief exchange of names, Parker asked the supervisor if he had seen anyone sneaking off the aircraft.

“I don’t look for those things, sir; I’m directing the ground crew. Security monitors the doors from the flight-line to the terminal security area and watches for people who don’t belong out there; if anyone not authorized was there, Security should have noticed anything wrong. If they did, they would have apprehended the person. I know that everyone nearby was servicing that craft and was authorized, for sure.”

“Any video coverage?” Parker asked. “What can we see?”

“An overview of the general flight-line and aircraft service area,” the manager told them. “Which gate again?”

He made a call, asking for a replay of the scene from that gate to be set up.

“We’ll go a few doors down and can see the replay there,” he told them.

The replay showed the normal arrival and baggage-handling activities with many people rushing in all directions, entering and leaving the camera’s field of view.

Parker asked the supervisor, “See anything out of the ordinary?”

“No sir. Just the normal orderly chaos of servicing an arrival.”

Parker looked at Bearton, who looked back and shrugged.

Aboard the British Airways Airbus 380 at BWI: an hour and a half earlier

“‘Bye for now, sweetie,” Tamara told Peter as he prepared to leave the craft; then she said goodbye to the others. “I’ll see you all at my parents’ house, 4:30; Dad’ll take me there and we’ll have dinner with them.”

As she waited, Oliver came up and sat in a seat near her as several cabin crew members came over and began fussing over him.

When Tamara looked at them with amusement, one winked at her. “Ollie’s our favorite air marshal. Too bad he’s hitched; else he’d have his own harem.”

“Now belay that, Rita,” Oliver chided her. Then to Tamara, “Our mob ‘as to keep a reyt low profile, fer sure, so I was proper shocked that you picked me roight out, Tamara.”

Tamara chuckled. “I’m extremely observant; always have been. Also, I knew that someone in the Brit government was doing something to protect me so when you appeared, it was kinda obvious.”

“Ooooh, a spy thing...” Tamara’s own adopted flight crew member, Jamie, said, wide-eyed.

“Nope, just a bit of difficulty about keeping me safe from some unpleasantness,” Tamara said. “I do stuff that both the U.S. and U.K. governments want to protect and some baddies seem to be hanging around me lately.”

“Well, that’s ace, almost like a spy,” Rita objected. “Hey, write a book about it; I’d buy that.”

They all laughed and a flight-deck crew member popped his head in. “Gonna get over to the crew lounge now, mates?” he asked. “Got the overnight flight back in nine hours.”

“Okay, wait up.” Rita said. “See you later, Ollie ... Oi, are you going back with us?”

“Possibly. I need to check in with the ‘eadquarters; this were a special trip. I’ll see you lot in the crew lounge ... erm ... just hold up...”

Someone had just appeared at the passenger door.

“ ... well. It’ll be reel quick now; so wait up—looks like my relief’s ‘ere,” he finished as a tall woman in a ground-crew coverall came into the cabin. The cabin crew members hung back and watched, curious. The newcomer pulled out a leather case and flipped it open, displaying a shield.

“I’m Special Agent Sarah Wilkins, FBI. I assume you’re...” indicating Tamara, “Tamara Alexandre?”

“Yes, ma’am, and good to see you,” Tamara said. “This is Oliver, my valiant British bodyguard.”

Everyone laughed as she continued. “He came to my rescue on a difficult transatlantic trip—difficult to stay awake, that is. Anyway, Oliver, it’s been a real pleasure getting to know you and your harem...” more laughter, “ ... so a fond farewell and maybe we’ll cross paths again. Remember about Stuart Marshall, okay?” and she hugged him as he blushed.

Oliver’s “harem” members all lined up to shake Tamara’s hand and wish her well; then they all left as the cleaning people began to arrive. Wilkins pulled a ground-crew coverall out of the small duffle bag she was carrying.

“Here, slip this on over your clothes and I have a worker’s cap for you too. You just have that backpack, right?”

Tamara nodded as she slipped into the garment. “My friends took my carry-on.”

“Good. I’ll carry the backpack in the duffle—good, just fits. Here’s your ID card; of course the lanyard goes around your neck. Okay, just follow along with me like you belong and we’ll walk purposefully. When I heard about your problem, I figured this was a good time to get to meet you. Your parents are very impressive and it would seem you are as well, judging by what I saw you doing with the crew when I boarded.”

Wilkins led Tamara out onto the jetway and then turned toward the jetway’s control station; opposite to that was a doorway, now standing open, that door opened to a metal stairway leading down to the apron.

“When we’re halfway down, keep your head down as there’s a camera on the wall almost directly in front of us. We’re heading straight to the wall ahead and there’s a blue utility cart parked there. Climb in on this side—I’d let you drive but you don’t know where we’re going,” she joked.

As the two discussed Tamara’s situation, Wilkins drove the vehicle along a marked vehicle lane parallel to the concourse building, over to an open area, and then followed several trucks as they drove along a road which circled around the end of a runway. The road led to a large open apron area across from several taxiways and and a runway; the main terminal was on the opposite side of the airport now. She pulled up to a building near the apron’s edge.

“Here’s the FBO, or Fixed Base Operator. The general aviation office. We’re to meet a guy from Customs here, so do you have your form filled out?”

“Yep, all set.”

“Okay, give me the ID and you can slip off the cover-all. You can keep the hat,” Wilkins said as she shed her coverall. “Here’s your backpack. Let’s go see the man.”

The customs inspection involved his checking her diplomatic passport and taking the paper declaration form.

“This isn’t what I usually do,” he told Tamara, “but I’ll go through the motions. Anything you need to declare?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. You’re done, then. I sincerely hope that your security problem will be straightened out soon. It’s not every day that I’m contacted by the Homeland Security deputy secretary and asked to check in an international arrival, after all.”

He left the office and went to a car parked on the apron. Tamara and Wilkins went out to a waiting area and found Wilson there, pacing anxiously.

“Hi, Dad, everything went smooth, thanks to Agent Wilkins and everyone else who helped,” Tamara said as she hugged him.