mysterious woman who had been asking about him. It was all too weird for words.
*
Inside the crowded airport terminal Jed took the lift to the departures floor, and joined a queue of people waiting to put their bags onto the conveyor belt of a large X-ray scanning machine. The machine was big enough to take suitcases, and the departing passengers were being told to place all their luggage, not just their carry-on bags, onto the wide rubber belt for inspection.
As Jed approached the machine, a European man in jeans and a spray jacket walked over and stood beside the seated security officer. It was close to a hundred degrees outside and warm and sticky inside the terminal, despite the airconditioning. Jed guessed the man wore a jacket to conceal a shoulder holster. He peered intently at the screen as Jed dropped his suit bag and then his pack onto the conveyor. As he walked through the metal detector, the beeping alarm sounded.
The man in the civilian clothes looked up and stared at Jed as a second uniformed security officer, an African woman, ran a metal-detecting wand over his body. The wand made a buzzing noise as it passed over Jed’s pants pocket. The woman asked him to empty his pockets. Jed noticed out of the corner of his eye that the conveyor belt had stopped. The man was alternating his gaze between the machine’s monitor and Jed.
Jed reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. The female security guard made him walk through the detector again and, when the alarm did not go off, she handed him back his phone.
The conveyor belt started once more and Jed’s bags emerged. As he picked up his pack, the man in civilian clothes whispered something to the male security guard, who called a third colleague.
‘Please empty the contents of your bag on that table, sir,’ the standing security guard said.
‘Why?’ Jed asked.
‘We need to check something, sir. Now, if you don’t mind …’
‘What if I do mind? What are you looking for?’
‘We’re not sure until we inspect your bags, sir.’
‘Both bags?’
The security guard looked over at the man in civilian clothes, who nodded.
Jed emptied his pack and then his bag, keeping his eyes locked on the European man the whole time. The man held his gaze, but did not come closer or take part in the thorough examination of the bags’ contents.
Amongst his civilian clothes were a few items of military-issue gear he thought would come in handy in Africa. He had a web belt with a couple of water bottles in their carriers, an ammo pouch, his green mosquito net, and a pair of tan battle dress utility trousers and matching bush hat. His pack had originally been drab olive-green, but he had lightened the colouring with liberal splashes of sandcoloured paint for his time in Afghanistan.
‘You are in the military?’ the security guard asked.
‘No, I’m in real estate.’
The guard looked confused. He held up the fatigue pants. ‘Why do you have these then?’
‘Because it would be embarrassing walking around in my boxer shorts.’
‘And this hat?’
‘Prevents skin cancer.’
The security guard gave up. He turned to the man in civilian clothes and shrugged.
Jed repacked his bags, without any help from the guard. As he shouldered his pack he said, ‘Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it.’
The man took a mobile phone out of his jacket pocket, punched in a number and started speaking, his free hand covering his mouth. Jed picked up the suit bag and left.
He found a coffee shop on the departure side and ordered himself a cup of black coffee. He pulled out his wallet. In it was a picture of Miranda, taken during her summer vacation the year before. She was wearing a cropped green T-shirt and khaki walking shorts, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She was smiling wide, hands on her hips. She had grown into a beautiful young woman and he had missed so much of her life.
The picture had been taken at a campsite on the
*
Inside the crowded airport terminal Jed took the lift to the departures floor, and joined a queue of people waiting to put their bags onto the conveyor belt of a large X-ray scanning machine. The machine was big enough to take suitcases, and the departing passengers were being told to place all their luggage, not just their carry-on bags, onto the wide rubber belt for inspection.
As Jed approached the machine, a European man in jeans and a spray jacket walked over and stood beside the seated security officer. It was close to a hundred degrees outside and warm and sticky inside the terminal, despite the airconditioning. Jed guessed the man wore a jacket to conceal a shoulder holster. He peered intently at the screen as Jed dropped his suit bag and then his pack onto the conveyor. As he walked through the metal detector, the beeping alarm sounded.
The man in the civilian clothes looked up and stared at Jed as a second uniformed security officer, an African woman, ran a metal-detecting wand over his body. The wand made a buzzing noise as it passed over Jed’s pants pocket. The woman asked him to empty his pockets. Jed noticed out of the corner of his eye that the conveyor belt had stopped. The man was alternating his gaze between the machine’s monitor and Jed.
Jed reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. The female security guard made him walk through the detector again and, when the alarm did not go off, she handed him back his phone.
The conveyor belt started once more and Jed’s bags emerged. As he picked up his pack, the man in civilian clothes whispered something to the male security guard, who called a third colleague.
‘Please empty the contents of your bag on that table, sir,’ the standing security guard said.
‘Why?’ Jed asked.
‘We need to check something, sir. Now, if you don’t mind …’
‘What if I do mind? What are you looking for?’
‘We’re not sure until we inspect your bags, sir.’
‘Both bags?’
The security guard looked over at the man in civilian clothes, who nodded.
Jed emptied his pack and then his bag, keeping his eyes locked on the European man the whole time. The man held his gaze, but did not come closer or take part in the thorough examination of the bags’ contents.
Amongst his civilian clothes were a few items of military-issue gear he thought would come in handy in Africa. He had a web belt with a couple of water bottles in their carriers, an ammo pouch, his green mosquito net, and a pair of tan battle dress utility trousers and matching bush hat. His pack had originally been drab olive-green, but he had lightened the colouring with liberal splashes of sandcoloured paint for his time in Afghanistan.
‘You are in the military?’ the security guard asked.
‘No, I’m in real estate.’
The guard looked confused. He held up the fatigue pants. ‘Why do you have these then?’
‘Because it would be embarrassing walking around in my boxer shorts.’
‘And this hat?’
‘Prevents skin cancer.’
The security guard gave up. He turned to the man in civilian clothes and shrugged.
Jed repacked his bags, without any help from the guard. As he shouldered his pack he said, ‘Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it.’
The man took a mobile phone out of his jacket pocket, punched in a number and started speaking, his free hand covering his mouth. Jed picked up the suit bag and left.
He found a coffee shop on the departure side and ordered himself a cup of black coffee. He pulled out his wallet. In it was a picture of Miranda, taken during her summer vacation the year before. She was wearing a cropped green T-shirt and khaki walking shorts, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She was smiling wide, hands on her hips. She had grown into a beautiful young woman and he had missed so much of her life.
The picture had been taken at a campsite on the
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