Mark Young - Off the grid

Senator Summers leaned back. “You’ll land in Heathrow and Kane’s people will pick you up. They’ll let you get some shut-eye before heading up north where Kane’s group is headquartered.”

The State Department man-wearing a black fedora, a black rain coat, white shirt, and black shoes, dressed as if he wanted to try out for a bit part in Casablanca — finally seemed to come alive. He reached into a chrome Halliburton briefcase, withdrew a yellow package, one end already opened, and handed it to Gerrit.

Gerrit reached inside and withdrew a passport, airline tickets, British pound notes bundled together, several credit cards, and a California driver’s license. He flipped open the passport and saw his photo plastered on the second page of the document, but another man’s name appeared below the photograph.

John Gerrity.

Someone had switched Gerrit’s first and middle name and added a letter to his first name. He glanced at the embossed name on the credit cards and CDL. Same bogus name printed on these documents.

Gerrit glanced at the guy from State, then turned toward the senator. “John Gerrity?”

The senator shrugged. “Name seemed to work. Easy for you to remember.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on Gerrit’s arm. “We need to be careful. No one will search you getting on or off the plane. We must keep this meeting with Kane quiet. Remove all your current identification papers and store them in your luggage. No one will look, I promise.”

After placing everything back into the envelope, Gerrit set it on his lap. “You have to be kidding, right? You want me to prance through the airport with these bogus documents and board a plane for the UK without knowing what I’m getting into. I’m not an idiot, Senator.”

Senator Summers seemed flustered. “Let me assure you these documents will never be questioned, nor will you. This is just to protect the secrecy of the operation.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know-national security.”

Anger flashed on the senator’s face. “This is a matter of life and death. For many people, Gerrit. Don’t be so flip with me.”

“Then don’t expect me to waltz into that airport without some assurance that this has been cleared with my bosses.”

Nodding, the senator flipped open his phone and dialed. “Your man seems reluctant to cooperate. Talk to him.” The senator thrust the phone toward Gerrit.

Gerrit pressed the phone to his ear. “Who’s this?”

“This is the man who tells you what to do.” Lieutenant Cromwell’s angry voice boomed over the phone line. “Let me make this simple. Do what they say. That’s an order…straight from the chief.” The phone went dead.

Gerrit shrugged and passed the phone back to the senator. Anybody but Cromwell, he’d have asked to speak to the chief.

“Now that we have that matter cleared up,” Summers slipped the phone into his pocket, “there’s a commercial flight scheduled to take off in less than an hour. You are going to be on it as John Gerrity. Understood?”

Gerrit nodded and stole a quick look at Marilynn. Stoically, she sat and stared at her hands.

Summers tapped on the glass separating them from the driver. The limo began to roll toward the terminal. They left the tarmac, rolled through a guarded gate, and pulled onto a city street. Gerrit glanced out the side window and saw they were pulling up to the curb in front of British Airways east of the main terminal.

“Cheerio, Gerrit. Have a good trip.” Summers extended his hand. Marilynn shot him a quick smile, the first since he climbed into the limo.

Gerrit edged toward the door, grasping the envelope.

The driver came around and opened the door. Gerrit started to step out when the senator called out, “Let’s not have any further contact, shall we? Just get word to Marilynn if you need to talk. Otherwise, take your lead from Kane.

“And Gerrit,” the senator added. “You’ve been reassigned to the State Department. Those documents you’re holding provide diplomatic immunity. Cromwell has been filled in on what he needs to know. Don’t expect to be hearing from him any time soon.”

Gerrit crouched and stepped outside. He turned to face the senator. “Is there anything else about my future I should know about?”

Summers smiled. “If there is, you’ll be told, soldier.”

The driver closed the door, already holding Gerrit’s overnight bag in his hand. “Here you go, sir. Have a good trip.” The man tipped his hat and walked around to the driver’s side.

“I’m a U.S. Marine, you pompous ass,” Gerrit muttered, watching the limo pull away. Entering the terminal, he sought out a bathroom stall where he could privately trade his true ID and related documents with the falsified ones. What would the penalty be if he was caught?

In the last twelve hours, he seemed to have relinquished his own life-and identity-for something as ill defined as national security. That euphemism called national security covered a lot of ground, and he heard it got a lot of people in trouble on Capitol Hill. He thought of another good Marine-Colonel Oliver North-who faced a political hurricane while trying to serve his country under the name of national security. He hoped Senator Summers and the others knew what they were doing. It was Gerrit’s neck sticking out here.

A few minutes later, he left the bathroom stall and made his way to a security checkpoint. A woman in a blue TSA uniform took his airline ticket, boarding slip, and passport.

“So, Mr. Gerrity. Traveling to London?”

He nodded, getting used to his new name.

She handed him back the documents. “Have a nice trip.” As he walked away, a reflection in the glass allowed him to see that the woman was still following his movement. She looked until he could no longer see her in the glass. Glancing back, he saw her questioning another passenger, then turn toward the next person waiting to be cleared.

His lips felt dry and his chest tight.

As he watched airport security screen each passenger, he wondered why he felt so guilty if he was acting in the country’s best interest. Maybe it was the fact he didn’t have a clue what this was all about. A pawn in a game in which he did not understand the rules or the objective.

Hopefully this guy Richard Kane could enlighten him. He would just have to wait and see.

She watched as John Gerrity disappeared past the last checkpoint, gathered his belongings, and strode in the direction of his departure gate. She pulled out her cell phone and hit a preset number, watching the target disappear from sight. A moment later, a man’s voice answered. She glanced toward the departure gate one last time.

“He just cleared security, sir. Should be boarding in just a few.”

“Did he seem suspicious?”

“No. But he seemed…wary. Kept watching me as he walked away.”

The man’s emotionless tone sounded like an automated answering machine, but his words invoked fear in her. “You’d better not have raised his suspicions. Otherwise…”

The line went dead. With shaky hands, she lowered the phone.

London, England

A blond flight attendant, her white-capped teeth dazzling against deeply tanned skin, leaned over and spoke softly. “We’ll be landing in just a few minutes, sir. Pilot tells us he expects we’ll go directly to the terminal upon arrival. Please buckle up.”

Gerrit gave her a smile and reached for his lap restraint, clicking it into place. Only moments before, he’d watched the plane slice through a bank of clouds, leaving a pale moon behind in their wake. Darkness enveloped them. Once through the gloom, lights far below seemed to beckon.

Flashing runway lights hurled beneath them in a blur, and he leaned back to prepare for a jolt as wheels touched down. Fifteen minutes later, Gerrit shouldered a flight bag as he made his way into the terminal, still reeling from the last eight hours of sleepless travel.