Déjà Vu

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hard upon midnight, David entered Heathrow’s Terminal Five. He tooled around the multi-storey car park until he found a secluded bay for the Moiré. The engine sighed away and he slid off. He tugged the bike onto its lay stand. He removed his helmet and slapped his face, firmly. He shook his head like a dog throwing off water. He needed to be awake. He needed to be careful.

‘Ego, I’m at the airport.’

‘Excellent.’

David had long abandoned reading human emotions into Ego’s voice, but it was hard to ignore its surprise. ‘Change your clothes. Then find locker J371 in Terminal Five.’

‘Am I going to fly?’

‘I am not in a position to tell you that. If you are captured, it is better you know little in case you jeopardise a future escape attempt.’

David watched his condensing breath. His eyes followed the vapour and continued to stare long after it vanished. Then, after another slap, he crouched in the shadow of a van and removed his jacket. He took off his waterproof trousers, his riding trousers and his hiking boots. He placed them in a heap. He opened the universal storage crate on the back of the bike and retrieved the briefcase. He placed his essential items inside it. There were some non-essential items too. In the escape, he had transported most of the bathroom from The Poor Players.

He grabbed a fistful of underwear from the container and stuffed it into the briefcase. In another bag, he found a pair of tinted glasses, a shaving kit, a wedding ring and a belt. He packed those too. He found a travel iron and wondered why he had bought it. He left it in the container.

There were paper overalls at the bottom. He put them on carefully, though the material was durable. And he put his boots back on, but not his bike jacket. Instead, he took a light coat and threw it across his shoulders. He had become an invisible everyman, albeit a cold, tired one. Along one side of the container was a dry-cleaning bag with a complete suit inside. He rummaged some more and found a bottle of aftershave. He tossed it into the briefcase, closed it, and set about stuffing his old clothes into the bike container with one hand. In the other, he held the suit.

Finally, he closed the container and detached it. He thought of his escape from the farm hands. He had roared from that ditch and jumped the hedge like a champion show jumper. He smiled and patted the headlamp.

‘Ego, can you hear me?’

The computer was inside his briefcase. ‘Perfectly.’

‘Is it all right to leave the bike?’

‘Where better to hide a tree than a forest? There are more than four thousand spaces in this car park. And, because payment is requested on exit, it will be days before suspicions are raised.’

‘Did you read that in a spy novel?’

‘Yes.’

David carried the container and the briefcase towards the terminal building. The pain of the past few days seemed to trot one pace behind. He was nearing the next stage. After miles on the bike, things were moving again. He hailed a Personal Rapid Transport pod and, when it arrived, settled into the driverless four-seater alone.

‘David, the PRT computer is asking for information about your destination. I’ve told it that you are bound for Terminal Five, but have withheld your destination.’

For that, he had to watch an infomercial about women whose lives had been transformed by a brand of moisturiser.

David stepped onto the third floor of Terminal Five. The rush of flight reminders and conversation reminded him of an orchestra tuning up. His eyes rose to the distant roof, then dropped, exhausted. Passengers stood in deep lines at the check-in desks. Beyond them, the shopfronts were brilliant.

‘You must proceed directly to the Gents,’ prompted Ego. ‘The computers linked to the security cameras are quite capable of recognizing you, but they sample randomly. The probability of your capture is increasing.’

The toilet was a two-minute walk away. He passed through its gleaming entrance and stepped over a robot loaded with cleaning tools. The stalls were either side of a wall of basins. There were no shower cubicles. On the far wall was a store cupboard. He nodded. He had a good chance of assuming his disguise without incident. As Ego might say.

He selected a basin in the middle of the row. He whistled to fill the air and smiled at a teenager two basins down. The teenager quickened his ablutions. David opened the container and retrieved his washing kit. He shaved. Nothing strange about that, he told himself. Just a chap having a shave.

When he had cleared the last of the foam, he leaned into the mirror. Not bad. He was beginning to assume his old, respectable—and, he realised, vain—self.

Next, he doused his hair with hot water, relishing the warmth as it drew the cold from his fingers. He found a sachet of shampoo in the remains of his shaving foam. He washed and rinsed the soap away. He was still just a chap washing his hair. He whistled some more.

With his hair clean but dripping, he gathered his things and retreated into a stall, locking the door. He slipped off his boots, his nylon coat and the paper overalls. He used the toilet and then set about his transformation. Soon he was wearing the suit. The tie would need straightening in front of a mirror. He splashed some aftershave around his neck. Then he opened the briefcase.

He checked the contents: his wallet, which contained Ego and some cards; the watch; the passport; cash. He had no physical business documents. That was normal. Everything would be stored on his computer. He dropped the wallet into his inside pocket and closed the briefcase.

He opened the door and walked to the store cupboard. It was locked but the mechanism was a simple magnetic strip reader. Ideal. There were only two people nearby. They were looking in the opposite direction. He took Ego from his wallet, whispered, ‘Ego, crack this magnetic strip lock, will you?’ and swiped it twice through the reader. On the third pass, the door clicked. In the cupboard were paper tissues, a replacement hand drier, an assortment of bottles, and some mops and brushes. He shoved the container inside. A glance around the room reassured him that he had not been seen. The two people had left. He opened the door again and threw a package of toilet rolls over the container. Only the cleaning robot would use the cupboard on a regular basis. It would simply work around the obstruction. He closed the door and heard it lock.

He took his briefcase from the cubicle and left the room, pausing to straighten his tie in the mirror. Then he flattened his hair with his palm and walked on his way. Just a chap walking out of a toilet. His hiking boots clumped on the tiled floor until he reached the carpet outside.