Tuesday, 8th July 2003

San Diego International Airport

California

USA

Honey sat in the spacious airport lounge with her overnight bag at her feet. Assessing every person in her vicinity was second nature for her; in these circumstances, it was an important part of her ongoing personal mission. The ex-detective had no worries about the crooks and swindlers on the streets of Bogota, her next destination. Her primary concern was that one of the two men she hunted could have discovered her new identity.

Among the other passengers for the flight was a man in his thirties with slicked-back black hair and a short ponytail. His suit was a shiny, two-tone, blue and green material, like the sheen of a hummingbird’s feathers. His shirt was so white it could have been used as the ‘after’ picture in a laundry commercial. He wore a bootlace tie with a toggle, and his snakeskin shoes had silver toe caps.

Honey smiled inwardly, thinking the ponytail guy looked like the stereotypical drug kingpin’s right-hand man. Whoever and whatever he was, he was content to stand out in a crowd. Among the two hundred other passengers in the waiting area, a few more caught Honey’s attention, and, in each case, she cast a wary, intermittent eye in their direction.

One man wore a sombrero, a garish poncho, and baggy jeans that had seen better days, just like his battered leather boots. He had a long, drooping moustache, and like the ponytail guy, he stood out. Other men wore traditional Latin American dress, but none had gone as far as the moustache. As would be expected, most of the passengers were dressed in what would be termed regular clothes.

A woman of about forty caught Honey’s attention, not in a good way. She was Hispanic and handsome, with a fuller figure. She wore a bright floral summer dress with a black bolero jacket and had a small carry-on suitcase. While most people would have looked around casually at the other passengers, this one had looked directly at Honey several times. On one occasion, the woman had nodded, not quite imperceptibly. When she did, a few seconds later, the ponytail guy turned, smiling as he looked in Honey’s general direction. He turned to face his front and slowly nodded as he stroked his chin.

Honey registered the silent communication and wondered if her imagination was working overtime. That’s how she felt until the floral dress woman produced her phone and held it on her lap, vertically, not horizontally. It wasn’t a natural position to read a message or send one. The slight angle was, however, ideal to take a photo—of someone sitting opposite and not far away.

When Honey’s cell rang, she checked the caller before speaking. It was the private investigator, Bert, who had supported her so far in her bloody vendetta.

“Hello.” She looked around casually as she listened.

“Hi. Where are you right now?”

“San Diego International Airport.”

“When is your flight?”

“It’ll be in about an hour, but there’s a technical issue, so the desk isn’t open yet. What’s up?”

“A short while ago, your target here received a message on his cell. He looked around agitatedly and headed back to his hotel room.”

“Exactly how long ago did he take the message?”

“Two, maybe three minutes … why?”

“A woman looking in my direction sent a message and possibly a picture three minutes ago.”

The public address system burst into life with another apology for the delayed boarding of the American Airlines flight to Bogota. Many passengers muttered or shook their heads.

Floral Dress woman stood and wandered off among the crowds of travellers.

Honey kept her voice low. “Call me back when you know what the shithead is doing.” She pocketed her cell, got up and slung her bag over her shoulder. She closely watched Floral Dress as she mingled with the crowd. When the woman entered a restroom, Honey lowered her head to conceal her features from nearby CCTV cameras and opened her pace. She arrived at the restroom a few seconds after Floral Dress, and a rapid check proved that only two of the seven cubicles were engaged.

A toilet flushed, and a few seconds later, an attractive young black woman in a flight attendant uniform exited a cubicle. As she washed her hands, she nodded and smiled at Honey, who was refreshing her lip gloss. Honey was pleased she’d packed spare shoes. When the flight attendant left the restroom, the vigilante lifted a sandal from her bag, placed it on the floor, and jammed the toe under the base of the interior door.

She stood back and kicked open the door of the remaining engaged cubicle. It revealed Floral Dress, fully clothed, with a shocked expression, busily texting on her cell.

“Wha—”

Honey rushed in and held the point of a stainless steel ballpoint pen at the woman’s throat. “What’s your name?”

“Th … Theresa Blanco—”

“There’ll be no count to five, Theresa. You tell me who you’re working for, or you die.”

“El … El Terminator,” the wide-eyed woman gasped. “I owe him many favours.”

“Describe El Terminator?”

“He’s in the waiting area … he’s wearing a shiny suit … and … has a ponytail.”

Honey grabbed the woman’s cell, saw an image of herself on the screen, and pocketed the device. “You keep the door closed and stay in here. If you make a sound, I’ll kill you.”

Theresa blinked several times as tears rolled down her cheeks, but she couldn’t nod because the pen was pressing into her throat.

Honey had hardly left the terrified woman in the cubicle when the internal door was banged and then burst open violently.

Ponytail in his shiny suit rushed in, and when he turned to look behind the door, he was treated to a tracheostomy with an expensive ballpoint pen. The short, knotted rope he was carrying dangled from his fingers as he staggered around, gargling blood for several seconds. To add to his trauma, Honey introduced a knee to his groin before bundling him into an empty cubicle.

After searching Ponytail, she stepped out of the cubicle, over the trail of blood, and closed the door. She spoke aloud as she washed her hands.

“What was your task, Theresa?”

“I was to watch for you in the terminal and confirm who you were for El Terminator. I also had to take your picture and send it to that number.”

“Do you have any children?”

“I have two sons—“

“If you tell anyone else about seeing me, I will find your sons and kill them.”

“But … El Terminator—”

“Your debt to El Terminator is paid in full. Now get the fuck out of here.”

Five minutes later, Honey paused at a waste bin to throw away a pair of sandals because one was ruined. A short distance away, she paused again to ditch a ruined ballpoint pen wrapped in tissue. She went into one of the many retail stores in the airport and bought a plain white baseball cap, a colourful, loose-fitting shirt, sunglasses, and a large holdall. In a quiet corner of the store, she packed her light coat and overnight bag into the new holdall and donned the cap, the shirt and her new shades. She next searched for a cafe further away from the nearby American Airlines terminal.

While having a coffee, she pulled out Theresa’s phone and checked the latest use. Her photo had been sent to someone with a brief message naming the airport and flight number. It was Honey’s proposed flight to Bogota, Colombia.

She was considering a new course of action when four police officers and two security men ran past in the direction of the restroom, which now hosted a smartly dressed, dead hitman. It was time to move on. She slung her new large bag from her shoulder and headed for the main concourse and exit.

Twenty minutes later, Honey paid her cab driver and strolled into a diner on the outskirts of San Diego. She ordered a meal and a drink and marshalled her thoughts. It occurred to her to call Bert, but she decided against it, remembering that, unlike her, he may not be able to talk. It was an hour later when her cell buzzed. It was Bert.

“Hello. What have you got?” She listened and nodded for the waitress to top up her coffee.

“Hi. I’m sorry it’s taken a while to get back to you. Your target took a cab to the railway station, wandered into various corners to shake off anyone tailing him, and then left on foot.”

“I take it he didn’t succeed in shaking you off?”

“No. The sneaky sonofabitch caught a cab to the airport.”

“Please tell me he actually boarded a flight to someplace.”

“I’ve just watched his luggage being booked on a flight to Schiphol Airport.”

“Schiphol … I don’t recall—”

“In about an hour, if he joins his belongings, your target is flying to Amsterdam, and I mean the original one … in Europe.”

“Shit.”

“I considered catching the same flight but didn’t want to spook him. It’s better if he thinks he’s escaped clean. I’ll keep an eye on him, and when I know he’s aboard, I’ll message you.”

“Thanks, my friend. You’ve been amazing once again, and I owe you big time.”

“You can repay me by being careful and staying alive, young lady.” He laughed. “By the way, your target is no longer using his own name. He now calls himself Dan Frost, but apart from the stubble on his face, he hasn’t altered his appearance yet.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll deal with his appearance when I catch up with him.”

“When I return Stateside, I’ll recommence my efforts to trace your other remaining target. As I reported a few days ago, he caught a flight to Europe on the day Perkins headed to South America.”

“Perhaps they planned to join forces later, or if they ever discovered I was onto them?”

“If you were chasing me, I’d want a backup.” He paused. “I’ll call you if I get any leads on a location for Fredericks.”

“Thanks again, and take care.”

“And you.”

Honey would wait until she knew Perkins, aka Frost, was on the flight to Europe before she called the airline. She’d booked her Bogota flight on an open ticket, so she’d amend it to a domestic flight and, from her new destination, catch a trans-Atlantic flight to Europe.

Ninety minutes after the conversation with Bert, Honey’s cell buzzed with a text message.

‘TARGET AIRBORNE.’

She replied, ‘THNX BUDDY. X’

It took fifteen minutes talking with American Airlines, but Honey was transferred to a flight from San Diego to New York. She called British Airways, querying the frequency of flights from New York to London. Next, she contacted KLM Royal Dutch Airlines about flights from London to Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam. Booking the flights separately later and using a staging post would reduce the chances of anyone tracing her movements. Using only carry-on luggage, check-in desks would not be needed.

It didn’t matter where Honey served justice on Perkins, aka Frost, just as long as she did it. He’d killed her father, and for that, he would die. Detective Fredericks had killed her mother, so he, too, was a dead man walking—wherever he may be. Her job would be easier now if both men were in Europe. She knew the nature of regular fugitives and the ex-detectives was no different. Perkins and Fredericks would have kept in touch as a mutual defence strategy. The likelihood was that they’d meet to discuss how to deal with the imminent threat of the woman hellbent on their demise.

Together or otherwise, both men would find that avenging angels didn’t come more determined than Honey Wood, aka ex-NYPD Detective Kimberley Forest.

***