Chapter 2
Michael strode down the corridor, pulling his suitcase. The signs clearly marked the way to the parking, and he never hesitated a moment. Behind him, he felt rather than heard Fielding coming, the man thudded into the ground at every step.
"Michael, wait for me," Fielding called. Michael obediently halted. "Good lad, we're going to the parking lot," Fielding told him when he drew even. "Goodness, all this walking is tiring me out..." The boy made no response to that, just continued down the corridor with Fielding trying to keep up.
It was about then Michael noticed the giant from the 'Arrivals' section. For his size, he walked very quietly-- in fact, almost silently-- even when he was walking fast as he was now. He almost ran past them, heading for the entrance to the terminal, and Michael watched him attentively. The man walked like a soldier but looked like a civilian, with large dark sunglasses and a loose black coat. He turned the corner ahead of them and disappeared, and Michael heard Fielding relax noisily.
"What a bear," he whistled. "Wouldn't want to meet him on a dark night, now would you?" He grinned at Michael, only to remember abruptly what this kid was like when he got no answer. He frowned and quit trying to make friends.
They reached a corner with 2 signs, one pointing to Parking Lot A and the other to B. Michael had seen it much earlier and stopped immediately at the intersection.
"A or B." He did not ask, he just stated.
"B," replied Fielding after a moment's thought.
Michael did not say anything else until they reached Fielding's car, a black BMW with tinted windows. Then, "Do you want me to put my bags in the trunk, Teacher?"
Fielding was confused. "Who?"
"Teacher," the boy explained. "I call all my teachers Teacher. It makes everything easier."
Fielding shrugged. "I'm not really your teacher, but-- whatever you want. Trunk is good." He had decided to stop trying to make friends with the boy, it would never work. He popped open the trunk and the passenger door, then went to get in himself. Michael followed. As the BMW slipped out of the parking space, a somewhat dented old Honda Accord started down the next aisle over.
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Gunther watched the BMW anxiously. Either Fielding didn't know what he was into-- quite likely-- or else he had no idea how to travel in cognito-- also quite likely. That car he was driving was a little too nice for Gunther's comfort: that's why he was driving an Accord. Once the most common car on the road, it was still much less rare than the exotic BMW he was going to be tailing.
He had just finished re-arming himself when Fielding reached his car. He'd had to leave all his normal weaponry in the car, since it couldn't have made it through the scanners: all he'd had in the terminal was his trademark obsidian throwing dagger and a special plastic pistol, designed to slip past anything short of a strip search. Now he had his 10 mm, a gas grenade, and, in the special compartment under the seat, a high-powered 30.06 rifle.
This was his first Deep Blue mission, and he wondered absently why they hadn't given it to one of the higher-ranking agents. It certainly wasn't his low profile, and Ana, not he, was the most rapidly rising agent. Then Fielding floored it out of the parking lot, and Gunther found himself in trouble.
He jammed the pedal to the floor in reflex, but the BMW bolted out of the parking lot, turned right, and slipped through the yellow light. Gunther cursed softly and whipped his car around through the lot. Fool Fielding, what was he driving like that for? The Accord could keep up, Gunther had boosted the engine so much it was the equal of any exotic supercar you care to name, but he had to get close to him to stay close.
The lot stretched a good 5 blocks down along the road. Gunther knew where Fielding would be going, at least if he wasn't a traitor, but he was supposed to stay close to him. "Why, oh why, is he doing this?" he gritted through his teeth when he reached the end of the parking lot. With typical government brilliance, there was only one entry/exit. He toyed with the idea of simply driving over the curb, but if he was supposed to be an invisible tail he could hardly go blasting into the road like that-- even Fielding would notice him.
He eased into traffic, resisted the urge to dive between two slow cars, and saw Fielding turn left up ahead. Why was he turning left? He needed to go straight to reach the train station. Gunther smiled grimly. Looks like their contact's a traitor indeed. He took the first left he reached, then turned back right.
A residential road devoid of moving cars met his eyes. Nor was Fielding's sleek BMW in sight. He paused a moment, decided not to call HQ, and drove on down the street. He had just reached an intersection when the BMW flew around the corner to his right and squealed to an angry halt at the stop sign. Gunther controlled himself and carefully avoided looking at the car directly, hoping not to be recognized. It took a lot of willpower, though, to keep from yelling at the idiot.
He continued down the street in confusion. What should he do? He wouldn't put it past Fielding to have gotten lost, so he oughtn't to simply pull out his rifle and put a bullet through the man's head. Regardless of the mission, they were in a residential area, and Gunther really hesitated to do violence here. On the other hand, what if he was a double agent? This mission was too important for mistakes. Fielding's death would not weigh too heavily on his commanders' minds, he knew, if he killed him in error. But it would weigh on his. Gunther glanced in the mirror and made his decision.
He pulled into the next driveway, easing in until there was enough room for the BMW to pass. It did, with another violent acceleration. After seeing it turn the corner a block away, Gunther pulled back out and followed again.