A Hostile State by Adrian Magson

Author:Adrian Magson [Magson, Adrian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2020-12-16T22:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

The entrance corridor to the nearest washrooms in the terminal where I was sitting was blocked by a no-entry sign and a large janitor’s trolley, with two mops propped against the walls further along to reinforce the message. There was a powerful smell of bleach in the air and something else not quite nice. Vomit. The floor to one side was covered with a clutch of sodden paper towels and cleaning rags, and the air-con here didn’t seem to be working, which meant the smell had got trapped in the corridor with nowhere to go.

Unfortunately the plan I had in mind to deal with this latest problem didn’t allow me to go looking for another washroom. And the fact that this one was out of use served my purposes very well. I checked out the trolley. It held an array of tissues, paper towels and cleaning products, along with pale, two-litre plastic containers of what I guessed was liquid soap. Hooking my backpack over my shoulder I grabbed one of the containers and one of the mops as I passed by. I unscrewed the top of the container as I pushed through the door, hoping the cleaner was on a break.

The interior of the washroom was panelled, tiled and bright as day under the ceiling lights. It was also empty. The combined smell of vomit and bleach in here was even stronger, enough to close the throat and water the eyes. Whoever had been ill out in the corridor had continued being ill in here. I upended the container, pouring the gloop out onto the floor across the doorway a couple of paces inside, then stamped on the mop’s wooden handle and broke off the head.

I’d never practiced kendo or stick-fighting but it looked as if I was about to find out if I could.

I heard the men’s footsteps as they came hurrying down the corridor. They were probably intent on a quick take-down to complete their assignment and get out of here.

The door was kicked open, slamming it back on its hinges, revealing one man. He was big across the shoulders, confident and steaming for a fight. He saw me standing halfway across the room and walked quickly forward, eyes locked on mine, an attack-dog on two feet.

He was holding something slim and dark grey in colour down by his leg, and I recognized the outline of a knife. This guy had decided not to bring a gun into a security-washed area like Frankfurt Airport and I was betting he’d settled for a ceramic blade instead. Although not guaranteed there was less chance of being pinged by metal detectors and it would be extremely sharp for maximum effect.

I glanced at his feet. He was a half-step away from the first pool of liquid soap and I wanted him to keep coming with his eyes fixed on me. I waved the mop handle in the air, swishing it around to catch and retain his attention.

Then I fumbled and dropped it. Deliberately.

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