Free Hornet Flight by Ken Follett Page B

crew threw down the chocks that secured the wheels when the aircraft was parked.
    Braun and Juel arrived, with the four detectives Peter had chosen, while the waiting passengers were drinking the airport’s ersatz coffee.
    Peter watched keenly while his detectives emptied out the men’s briefcases and the white-haired lady’s handbag. It was quite possible the spy would have the illegal newspaper in hand baggage, he thought. Thenthe traitor could claim he had brought it to read on the plane. Not that it would do him any good.
    But the contents of the bags were innocent.
    Tilde took the lady into another room to be searched, while the three male suspects removed their outer clothing. Braun patted down the colonel, and Sergeant Conrad did the Danes. Nothing was found.
    Peter was disappointed, but he told himself it was much more likely that the contraband would be in checked baggage.
    The passengers were allowed to return to the lounge, but not to board the aircraft. Their luggage was lined up on the apron outside the terminal building: two new-looking crocodile cases that undoubtedly belonged to the old lady, a duffel bag that was probably the colonel’s, a tan leather suitcase, and a cheap cardboard one.
    Peter felt confident he would find a copy of Reality in one of them.
    Bent Conrad got the keys from the passengers. “I bet it’s the old woman,” he murmured to Peter. “She looks like a Jew to me.”
    â€œJust unlock the luggage,” Peter said.
    Conrad opened all the bags and Peter began to search them, with Juel and Braun looking over his shoulders, and a crowd of people watching through the window of the departure lounge. He imagined the moment when he would triumphantly produce the newspaper and flourish it in front of everyone.
    The crocodile cases were stuffed with expensive old-fashioned clothing, which he dumped on the ground. The duffel bag contained shaving tackle, a change of underwear, and a perfectly pressed uniform shirt. The businessman’s tan leather case held papers as well as clothing, and Peter looked through them all carefully, but there were no newspapers or anything suspicious.
    He had left the cheap cardboard suitcase until last, figuring the less affluent businessman was the likeliest of the four passengers to be a spy.
    The case was half-empty. It held a white shirt and a black tie, supporting the man’s story that he was going to a funeral. There was also a well-worn black Bible. But no newspaper.
    Peter began to wonder despairingly if his fears had been well founded, and this was the wrong day for the raid. He felt angry that he had lethimself be pushed into acting prematurely. He controlled his fury. He was not finished yet.
    He took a penknife from his pocket. He pushed its point into the lining of the old lady’s expensive luggage and tore a ragged gash in the white silk. He heard Juel grunt with surprise at the sudden violence of the gesture. Peter ran his hand beneath the ripped lining. To his dismay, nothing was hidden there.
    He did the same to the businessman’s leather case, with the same result. The second businessmen’s cardboard suitcase had no lining, and Peter could see nothing in its structure that might serve as a hiding place.
    Feeling his face redden with frustration and embarrassment, he cut the stitching on the leather base of the colonel’s canvas duffel and felt inside for concealed papers. There was nothing.
    He looked up to see Braun, Juel, and the detectives staring at him. Their faces showed fascination and a hint of fear. His behavior was beginning to look a little crazy, he realized.
    To hell with that.
    Juel said languidly, “Perhaps your information was wrong, Flemming.”
    And wouldn’t that please you, Peter thought resentfully. But he was not finished yet.
    He saw Varde watching from the departure lounge, and beckoned him. The man’s smile looked strained as he contemplated the wreckage