I, Spy? (Sophie Green Mysteries, No. 1) (Sophie Green Mystery)

after a man with a fake ID.
    It happened when I got up to change the LED display to read flight closing . I happened to glance down the line of desks, checking out Sven’s profile, and then I gazed out over the queue of passengers in front of him.
    Then I did a marvellous double take.
    John Brown was standing about twenty feet away.
    I swear I nearly rubbed my eyes in disbelief. The same man Luke had grabbed yesterday was standing in the check-in queue for Alicante.
    I moved fast. Luke was boarding the Milan flight, so I opened that up in the system and got the gate number. They hadn’t started boarding the passengers in the system, but that wasn’t to say they were all already on the plane and the gate agent just hadn’t put the information in the system yet.
    I got out my little black book of useful airport information (sadly, not Sven’s number), grabbed the phone and dialled the number for the Milan gate.
    It rang out.
    Shit.
    I glanced up at Brown again. He had a laptop case and was gripping a holdall tightly against him, and I just knew it was all full of counterfeit money.
    Palms sweaty, I rang the airport police. This had never freaked me before, because usually I called them with an enquiry or to get them to check firearms documents. Never because I thought there was a criminal standing very close.
    He shifted his grip on the holdall and all the hairs on my arms stood up, because if he wasn’t carrying a gun under his jacket then he had a thing for replicas. They were illegal on flights—understandably, they scared the hell out of people—so whatever he was doing, he was in trouble.
    And so was I.
    The dial tone droned on against my ear and my foot tapped in impatience. Come on, answer it, you’re the damn police ! Maybe I should have called the emergency services. Maybe I’d still be there next year waiting for someone to answer.
    Eventually a woman came on.
    “I need to get hold of Luke,” I babbled. “Luke Sharpe.”
    That had to be a made-up name.
    “Excuse me, who is this?” the WPC asked.
    “Sophie Green, from Ace. He’s working undercover for Ace and I need to get hold of him because there’s—I think there’s a situation he needs to deal with here.”
    There was a long pause, and it occurred to me that maybe even the police didn’t know about Luke. Maybe Luke had lied to me. Maybe none of it was true.
    Then, “I’ll give him the message,” she said, and my heart started beating again. “What number are you on?”
    Seconds later the phone rang and without any preamble, Luke said, “What’s going on? Sophie, you can’t just call—”
    “Brown,” I interrupted, and Luke shut up. “John Brown, from yesterday? He’s standing right in front of me. Three desks down. He’s about to check in for Alicante.”
    “Brown?” Luke said. “That’s impossible, he’s—”
    “I swear it’s him,” I said. “I’m really good with faces.” If I was wrong, I would never live it down.
    Sven’s passenger moved on and the line shuffled forward. Depending on whether the group in front of him were all together or not, Brown could be next to check in.
    “Shit,” Luke said. “I know what this could be. Okay, I’m coming back.”
    “There’s not enough time! He’s nearly at the desk!”
    “Then you’ll have to keep an eye on him for me. If he checks in, excuse yourself and follow him. Try to delay him but don’t alarm him.”
    “But—”
    “I’ll be right there.”
    Liar, I thought as the phone went dead. It took at least fifteen minutes to get back from Sat 1. Unless Luke could fly, which I was pretty sure he couldn’t.
    Although really, I wouldn’t be surprised.
    Sweating all over now, I watched Sven check in the group in front of Brown. Then they left. Then he checked Brown in.
    I looked at the passenger list. There were no Browns listed, but of course he wouldn’t be that dumb.
    The holdall was tagged and sent down the belt. Sven weighed the laptop case and waved it away as hand luggage. He gave Brown his boarding card and sent him away.
    Double shit!
    I got to my feet, my legs shaking, and switched the belt off as I climbed over it. A woman came rushing up to the desk.
    “ Scusi, scusi ,” she bleated, waving a flight itinerary at me. I tried to ignore her but she pointed at the flight closing display and babbled desperately in Italian.
    I threw a frantic look at Angel, who was the next one down, two desks away, next to Sven. “I have to go,” I said. “I