Page 115 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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WELCOME

The arrivals terminal of San Francisco International can be a crowded and
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confusing place to the uninitiated, but at a quarter to one in the morning, Ed
Rushia wished the place was seething with people coming in from half-a-

dozen flights, not merely the two hundred or so from American Airlines 15. He
was, as they used to say in his home town of Jewel Junction, Iowa, between a
rock and a hard place.
First, his job had been to watch Bond’s and Chi-Chi’s backs. They had

disappeared into the night on some little corporate jet, so how should he now
proceed? Second, he had, like his British colleague, been set up – the target for
FBI scrutiny. There were good reasons for this, no doubt, but he felt uneasy
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about it.

He came into the ground side of the terminal carrying the small bag
containing one change of clothing, his toilet gear and a paperback that he had
tried to read during the boring flight. Better to travel light. After all he was
now back in his home base and could change properly if they ever allowed him

to make it back to the small apartment in which he lived. His young wife would
be there waiting for him, probably worrying herself sick about him, even
though she was used to his long absences.
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There was one uniformed cop near the sliding glass exit doors, and Rushia
made up his mind within seconds of walking into the street side of the terminal.
Get a cab, go down to the Embarcadero, then call the carrier from there.
Outside it was chilly, the usual dampness in the air at this time of year.
There was a short line for cabs and he quickly joined it, aware, with that

instinct bred into good Intelligence officers, that someone had come up behind

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