What Now?

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Vic could tell the immigration official didn’t like the look of him; there was something in his eyes that told Vic this was not going to be straightforward. Vic handed over his passport and waited while the official flicked through the pages.

“Where have you travelled from today, sir?” The officer didn’t look up from the passport. Vic read his nametag. John Watson - could there be a more passport control name?

“Prague,” Vic said before he realised his mistake, “no Warsaw, sorry. Yeah, I’ve come from Warsaw today.”  Vic sounded a little too desperate, a little too Lady Macbeth. If this guy hadn’t liked the look of him before, he certainly had his suspicions confirmed now. He looked at Vic, at his screen and then at Vic’s little burgundy book. Then he beckoned a colleague over to relieve him.

“Let’s go and have a little chat shall we?” He signalled that Vic should follow him to one of the empty desks to his right. He fiddled around with the computer - ctrl, alt, delete - password, remember too late that the fourth letter is capitalised, password again, in.

“So tell me again, where have you travelled from today?”

“Warsaw. I was working there.”

“ I see,” he flicked through the pages, “Istanbul, New York, Kiev. You travel a lot don’t you?”

“Yep, it’s my job.”

“And you were in Prague this time?”

Vic rolled his eyes; did the immigration officer really think he was so stupid?

“No Warsaw.” Vic said trying but failing to mask the sarcasm in his voice.

“So why did you say Prague?”

That was a really good question, to which he had no answer. But the official wasn’t going to settle for the answer.

“Oh you know, one European capital is much like another,” he said. It was probably the lamest thing he could say, but it seemed to work.

“Okay sir, thank you for your time.”  The man half-smiled as he gave back Vic’s passport.

Vic breathed a sigh of relief. He was a fool, why had he said Prague? Talk about drawing unwanted attention to yourself. He put the passport back in his pocket and continued on to baggage reclaim. Just a case of getting through customs and he was in the clear. He shook his head berating himself again for the slip of the tongue.

Behind him, John Watson turned in his chair and nodded to his two colleagues who immediately turned and followed Vic through to the baggage reclaim. Watson then slipped out of his seat and went through a door marked private. He liked this part of the job, the look on their faces when they saw him standing there in the ‘Nothing to Declare’ channel.

Vic didn’t like the smell of the man who had stood next to him. He shuffled a step to his left to get away from the sickly sweet fragrance but the man seemed to echo his movements.

One day his bag would come out first, but not today. He watched the bags circle and then saw his small case. Just minutes now and he’d be away.

Vic wheeled his case through the green channel whistling a vague tune as he did so. The smell seemed to be following him. A man stepped into his path.

“Careful,” Vic said before recognising the face and the uniform.

“Would you like to come with me,” Watson said, noting the look of surprise.

“What now?” Vic said, but he knew very well what now.