Dance for the Dead by Thomas Perry Page A

alone.
    Jane walked back down the
concourse, raising her eyes to look at the television monitors where
the departing flights were posted, never raising her head and never
slowing down. By the time she had passed the third monitor she had
made her selection. There was a Southwestern Airlines flight leaving
for Las Vegas five minutes after the flight to New York. She went
down the escalator, walked to the ticket counter and paid cash for
two tickets to Las Vegas for Monica Weissman and Betty Weissman. Then
she returned to the gate where Mary Perkins was waiting. She sat down
a few seats from her, counted to five hundred, then stood up again.
    She walked close to Mary Perkins
on the way to the ladies’ room. As she did, she waggled her
hand behind her back, away from the two watchers.
    She waited inside the ladies’
room in front of the mirror until Mary Perkins came in. “Did
you check any luggage onto the plane for New York?”
    “I don’t have any,”
said Mary Perkins. “As soon as I got out I came here.”
    “Good,” said Jane.
“When we get out of here, stay close but don’t look at
me. You never saw me before. One of those guys will be standing
between you and the exits. The other one will have moved to a place
where he can see his buddy signal him.” She handed Mary Perkins
the ticket for Las Vegas.
    She looked down at the ticket.
“Las Vegas? How does this change anything?”
    “Just listen. When it’s
time to board, one of them will go to a telephone to tell somebody at
the other end that you’re on the plane. It’s a five-hour
flight with a stop in Chicago, and that gives them time to do
everything but dig your grave before we get there. The other will sit
tight until the last minute.”
    “But what are we going to
do? What’s the plan?”
    Jane looked at her wearily. “The
plan is to go to Las Vegas and make them think you’ve gone to
New York. Now give me about the time it takes to sing the national
anthem before you come out. Then go sit where you sat before.”
    Jane swung the door open.
Instead of looking toward the waiting area, she glanced behind her
for the one watching the exit. The man with the paper was loitering a
few yards away at the water fountain. She turned and saw that the
other one had taken a seat where he could watch his friend. There was
a certain comfort in seeing that they were predictable.
    Jane sat a few yards behind the
man with the briefcase and studied him. He couldn’t be armed
with anything worse than a pocketknife. Three inches or less, if she
remembered the regulation correctly. They weren’t going to do
anything in an airport anyway. People you didn’t know wouldn’t
commit suicide to kill you. These were hired help for somebody.
    The woman at the boarding desk
was joined by a second woman, who said something to her. Then the one
who had given Jane her boarding pass picked up a microphone and cooed
into it, “Flight 419 for New York is now ready for boarding.”
People all over the waiting area stood up. “Will those
passengers with small children, or who need help boarding, please
come to the gate now….”
    That invitation seemed to apply
to no one, so as the woman went on – “Passengers in rows
one through ten may board now” – the taller man walked to
the row of telephones beside the men’s room.
    Mary Perkins stirred, but Jane
gave her head a little shake and picked up a newspaper someone had
left on a seat near her. The woman went on calling out rows of seats,
then said, “Passengers in the remaining seats may board now.”
Still Jane sat and stared at the newspaper. There were four minutes
left. When there were three minutes, she closed the newspaper and
began to walk toward the gate.
    In her peripheral vision she saw
Mary Perkins stand up and follow, then saw the taller man hurriedly
punch some numbers into the telephone. Jane stopped to glance up at
the clock on the wall, and saw the smaller man walking along behind
Mary Perkins. The man at