His plan was simplicity itself, if by simplicity you meant an elegance and intricacy bordering on the fractal. In fact, his plan was nothing more than a delicately localised Rube Goldberg warping of fate and destiny. “No one will see me. No one will even notice me unless I want them to,” said Coyote. “Oh, well that’s great,” said Richard. “What about me? I have no money, no boarding pass, and no passport. Do you?” “I don’t need them. I have a plan. Trust me.” “That’s what you said last time.” Richard hadn’t even had time to salvage his belongings from the hotel. “Luggage is baggage. A warrior must discard everything that is unnecessary,” Coyote had told him. By the time they got across the main concourse, weaving between the groups of travellers, they had a couple of passports. It didn’t matter whose passports. Coyote could make anyone believe they belonged to Richard and him. They made for the self check-in terminals. A little psychic flexing and the machine spat out a couple of boarding passes, and then off to find their security checkpoint.
