He emerged into fierce heat and white light and the smell of jet fuel and scorched rubber, tramping down the wheel-away steps, pacing towards the terminal building. Then there came the long, air-conditioned walk to passport control, the anxious wait to queue and pass through, and afterwards, Customs and the chaos of Arrivals, and finally a trek along a chain of rubber travelators to the platform for the Leonardo Express. A train was waiting to depart, its sleek, bullet-shaped engine compartment branded with swirls of red, white and green. Miller fed some euros into a ticket machine and stepped aboard a few minutes before the doors slid closed and the train pulled away. He wasn’t certain Kate had made it. He’d been reluctant to look back and check. But five minutes later, with the express gliding alongside a multilane autostrada choked with dusty European city cars and delivery trucks, he’d felt a tap on his shoulder and had looked up to see her standing in the aisle, gripping hold of the handle to her suitcase.
