The cabin lights came up and Paul Dark joined the crush of passengers hurrying down the staircase. A thin veil of fog swirled across the tarmac and the sky spat rain. Dark had the urge to turn up the collar of his jacket, but that was one thing you never did when trying to remain inconspicuous – even a glance at a distance could have people humming the tune from The Third Man. At the foot of the staircase a stewardess was pointing passengers towards a bus parked about fifty yards from the plane, which was waiting to take everyone to the arrivals terminal. Dark stepped onto the tarmac and leaned down as if to tie his shoelaces, but his peripheral vision was waiting for the fraction of a moment he needed. After several agonising seconds, it came – the stewardess turned away from him to answer a question from a young woman holding a baby in her arms. Dark, still crouched down, scuttled his feet backward like a spider until he was under the fuselage. He closed his eyes so the whites of his eyes wouldn’t be visible in the darkness, and held his breath, expecting to hear a call from the stewardess any moment to ask him what he was doing.
