I, Spy? (Sophie Green Mysteries, No. 1) (Sophie Green Mystery)

again. “No,” he said.
    Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Look,” I said. “I’m a spy. People shoot at me. Someone I worked with was found in a baggage belt the day before yesterday. I’m getting dead fingers in the post. Give me a fucking gun .”
    But Joe said he couldn’t, not without the proper paperwork and authorisation, and I snarled at him and swung back to Ted, who growled sympathetically when I started him up.
    “Bloody men,” I said. Joe stood in the doorway, shaking his head at me. I thought about running him over, but decided against it. Too much paperwork.
    My phone bleeped with a text message, and I picked it up to find a booking number and flight details for David Wright. I’m on check-in , Luke had added, go straight to gate 13. DON’T let him on flight .
    I stuck my tongue out at the phone. If Luke was in check-in then probably this Mr. Wright wouldn’t even get past security. Ha, as long as he didn’t go down the baggage belt.
    Still, it was nice to see Luke could spell properly. Since the advent of predictive type, I’ve started to get really annoyed at txtspk.
    I went home to get changed and eat something before I started my shift. I passed the postman on my way up the drive, and he scowled at me. Hey, it’s not my fault someone sent a bloody envelope to me yesterday. If the Royal Mail had handled it more delicately then it wouldn’t have burst and gone all bloody.
    Still, I opened the door with some trepidation. The post lay there, looking innocent. A bank statement. A pre-approved credit card offer (this from the people who turned down my first credit card because I didn’t have a rating). A special order code from La Redoute offering me free post and packaging if I placed an order within forty-eight hours. A free pen from a children’s charity (surely they have better things to spend their money on?).
    No finger.
    I dropped the lot, unopened, on the kitchen counter and started looking for something to eat. Bread, but no butter. Cheese, but no Ryvita. Pasta, but no sauce.
    Damn it, it’d have to be crisps again. This time it was clearly not my fault.
    I checked the answer phone. Depressingly blank. I charged up both my phones and the stun gun, changed into my uniform and checked my watch. Luke had said I only needed to be there for the Rome flight, which was due to depart at 1410. This meant I had to be at the gate by 1310. This meant I had to leave the house at 1250 if I had a chance in hell of parking anywhere within ten miles of the terminal.
    It was 1245. Already? I got my keys and Ted and I rolled off to the car park.
    It’s a depressing truth that the ratio between how far you have to park from your destination and the number of minutes you have to get there, is inverse. If I have fifteen minutes to walk up to the terminal, I can park in the first row, so close to Enterprise House I can wave at the office workers. If, on the other hand, I should have been there two minutes ago, I’ll be parking within ogling distance of the control tower, and have to leg it the entire length of the car park.
    Today was the other hand. It’s a really big car park.
    I didn’t even go to the office to sign in and flirt with Tem, but rushed straight through to the transit train and tried to stop my face from looking like a beetroot that was about to explode. Not a sexy look.
    I got out my Nokia again and checked the photo Luke had sent me of David Wright. Mid-forties, brown hair, slightly large build. Exactly like every other businessman who travels with Ace on an hourly basis.
    To my surprise and delight, Sven was partnering me at the gate. I hadn’t even glanced at my roster to see if he was in or not. I’d hardly thought of him at all. Which showed what an empty life I had before, spending precious wake-up minutes checking to see which cute blokes were on shift with me.
    “Sophie! Are you all right?”
    I grinned and nodded. “I’m fine. Sven, you never go to the gate.”
    He shrugged. “You always said the gate was better. I think you’re right.”
    I preened slightly at that. Hey, I was right!
    Something chirruped in my bag. I searched through it, careful not to let Sven see what was inside. Stun gun, cuffs—oh Christ, imagine if I have to cuff Wright at the gate!—defence spray, Siemens phone (silent), Nokia…flashing and bleeping. The screen said Three. Luke.
    “Just five seconds,” I said to Sven, who nodded.
    “Are you there?” Luke asked.
    “Yes. Completely