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

dead.”
    “Well, the flight’s full. Booked at 148.”
    “Shit!” That was maximum capacity. “Have you seen him yet?”
    “No. Only half checked in. We’ve got a school party.”
    “Fantastic.”
    “And they’re Italian. All those big, heavy suitcases.” He sounded really pissed off, and I had not a shred of sympathy for him. He’d tried to sleep with me yesterday, tried to add me to his list of emotionless conquests. Well, ha! He wasn’t getting me.
    “Give me a ring if he turns up, okay?” I glanced at Sven who was listening casually. Well, he probably wouldn’t understand what I was saying anyway. I looked over at the gate phone. “I’m on 3223.”
    “Speak to you later.”
    I turned round to Sven as I switched my mobile off. We’re not really supposed to use them in public. In fact we’re not supposed to use them at all.
    “That was my brother,” I improvised. “We’re having some furniture delivered.”
    Sven nodded. “I put the flight on Open,” he said, gesturing to the computer.
    Great. Even Sven wasn’t flirting with me. Did I put eye shadow on my cheeks or something?
    People started turning up and asking us questions. A lot of them didn’t speak English. Quite a few weren’t even travelling on our flight. I kept having to remind myself that I was working for the government now, doing something very important and exciting, although it would have been nice if I could have known what it was.
    All the time I kept scanning the crowd for Wright, turning my head left and right. Sven must have thought I had a neck problem. The phone rang and I pounced on it, but it was just Lissy, the dispatcher, telling me we could send them down now.
    I looked over at Sven. “Can I just check the loads first?”
    He shrugged and opened up the flight for me, but with him looking over my shoulder I couldn’t start searching for Wright. I made do with checking the manifests, but I didn’t get as far as the Ws before another person asked me if we were going to be boarding soon, and Sven said yes and picked up the microphone.
    So I pulled boarding cards and kept my eyes peeled for a middle-aged businessman with brown hair.
    I must have sent thirty of them through, still scanning Sven’s queue for Wright, when I came to the large group of Italian kids, all passing through in three and fours, giggling over each others’ identity cards and passports.
    I didn’t see Wright at all. The phone hadn’t rung. My Nokia, safe in my bag beside me, kept silent.
    So I pulled the last boarding card wrong, waited until the passenger had disappeared, then said to Sven, “I got the wrong half of the card. I’ll just go down and give her her luggage receipts.” Then I grabbed my bag and legged it before he could ask me anything.
    I pulled out my phone as I ran and tried to call Luke, but got nothing. Damn! I got all the way to the plane, waved the ticket stub at Lissa and ran up into the aircraft. The card belonged to a woman taking her seat halfway down the plane and I sauntered down there, keeping an eye out for Wright.
    Yes! There he was! Sitting near the back in the middle of the group of school kids, looking pissed off. I wondered what he’d done at check-in to deserve that.
    Then I wondered why Luke hadn’t stopped him.
    Then I wondered why everything suddenly got more closed in and quiet, and I looked around and realised in amazement that they’d shut the doors. Why hadn’t they told me to get off?
    Because I was in Ace uniform, I’d over-sprayed my hair that morning so it was in a hostess-style helmet, I wasn’t wearing my hi-vis (which I should have, but it was still in my bag), and I was just about to say something to a passenger.
    They thought I was cabin crew. I was on my way to Rome.
     
    The flight to Rome is two and a half hours long, the longest two and a half hours of my life, excepting my Philosophy exam, which I snuck out of early because my head was going to explode from boredom. I convinced the crew that I was a newbie, not hard since they were—miraculously—expecting one. I also, and totally without effort, convinced the passengers that, as it was my first day, I’d fuck-all idea of what I was doing.
    I dropped things. I spilled things. I forgot things. I was a bloody wreck. I was insanely grateful that I still had my passport in my bag from when I took it in for One to see, so I wouldn’t get chucked out of the country before I could follow David Wright and…
    And what? What