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

the window where the plane was, indeed, angling out of its bay with the help of a tug.
    The folly of passengers. They see the plane going down the runway and still, somehow, believe they can catch a wing and get to their seat. Like this is Charlie’s Angels or something. You know that bit in the film where they open the plane door and freefall? At that height, everyone in the plane would have got sucked out with them and they’d have all died.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, not meaning it at all, because he looked like a loser. “It’s really not possible. Your bag is on its way up. You can catch the next flight. I’ll have to take you back to check-in—”
    “No, you don’t understand—”
    At that moment the door from the jetbridge opened and Luca came out, a holdall slung over his shoulder. “Mr. Brown? A word with you, please?”
    I frowned, and I’d just opened my mouth to say something when Mr. Brown turned and followed Luca like a puppy. The door swung shut behind them and I stood, frowning some more.
    Then I went back to the desk and called through to check-in that a passenger had missed the plane, so could they remove him from the system and close the flight? I tallied up the boarding cards and scribbled a bit more on the report. I watched the Titan Airways plane trundle towards the runway and out of sight around the corner of the departures satellite.
    I doodled a pretty design on the report. I shook out my hair and pinned it back up again. I sang the Ace theme tune through twice before I remembered how damn annoying it was. I latticed the boarding cards into a pretty pattern and shuffled them like a deck.
    Then I leaned against the desk some more and waited for Luca to come back. What the hell was he doing? Reading Brown a personal riot act for not turning up on time? I know it was annoying, but it happened all the time. It wasn’t really a big deal.
    Then I heard a thud from the jetbridge and suddenly felt hot.
    There was no one else in the satellite. No passengers or staff, even Dino had vanished somewhere.
    I looked around in panic. Could just be Luca dropping the bag on the floor. Those floors were noisy sometimes. Hollow-sounding.
    I edged over so I could see through the little window into the jetbridge. Luca had Brown by the collar, shoved against the wall.
    Horror flooded me, and I fumbled for my pass to open the door. “Luca, what the hell are you doing?”
    There was a sticky second of silence as both men glared at me. “Go away,” Luca said, and his voice sounded different. I squinted at his face and thought I saw a bruise around his left eye. “Sophie, just go away.”
    “You can’t beat him up! I know you’re having a bad day, but Luca—”
    Luca glared at me, and I suddenly realized what was different about his voice. His accent was totally gone. He sounded as English as me or Brown.
    All sorts of awful thoughts ran through my brain. Since 9/11 they went through incredible security checks on anyone applying for an airside pass, but if Luca got his pass before that then they might not have been so thorough. That was how sleeper agents got in. They got their jobs years in advance, when they were still respectable citizens.
    He could be anyone. He could be a terrorist or a lunatic or a criminal.
    Oh, God, I’m in bad trouble .
    “Sophie,” Luca said, and his voice sounded like he was using a lot of control to sound calm, “will you please pick up Mr. Brown’s bag and take it back to check-in? I’ll escort him back in a minute.”
    The next thing that happened was really weird.
    Usually I’m a total wimp, like I’ve said. I’m pretty good at fooling people into thinking I’m really mean, but inside, I’m as soft as a mouldy banana.
    “No,” I said, and even I must have looked surprised to hear it. Luca looked astounded. “Put him down, or I’ll call the police.”
    There was a very, very long moment when I was pretty sure one or the other of them was going to pull a gun on me.
    Then Luca, still gripping Brown by the collar, gave an exasperated little laugh.
    “Sophie,” he said, “I am the damn police.”
    I stared, frozen, as he pulled off the fire training pocket that hung from his security chain and tossed it over to me. “Inside,” he said, and I opened it to find a warrant card and a second security pass, this one red instead of green like mine—an all-access pass, with an older picture of Luca on it.
    Only it had him listed as Luke Sharpe, and his