Chapter 35 fourth quarter

According to the instructions of the West Drayton Air Traffic Control Center in London, the "Quick Bird" One Zero is flying across the English Channel and approaching the coast of Suffolk.The plane first flew to the north of the airport, and then made a long and slow turn to the left, so that the passenger plane could align and fly to the main runway from the west. In the cockpit, Adrian Fallon returned to the left driver's seat, listening to instructions from West Drayton. The 747 had descended to fifteen thousand feet, and Fallon could see the lights of Ipswich slowly approaching them.

One of his co-pilots handed him a message from ACARS. ACARS tactfully requested that the flight attendant deliver the mysterious letter to the ground crew as soon as the plane stopped and opened the hatch.With a grunt, Farron took out the two folded papers from his shirt pocket and handed them to the co-pilot, conveying instructions to the purser Harry Palfrey.They were crossing the coast at this moment, at five minutes past six. The pre-landing air of anticipation began to emerge in the three cabins.The lights were on, the breakfast trays had been removed and stacked, and the entertainment on the chair-back screens had stopped.The cabin crew are all in uniform and handing coats to passengers in first and business class.Passengers by the window stared idly at the strings of lights passing below them.

Mr. Hugo Seymour emerged from the first-class lavatory.He had just been shaved, his hair was combed neatly, and he smelled of expensive aftershave.Back at his seat, he straightened his tie, buttoned his vest, took his cream silk suit, folded it in his lap and put it on later.The crocodile leather briefcase was placed between the feet. The Canadian hippie shifted impatiently in economy class, longing for a cigarette.Since he was sitting by the corridor, he couldn't see the scenery outside the porthole, and he didn't want to see it. The Higgins family, four rows behind, was fully awake and ready to land.Sitting between her parents, Julie patiently told the Phuket doll about the fascinating sights she was about to see in her new home.Mrs. Higgins was packing the last of her belongings into her hand luggage.Mr. Higgins, who loves neatness, has the plastic briefcase in his lap and his hands folded on it.He had done his duty, and felt comfortable.

The little white plane on the back of the seat finally turned and pointed towards Heathrow Airport.Then the numbers on the display indicated that there were still twenty miles to go before landing.It was twelve past six. From the cockpit, the pilots could see the still dark Berkshire fields below and the lights that brightened Windsor Castle.The landing gear was lowered, and the flaps were opened sequentially, to twenty-five degrees as required.To observers on the ground, Quick Bird One Zero appeared to be drifting, skimming almost motionless for the last few miles; in fact, it was still traveling at 170 knots, but was slowing down and drop.

Adrian Fallon checked all his instruments again and confirmed the Heathrow control tower's order to allow him to land.Ahead of him, a Boeing from Miami had just skidded down the runway, and ten miles behind him, a Northwest airliner from Boston, but their passengers would disembark at Terminal Three.His plane will be the first passenger plane to arrive in the morning at Terminal 4, which is dedicated to British Airways.As the wing passed over Cornbrook Reservoir, he dropped to a thousand feet and slowed down to a landing speed of 138 knots.At 6:18, "Quick Bird" No. 10 landed. Ten minutes later, Adrian Fallon finally parked the jumbo jet next to a mobile boarding bridge, engaged the parking brake, and told the co-pilot to turn off the engine.Electricity was transferred from the main engine to the auxiliary power unit, and the lights in the cabin flickered for a second, then brightened again.Below him, the cabin crew in the bow watched as the passenger boarding bridge whined toward them.After docking with the passenger plane, they opened the hatch.

Standing at the door was a young man in an airport technician's jumpsuit.He raised an eyebrow when he saw Harry Palfrey. "Purser?" "Are you here to get that letter?" The young man nodded, took two stacked letter papers from Palfrey, and left.The purser turned around and gave a professional smile to the first-class passengers waiting behind him. "Goodbye, sir, and thank you for taking this flight." Passengers began to file past him.Mr. Hugo Seymour, who stepped off the plane eighth, did not look like a bad guy.After a long flight, his still neat appearance stood out from the crowd, as if he was a person who paid attention to status.Harry Palfrey sincerely hoped that some stupid traveler in the back hadn't given him any trouble.

First class was followed by business class passengers, some coming from behind, others stumbling down the stairs from the upper cabin.On the lower deck of the Boeing airliner, a large number of passengers in the economy class have all stood up and squeezed each other. Even if there is only ten minutes of waiting time left, they are already impatient, like cattle and sheep in a corral, eager to be released as soon as possible. let it out. At this time, the various checkpoints in the lobby of the Immigration Bureau were empty, and the passport inspectors stood behind the counter, waiting for the crowd to come.There is a glass curtain wall above one side of the hall, which is actually a one-way transparent glass mirror, and there is a room behind it.Bill Butler was standing in that room looking down.

Below him are ten passport control officers, two for British and EU passports and eight for other countries.One of his aides has briefed them briefly.There is often cooperation between immigration and customs. Anyway, this briefing added a little commotion to this boring morning.There were only four Britons among the first class passengers, the rest were Thais and Australians.The four British citizens quickly passed the necessary check-in counter. When the third British passenger took back her passport, the female immigration inspector raised her head and nodded gently towards the glass curtain wall.Bill Butler held the letter in his hand.He was the only one in the cream silk suit, Hugo Seymour.Butler spoke quickly to the small communicator he was clutching.

"Out. Cream silk suit. Alligator briefcase." Ranjit Gur Singh is a Sikh, MFA and customs officer from the University of Manchester, who is part of the 'Strike Squad'.That morning, he was just a cleaner in the eyes of the passengers.He was in the aisle behind the passport control checkpoint, dustpan and broom in hand.He heard the news through a tiny earplug stuck in the hole in his right ear.After a while, a passenger in a cream suit walked past him with his head bowed. Officer Singh watched as the businessman entered the men's restroom halfway down the aisle.He muttered softly into his left cuff.

"He went straight into the men's room." "Keep an eye on him and see what he's doing." The Sikh enters the washroom and sweeps some of the litter on the floor into the dustpan.The man in the cream suit didn't enter the cubicle, but washed his hands.Gul Singh took out the rag and started wiping the inside and outside of the washbasin.The other party paid no attention to him.The Sikh continued with these menial tasks, but he checked carefully to see if anyone else was hiding in those cubicles.Is this the rendezvous point?Is it the venue for the handover?While he was still scrubbing, the businessman dried his hands, picked up his briefcase and left.Did not meet here.He reported to Bill Butler.

At this moment, a passport inspector behind the non-British citizenship check-in counter nodded at a disfigured hippie passing him and winked at the glass facade.Butler picked up the signal and made a phone call.In the aisle leading to the customs hall, a young woman pretending to have just gotten off a plane pretended to tie her shoes before she straightened up and noticed the man in jeans and a denim shirt ahead of her.She followed. When Hugo Seymour entered the aisle, he was no longer alone, but mixed with a large group of economy class passengers.He's killing time, Bill Butler thought, blending himself into the crowd.But why wear such a conspicuous suit?At this time, an anonymous call came in.Butler took a report from the switchboard operator about the anonymous call through the communicator. "American accent," said the switchboard operator, "tracked down a Canadian hippie in jeans and a denim shirt, with long, dirty hair and a beard, with a cargo in his rucksack. And hung up .” "Keep an eye on him," said Butler. "It's so fast, boss." The switchboard operator's tone was very envious.Butler walked along the corridor that was not open to the public, and quickly walked to the other side of the glass curtain wall to take his seat, but this is the customs inspection area, and special attention should be paid to the green channel without item declaration.It would be strange if any of the suspects walked towards the red passage. He was quite happy about the anonymous phone call just now.This is in line with the previously thought pattern.Hippies are a cover, an appearance.It was the venerable merchant who actually carried the goods.Nice trick, but this time, thanks to that conscientious citizen who can't sleep, it doesn't work. Baggage from Bangkok will come out of the No. 6 belt conveyor, and there are already more than 200 people gathered there.Most people have pushed luggage carts from the end of the hall.Mr. Seymour was among the passengers.His hard-leather suitcase had already come out with the first shipment, but he wasn't there just now.The other passengers in first class had already left.The leather case had been turned around twenty times, but he hadn't looked at it, instead staring at the entrance on the wall that connected to the baggage handling area outside. Hippie Donovan was standing ten yards away, still waiting for his big black backpack.Mr. Higgins, his wife and daughter, had just reached the baggage claim carousel, pushing two luggage carts.It was Jolie's first trip abroad and she insisted on having a separate trolley for her small bags and Phuket dolls. One by one, the revolving bags are recognized by their respective owners and dragged off the carousel to be loaded onto the luggage cart.The line had already begun at the green lane, and was joined by passengers on the other two Jumbo jets—mostly Americans and some Brits returning from a holiday in the Caribbean via Miami—and now the line has grown.A dozen or so uniformed customs officers, some in the baggage hall, others in the corridors, secretly watched with feigned boredom. "There, Dad." Several passengers looked back, and then smiled tolerantly.Julie Higgins can't mistake her suitcase.It was a medium-sized Samsonite suitcase with stickers of her favorite cartoon characters: Scooby-Doo, Willy the Wolf and Pipbeep.Around the same time, two of her parents' travel bags also showed up.The neat John Higgins carefully stacked the bags on the trolley to keep them from tipping over. The hippie saw his rucksack, he put it on his shoulders, dismissed the luggage cart, and then strode towards the green passage.Mr. Seymour finally picked up his leather suitcase, put it in a luggage cart and followed.In the green passage, Bill Butler stood behind the glass wall and watched these weary people file past the glass wall curtain. In the luggage hall, an idle porter spoke briefly to the cuff. "The hippie first, here he is, the silk suit ten yards behind him." The hippies didn't get far.He was halfway to the exit, a sign of relief and good luck, when he was blocked by two uniformed customs officers.Of course it is polite, absolutely polite. "Excuse me sir, would you please go this way?" Canadians were furious. "What does it mean?" "Just walk with us, sir." The Canadian raised his voice. "Stop the fuckin'. I've been on a plane for thirteen hours, don't tell me this shit now, you hear me?" The line behind him stopped as if ordered.Then, according to the British custom, when others are arguing, people try to look elsewhere, pretend that nothing happened, and continue to line up.Hugo Seymour was among them. Canadians were still yelling in protest after being unloaded with small bags and large backpacks.He was pushed through a side door into a search room.The passengers behind followed the team.The businessman in the cream suit was almost at the exit arch when he too was stopped.Two customs officers blocked his way and two others cut off his retreat. At first, he didn't seem to understand what was going on.Then, a pale look appeared on his dark face. "I don't understand. What's wrong?" "Please come with us, sir." He too was taken away.Bill Butler sighed behind the one-way clear glass.This is the big fish.The hunt is over.Those bags, and what's in them.