✏️ The Littlest Spy

21. Carousel

Vancouver International Airport was a bustling hive of activity as Brock and Isadora made their way through the terminal. Even in the early hours of the morning, there were people moving in all directions. But unlike busier times of day, the vast majority of them seemed to be absorbed in their own thoughts, knowing in advance precisely where they needed to be. Night travellers, Isadora guessed, were either frequent flyers or businessmen.

They had just arrived at their destination and were navigating the crowded concourse with their carry-on bags in tow. Isadora scanned the signs overhead, looking for the baggage claim area. She was distracted by the city lights outside, though, giving a thin sliver of a view into a busy nightlife. She thought that it was a shame they wouldn't be allowed to stop.

"This way," Brock said, nodding towards a set of escalators. Of course he could find the signs faster than she could, or maybe he'd just had a layover here before. He was one of the frequent travellers, after all, and he was all business now. The way he held on to Isodora's wrist to keep them from getting separated, though, but some very unexpected thoughts in her head. Just a tiny touch could make her feel overwhelmed by his authority, and she wasn't sure how to ask him to stop that.

There were no crowds at the baggage claim. They picked up a couple of suitcases, which they didn't really need. The only reason they were here was to complete an illusion, and they didn't expect any kind of problems.

Even the customs checkpoints were quick and pain-free. Their hand luggage was quickly scanned, they were asked if they had anything to declare, and their passports were stamped. For Isadora, it was one of the first times she'd ever been through this; but she guessed that Brock was moving almost by habit.

As soon as they had their luggage, they strode briskly across the concourse towards a sign offering secure storage. Banks of lockers gleamed by reflected light, yellow on one side and green on the other.There was a desk at the end of the room, with a man in uniform who could clearly see that nobody was trying to break into the system. But these days, the lockers were high-tech enough that it was possible to book one using the little keypad on the door, wave a credit card at it, and the key would just pop out. Not that Isadora and Brock needed to do that; everything here would have been set up for them.

"I always wondered why they have luggage lockers in airports," Isadora mused. "I mean... an airport isn't a place to leave things, is it? I guess it seems normal to a frequent traveller like you, but I never saw the need for one. Except for... well... you know."

Brock didn't answer, his focus entirely on the locker in front of him. He pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock, turning it with a soft click. The door swung open, revealing a backpack, handbag, a briefcase, and a wallet inside. Behind those, there seemed to be some clothes as well. Brock pulled out the handbag first, and handed it to Isadora before he spoke.

"Most people, I think it's just for a layover. Like, if you're stuck here for eight hours before your next flight, you want to explore the city a bit, or just get lunch on the concourse. You don't want to be dragging your bags around the whole time. Although some tour companies will transfer your bags onto the right connecting flight for you, not all do, especially if it's a different airline. So... you can leave your stuff in a locker while you're here."

"Oh, that makes sense," Isadora said, watching with a faint smile as Brock turned to put a plastic flower in her buttonhole. It was cheap tourist tat, with pictures of tourist spots in Rome printed on the attached label; just the kind of thing Estelle might have picked up as a memento. Estelle's passport, drivers licence, and cell phone were in the handbag, as well as a chaotic assortment of cash that barely seemed to be organised. Brock, meanwhile, was changing his jacket as well as picking up the briefcase.