Number 06 │ A Leverage Fanfiction

The King George Job | Part 1

[Heathrow Airport]

The overhead speakers crackled to life as a monotonous voice of the PA system drifted across the bustling airport terminal.

"Your attention, please. All international arrivals must pick up their luggage before proceeding..."

I sat back in one of the lounge chairs, legs crossed, casually flicking through a magazine. Though, my eyes were discreetly locked onto our mark.

Nate's voice came through my earpiece, low and steady. "It's taken us four months to get even this close to one of Damien Moreau's guys. Now we have a chance to hit him and get closer to Moreau. Hardison, take us through it."

Across the room, Hardison sat at the immigration counter, eyes glued to his phone as he pulled up the data.

"Flight manifest for Global Transit Airlines 485 out of Baghdad shows John Douglas Keller in business class." His fingers flicked across the screen. "Now, Keller—he moves antiquities for our primary target, Damien Moreau. No checked luggage, just a carry-on. But you know what, guys? This don't sit right with me. Wouldn't it be easier to grab him out in the terminal?"

I shook my head slightly, keeping my voice low. "No. If this guy's as strapped as I think he is, he's gonna have a whole security detail waiting outside. One bodyguard on the plane, sure—but once he steps into that terminal, he's untouchable." I shifted slightly in my seat. "You want to get close to him? You do it in here."

"Sounds good." Nate's voice carried no hesitation. "Parker?"

A few yards away, Parker strolled through the terminal, pushing a luggage cart dressed as an attendant. "While Eliot distracts the bodyguard, I'll lift Keller's wallet and phone. Then, quick briefcase switch."

"Hardison intercepted an email," Nate prompted.

"And decrypted it." Hardison said, smug.

A pause.

"...Well?" Nate pressed.

"These guys are using a variant of Larry Duberman's algorithm. Y'all know that's not exactly entry-level, right? Ain't like baking a cake."

"Moving on." Nate ignored him. "Keller has something valuable on this flight—probably Iraqi antiquities. If we close in from all sides, one of us will get the goods. Then, I'll put our hooks into him."

At that moment, Keller appeared, stepping into view. Nate didn't miss a beat. "There he is."

Eliot was already moving. "I've got him."

Keller's bodyguard, a man built like a walking slab of concrete, stuck close to his side.

Eliot's voice was calm. "That's the bodyguard. I'm going in."

The two of them turned down the terminal. Eliot eyed the briefcase in Keller's hand, "Parker, he's got a black briefcase, silver hardware."

"Black briefcase, silver hardware?" She glanced down at her cart. "Got it. I'm on it."

As she peeled off, Eliot took another step—

—only to be stopped by a small tug on his sleeve.

He looked down. A little girl, no older than six, stared up at him with wide, worried eyes.

"Can you help me?" she asked in Arabic. "Where do I go?"

Eliot blinked, "Sky." he whispered into the comms.

I nodded, shifting from my seat. "I got him," I muttered, moving to shadow Keller.

Eliot, meanwhile, crouched slightly to meet the girl's eyes. His voice softened. "Follow the people."