Saturday, November 24
McCarran International Airport
Las Vegas, Nevada

Asante didn’t want to waste any more time, but he waited behind three other first-class passengers. He couldn’t be the first to deboard the plane. Being first would be noticed by the flight attendants as too anxious. Being first would be out of the ordinary.

Most of the passengers—even those who looked ready to hit the casinos’ gambling floors—were exhausted because of the long delay. Asante tried to blend in with them though he had no intention of stepping foot in a casino. Not on this trip.

Las Vegas had been an excellent choice, especially with the unexpected delay. Most airports closed down after midnight. Not Las Vegas. It was just as noisy at this hour as any other time of day. Even before he came up out of the gateway he heard the clicks and pings of slot machines. Asante glanced at them and wanted to shake his head. They filled the middle area of the terminal. The majority of the machines were in play by passengers waiting for their flights and needing to extend their addiction for as long as possible.

He shouldered his way through the crowds and started following the signs for baggage claim. He adjusted the duffel bag as he turned on his headset, already planted on top of his ear. Then he punched the keypad on his phone. The call connected in seconds.

“Good flight?” the woman’s voice asked in place of a greeting.

“A bit delayed but I’m back on track.”

“Becky is enjoying her reunion with her college buddy.”

Again, they kept the conversation like a husband and wife checking in with each other. He had trained them well, keeping it minimal and never mentioning full names or using a name as traceable as Dixon.

“Good. And what about our friend, Hank? How is he?”

“He’s staying put. Seems to be behaving.”

“Glad to hear that. So are we ready to clean house tomorrow?”

“Can’t wait,” she said with a laugh. A nice added touch, Asante thought.

“In fact,” she continued, “we’re making the final preparations.”

“Call if there are problems. I’ll talk to you later.”

He found the escalator for baggage claim and got on with a dozen others.

Glitches, he smiled to himself. That was the thing about glitches—they could be fixed, rerouted or simply deleted.

At the bottom of the escalator while everyone else headed for the luggage carousels, Asante went the other direction to a small room off to the side. There, a row of foot lockers lined each wall. He found #83 and expertly fingered the combination padlock. One twist left, two twists to the right and it slid open.

Inside the locker, taped to the inside door was a sealed, plain manila envelope with more cash than he’d need. Stacked one on top of another was a twenty-six inch Pullman and its twin, both black canvas, their corners sufficiently scuffed to look like they belonged to a seasoned traveler. He took the two Pullmans out and dropped the duffel bag on top of one. Then he plucked off the envelope, tucking it into one of the bag’s side pockets. Finished, he hung his coat in the locker, closed the door and replaced the padlock.

Now all that was left was finding a ride.

He headed for the exits. The warm air hit him in the face. What a difference a few hours and a thousand miles made. Despite going from one extreme to another and despite already breaking a sweat, the warmth felt good.

He started looking for the shuttle buses. He’d catch the next one going to long-term parking. At this time of night he was certain he’d be able to pick out the vehicle of his choice.