He looked around for the nearest restroom and went inside. He found an empty cubicle, undid his gym bag and ran his fingers over the hidden compartment in the material that made up one side of the bag. He found the concealed zipper, undid it and pulled out the bundle of passports held together with a fraying elastic band. They were all in the name of John Smith, but issued by a number of different countries: the United Kingdom, the United States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand. He leafed through the documents until he found the one that he had used when he booked the ticket before he stepped on the bowl of the toilet, lifted up one of the ceiling panels overhead and hid the others in the void above it. He was done with John Smith and, after this flight, he would never use the legend again. Refreshing his cover was the reason that he was making this trip, but he had one more risk to run before he could relax in the comparative safety of a new identity.

Milton flushed the toilet and, after washing his hands, made his way back into the main terminal building. He stood for a few seconds, watching the hundreds of people rushing about, all eager to be anywhere but where they were. He found the Turkish Airlines check-in desk and joined the queue. Milton was apprehensive as he waited in line. He had grown out his beard and was wearing clear glasses to break up the geometry of his face, but he had always been reluctant to submit his details to electronic retention, and that edginess was heightened to the point of neurosis today. He had read Catch-22 for the first time during his trip and he had been amused by one line in particular: “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.”

Milton knew, for a fact, that they were. And the people who were searching for him did not have his continued well-being in mind.

“Sir?”

The check-in clerk was ushering him forward.

Milton stepped up. “Good morning.”

“Flying to Istanbul?”

“That’s right.”

“Passport and ticket, please.”

Milton laid the documents on the counter and waited as the woman scanned them. He was aware that well-equipped and well-funded IT experts in London were engaged in the effort to locate him, and that the details remitted by airlines and airports would be among the first things to be searched. That was the main reason he had dropped off-grid over the course of the last few weeks, paying for everything in cash and avoiding anywhere where his details might be taken. This was the most exposed he had been since he had left Kansas City, but there wasn’t really an alternative if he wanted to move on.

“It all looks in order,” the woman said. “Are you checking anything into the hold?”

“No, thanks,” Milton said. “I’m travelling light.”