It was getting cold in the deserted jetway; Gethin shifted in the wheelchair, trying to get some circulation going in his now sleepy backside. There was a time when he had been preparing for this mission that he had tried to make himself ready for the periods of time that he would be left alone in restricted areas of the airport. It amused him that people in general seem to trust people in wheelchairs, as if a disabled person would not do anything dangerous or confrontational, and that was why they had decided to have him masquerade as a paraplegic. Still the temptation to break cover and complete his objectives now that he had a good chance of making it to the plane before the assistance guy returned was really strong. Of course the empty wheelchair and discarded crutches would raise a red flag or two. Better to stick to the plan, to patiently wait for all the pieces to fall into place.
A voice from behind interrupted his thoughts:
“Ah, monsieur, tu es prêt?”
Gethin nodded without turning around;
“Oui, merci.”
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