As we made our way to the departure gate for Frida's flight, a voice boomed over the loudspeaker. 'Would Mr Jackson Forbes please go to gate 44. Mr Jackson Forbes to gate 44 please.'
'So much for keeping a low profile,' I muttered.
At gate 44 the attendant said, 'Mr Forbes? We've managed to get you a seat on this flight. Can I have your passport and ticket please?'
While he scanned them and tapped away on his computer, I looked around. No sign of the punks. 'Can't see them,' I murmured to Frida. 'Doesn't mean they're not here.' Another announcement over the loudspeaker called for passengers on the flight to London to proceed to gate 44. Those sitting in the departure area collected their belongings and queued up.
The passengers at the head of the queue had already trooped through the
