The Man From Colebrook

   The skorch of the large airliner's wheels as they made contact with the tarmac roused him fully. It had been almost 7 hours since he had boarded the flight at Logan, and his body had grown stiff in the tight business class seat.

    The repeated request for all passengers to remain seated as the plane taxied toward the gate garbled its way out of the speakers.

   It was an unusually bright morning for the London area, the sun streaming into the small window as he watched all the people stretching as they stood up in defiance of the Captain's orders.

   He remained seated, placidly. His schedule was as loose as a Jack Russell Terrier discovering a hole in the fence.

   The small man who had sat in the aisle seat stood on his tiptoes to open the overhead compartment the second the plane had come to a stop at the gate. He reached over Jenson to retrieve his carry-on, swinging it down in an arc that came uncomfortably close to hitting him. 

   Jenson smiled at the man and motioned a faint friendly wave with his right hand, the internationally recognized gesture signaling "no problem".

   The aisle of the plane was full of passengers within a few minutes, all of them clutching carry-on luggage or laptop bags, some even clutching large shopping bags - visitors to the states returning home to either Great Britain or maybe a further destination in Europe after making a connecting flight here at Gatwick.

   Slowly the plane emptied until Jenson was one of three or four stragglers who finally stood up, stretched, and retrieved whatever they had brought onboard with them from the overhead bins.

   Except for Jenson. He had brought nothing with him but the nice fitting off-the-rack suit he was wearing. He exited the plane after exchanging pleasantries with the Steward who had been tasked with thanking every passenger for choosing to fly with EuroAir Trans.

   The plane had landed at the North Terminal which had been exceptionally busy during his last visit due to the South Terminal being closed. Now that the South Terminal had re-opened, he walked briskly towards Customs, his completed declaration form in the inner breast pocket with his passport. The line was close to 300 fellow travelers long.

   In due time the Customs agent had asked him all the standard questions, and then asked if his luggage had been lost. Jenson replied that he never traveled with luggage, too cumbersome for his taste, and that he would be stopping at Marks & Spencer as soon as he was in London. The agent nodded without showing any indication of surprise or concern for the unusual statement, examined the passport with the multiple Visa stamps from countries all over the globe, and then stamped in the Visa good for six months. 

   Jenson passed through the familiar terminal towards the monorail station that would take him to the train platforms in the South Terminal and pulled out his wallet to retrieve the Oyster card he would use to pay for the train and the underground while he was in London.

   He had long ago learned to forego a car hire - parking in London and the surrounding area was worse than any city in North America and besides, a car hire was just one more way his activities could be traced.

  The South Terminal was bustling as he stepped onto the new escalator that would take him down to the remodeled train depot. Stepping off the escalator he moved to one side out of the way of the stream of humanity flowing past him and paused to get his bearings.

  He quickly determined where he needed to be and made a beeline to the self-service automated Thameslink ticket kiosk. 

  He used the Oyster card to purchase a ticket to St Pancras in London and was mildly amused when he noticed people using their phones to board with Etickets - just another way for them to track you he thought to himself.

 Thameslink trains originated at various points south of Gatwick, and sometimes they arrived full of commuters returning to London from day trips to Brighton. Thankfully that was not the case today. He found a seat and settled in for the 45-minute ride.

   He began to mentally review his itinerary and the steps he would follow to ensure he was not detected anywhere his cover story could not vouchsafe he was never at.

   Mostly though, he thought about the purpose of his visit - technically, his mission, and he wondered if the safe house he'd be staying in had been cleaned up since it's last use by the less than hygienic Allen and his crew - and he hoped they had at least put the guns back where they belonged.