Scorpio
Flicka von Hannover
It took me a while,
but I finally figured it out.
I can’t believe I was so stupid.
When Flicka and Dieter reached the desk at passport control, the man reached through the hole at the bottom of the scratched bulletproof plastic and said in French, “Passports, please.”
Flicka hung onto Dieter’s hand and idly watched the people around them. Considering the potential for chaos, the crowd was rather orderly.
Dieter slid the two red booklets through the slot.
The man sucked on his tobacco-stained teeth. He opened one of the booklets and scrutinized Dieter, looking at the passport’s photo and back to him. He flipped through the booklet and squinted at the pages. His glasses slid down his little nose to his pudgy cheeks, and his frown looked like he might need stronger reading glasses.
Flicka glanced at Dieter’s passport booklet as the guy flipped it. The pages in the rest of it were blank with no stamps at all, just a pristine passport that was several years old.
Weird.The one he’d given her had a few stamps.
The man frowned as he rubbed the book on a scanner. “New passport, yes?”
“Yes,” Dieter said.
“There is no record of you ever traveling before.”
Dieter shrugged. “It’s my first time out of Europe.”
Switzerland was a signatory of the Schengen treaty, so Dieter could have traveled within the EU for the last few years without ever showing a passport. Even if an official had asked, he wouldn’t have needed more than a Swiss identity card. Most of the time, travel between Schengen countries wasn’t tracked or checked at all. That’s how they’d gotten from Switzerland to France so easily by train.
The guy raised one eyebrow at him. “Well, hope you have a nice time in the United States.”
Dieter nodded. “Thank you.”
The guy shook his head and looked at the other passport, Flicka’s. He smiled at her when he rifled the pages. “Now you have traveled.”
“A little to the States, not too much.” She could have recited all the dates if he’d asked.
“You were born in Lucerne?”
“Yes.”
“And what astrological sign are you?”
“Taurus.” She smiled at him and leaned toward the glass a little. “What’s your sign?”
The officer smiled back. “I’m a Taurus, too.”
She smiled larger and blinked at him, indicating friendship and camaraderie. “I should have guessed that.”
The man slid the passports back to them. “Have a good trip.”
That kind of thing always worked.
Flicka waved as Dieter collected the passports. They walked into the terminal.
Dieter said, “I really should hire you for black ops.”
