British Airways Flight 012 from Geneva to London touched down on Runway 7 at two thirty, London time. The day was brisk and damp, but clear. Thomas enjoyed the long walk from the debarkation ramp to Immigration.
Thomas waited for his suitcase to reappear on the round conveyor belt bringing baggage in from the airplane. Then, with his bag in his hand, he waited for several minutes in the non-Commonwealth line through passport control. It was not until he handed his passport to the young uniformed immigration officer that Thomas sensed something amiss.
The young man studied the passport for a moment.
"Your name?" he asked, loud enough to be heard by others nearby. He'd asked no one else that question.
"Thomas Daniels."
"Place and date of birth, sir." The young man's eyes glanced almost imperceptibly to the left.
"New York City. October 14, 1943." Now Thomas was aware of a thick, pudgy man in civilian clothes moving casually toward him.
The man was bearded, wore a bowler and an overcoat, and had a round, moon-shaped face on top of a thick ursine body. Two uniformed policemen walked behind him, cautiously and slowly, each looking every bit of six and a quarter feet tall. A show of force, obvious yet not excessive.
The young clerk whacked Thomas's passport with an inked stamp.
"Enjoy your stay in the United Kingdom, sir," he said. The passport was pushed back into Daniels's hands. He was moved along from the immigration booth.
"Mr. Daniels?" said the thick round man, moving directly alongside Thomas. The uniformed policemen stood directly behind them. They were far enough from other travelers so that they couldn't be heard.
"Yes," sad Thomas.
The man's thick squat hand disappeared quickly into his inside pocket.
Out came a small card and a badge.
"Rogers Hunter. Metropolitan Police Department."
"I'm innocent" said Thomas.
Hunter managed a forced smile.
"I'm here to accompany you to Mr. Peter Whiteside Distrusting, Thomas eyed Hunter quickly up and down. The two police in the background were watching him.
"I have his address" said Thomas.
"I think I can find him by myself."
Thomas started to step away but an incredibly powerful hand grabbed his rightarm just above the elbow. Hunter stopped Thomas in his tracks.
"I insist" said Hunter.
"I don't need help' Thomas tugged his arm but the grip remained.
"I see," said Hunter reflectively, not put off in the slightest.
"Am I to assume that you'll not be coming with me voluntarily?"
"You may assume what you like" "VM well: said Hunter, releasing the arm gently. He turned and nodded to the two uniformed officers, then looked back to Thomas.
At the time, the two policemen moved with remarkable speed for large men.
"In that case" said Hunter with a sly smile of appreciation,
"I'm placing you under arrest. I'm terribly sorry."
Thomas resisted slightly. Then it was nothing more than a blur as he was separated from his suitcase and shoved roughly against a concrete wall. By the time he looked down to his wrists there were handcuffs in place.