Secondary Screening

Immigration Control, Terminal 3 Arrivals Hall  //  Changi International Airport, Singapore

Getting off an express flight, Locke strides through the bustling, opulent arrivals halls of Changi International Airport. Behind her follows her automated silver luggage following close behind like an obedient pet. With her casual jacket on, she looks like any other traveler.

She takes her place in the snaking customs line. When her turn comes, she swipes her Universal ID displayed on her phone's screen. The customs gate beeps red at the sight of a blank ID card, and the barriers slam shut.

Locke sighs. Another tedious delay.

A customs agent approaches. “This way,” he orders with an exhaustive tone. He escorts her to secondary screening as another agent hefts her autonomous luggage onto a scanning table.

As Locke steps into the sterile gray room with nothing except a metal table and chair, the customs agent locks the door behind her. Through the latticed window on the cold steel door, she watches as the agents at examination table display alarm and confusion on their faces.

The agent returns, his nametag brandishing “Ming” on his uniform. He gestures her to sit, which she dutifully complies.

“Purpose of visit?” The questions begin.

“Tourism.”

“How long?”

“Few days.”

“Did you pack your bags yourself?”

“Yes.”

Agent Ming slams her luggage onto the metal table. The impact echoes in the small room. “Then tell me, what the hell is in here?”

Locke remains silent.

“Nothing to say? Your luggage set off every alarm in our system. Even alarms I didn't know we had.”

He leans forward, attempting a threatening presence. “If you don't talk, we'll assume you're a dissenter and ship you straight to Geneva. The Council loves executing dissenters these days.”

Ming straightens himself. “I ask again: Why are you here?”

Locke speaks in a whispered tone: “To ignite the spark.” Her lips curl into a wolfish grin.

The reinforced door opens as Senior Agent Rahman enters. “Good job, Ming. I'll take it from here.”

“What? But sir…”

“This woman is the serial tax evader from Saint Kitts. You didn't check the bulletin this morning?”

“No... Yes, I did,” Ming stammers, not willing to admit his oversight to his superior.

“Then you know she's to be deported immediately back to country of origin. They want her to go through the trial by fire.”

Locke arches her eyebrow at the specific words, but maintains her silence otherwise. Rahman produces a pair of handcuffs and secures Locke’s wrists behind her back.

“Need help escorting her?”

“I got it. Get back to your post. Those customs lines aren't getting any shorter.”

Rahman grabs the luggage and perp walks Locke out through customs to an elevator. The doors close, and it’s just the two of them.

“Tax evasion?” Locke speaks.

“Sorry, Leader. It's what I came up with on the spot.”

“...Lame.” The handcuffs rattle as she wrestles them. “Was this really necessary?”

“Perhaps if you had a proper identity, you wouldn't have raised red flags.”

Locke glares at him for giving him lip. “What was that?”

“My apologies. Let me get you out of those.”

“No need.” The cuffs make a soft ratcheting sound as Locke gets them loose. They drop with a clang on the elevator floor.

The doors open to a cargo loading bay where a single unmarked van idles.

“I can keep Enforcement off your back, but I have no control over the other agencies here.” Rahman warns as they approach the van’s rear doors.

“As long as you keep the skies clear for our exfil.”

Locke climbs into the rear of the van with her silver luggage. She raps twice on the metal wall and the engine hums to life.

“Virtus per Ignem, Leader,” Agent Rahman chants with reverence.

She doesn’t bother with the motto. “Yeah,” she replies, before slamming the doors shut. The van drives out of the loading dock and merges onto the busy streets, merging seamlessly into Singapore’s bustling traffic.

***

Interpol Unit 7 Mobile HQ, Hangar V2  //  Changi International Airport

As the jet’s landing gear pounds the tarmac, Mika jolts awake from her power nap. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she gazes at the passing ultra-modern airport as they taxi toward the smaller, private, VIP terminal. The jet is towed into a designated hangar, safely tucked away from prying eyes.

As the engines wind down and cabin lights brighten, Dell and Jade emerge from their quarters in full tactical gear. Ray methodically checks his equipment at the storage rack, securing his chest rig.

“You sure you don’t help with guard duty?” Mika asks as she sprawls on the sofa in the lounge.

Ray clips his sheathed sword to his side. “We'll be back before sundown.” He dons his combat glasses and turns to Jade and Dell. “Ready?”

They give a casual nod as their combat interfaces spring to life on their retinas. Ray yanks the cabin door release, blasting them with sweltering tropical heat and humidity as soon as it cracks open. The door protrudes out and swings open on its own, automatic stairs already docked and ready for passenger descent.

“See ya later,” Jade chirps, following her squadmates down the steps.

Mika waves lazily and sinks deeper into the sofa. She shuts her eyes as she drifts off to sleep once again.

But barely a couple moments later, Bradshaw's gravelly voice snaps her back to alertness. “Shinkawa. Madame has another request for you.”

She sits up immediately. “You need my help.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Singapore customs just flagged a suspicious woman and found trace amounts of certain compounds in her luggage.” He hands her a tablet displaying the report.

“Where is the woman now?”

“They let her go.”

Mika frowns. “That doesn't add up.”

“Agreed. Singapore Enforcement is investigating if there are dissidents among customs personnel.”

Mika scans the transcription until a cryptic phrase catches her eye: “Ignite the spark.”

The door to Tomomi’s room swishes open.

“Ah, Tomomi. Want another cream sandwich? They have a FriendlyMart in the terminal.”

“I-I just finished checking the analysis data from the chip.”

“What did you find?”

“S-so, there's two parts to the algorithm. Some blueprints for a new device. I can't make sense of it, but it references some sort of casing...”

Mika studies the chemical analysis on the customs report. Some of them look familiar.

“Tomomi, what were those chemicals mentioned in the data again?”

“Cerium Oxide, HFB…”

The luggage scan results read:

Detected: Cerium Oxide, Hexafluoroborate, Nitrates...

“...And cotton balls.”

Mika straightens. “Cotton balls? Why cotton balls?” She rubs her temples.

Neither Tomomi nor Bradshaw have a clue.

She paces, her mind racing for an explanation. “Cotton balls... First aid? Not for this large amount. Red herring? Not likely… Maybe for the material? Cotton is a good source of cellulose...”

Her pacing stops. “If Icarus is using these as an accelerant... Then the cellulose, once treated... Put into an enclosed device... No...”

She has a terrible realization.

Her eyes narrow. “Inspector Bradshaw. Is the Asia Peace Conference the only major event happening today?”

“Yes. And with Councilor Five as speaker, it's going to draw significant attention.”

“Then if you don’t mind, I’m going to borrow some things.”

She rushes to the equipment rack and begins gearing up. She dons an Interpol uniform and picks up a spare chest rig. It fits snugly, if a bit tight across the chest. She slips on the combat glasses, and the interface flares to life as a computerized voice speaks through bone conduction:

“Advanced Combat Interface initializing. Connecting with Smart Combat Suit... Checking Vitals... Complete. Unregistered User. Default settings applied.”

“Mika, a-are you going out there?” Tomomi asks with a worried tone.

She nods grimly. “Bradshaw, contact the Council and tell them to evacuate the Conference.”

“You think there's going to be an attack?”

“Worse. Icarus just made a bomb.”