The Wrong Woman
The Metropolitan Air Terminal hummed with the sound of propellers and hurried footsteps. Travelers hurried toward gleaming Douglas DC-6 airliners while loudspeakers echoed boarding calls through the cavernous terminal.
Among the crowd walked a dark-haired woman in a burgundy coat. To every passerby she appeared calm, but hidden inside her handbag were smuggled documents that customs officers were determined to recover before her flight departed.
She noticed another traveler waiting near the departures board—a stylish blonde about her own age and build, wrapped in a smart grey coat trimmed with dark fur. The woman carried herself with effortless confidence, and her expensive luggage suggested she would pass through the terminal without attracting the slightest suspicion.
The smuggler smiled to herself.
*Perfect.*
When the blonde excused herself toward the ladies' powder room, the brunette quietly followed.
Moments later the room was silent.
The blonde slumped unconscious into a chair, still breathing peacefully. Working quickly, the smuggler eased her upright and slipped the elegant grey coat from her shoulders. As she searched the handbag for identification and boarding papers, something unexpected caught her eye.
A neatly packed blonde wig.
For the first time that afternoon, fortune had smiled on her.
"A wig..." she whispered with a delighted grin. "Well, now... this changes everything."
One by one she exchanged everything that might identify the traveler—passport, boarding pass, gloves, jewellery, handbag, compact, lipstick and perfume. Finally, dressed only in her own black slip, she slipped into the blonde's grey coat before carefully fitting the wig over her dark hair. A touch of lipstick, a glance in the mirror, and a stranger looked back.
She then dressed the unconscious tourist in the burgundy coat she had discarded, making sure every detail matched the description customs officers had been given.
By the time the boarding call for Flight DC-6 to Chicago echoed through the terminal, the transformation was complete.
The elegant blonde who stepped confidently onto the aircraft was not the woman who had entered the powder room only minutes before.
Some time later, the real tourist slowly regained consciousness.
"My coat..." she murmured, touching unfamiliar burgundy sleeves. "My handbag... what on earth happened?"
Before she could make sense of the nightmare, two customs inspectors approached.
"Excuse us, miss," one said politely. "We're looking for a woman wearing a burgundy coat."
The bewildered traveler stared at them in disbelief.
"I think you've made a terrible mistake."
Across the tarmac, the engines of the DC-6 roared to life.
Seated comfortably by a window, the smuggler watched the terminal drift farther away as the aircraft taxied toward the runway. She smiled faintly beneath her borrowed blonde curls.
By the time anyone discovered the truth, the wrong woman would be answering questions...
...and the right one would already be gone.
