Mindbend

“You have to go,” said José. “You can’t hang around my cabin forever. Put your foot here.” He made a platform of his hands and, against his better judgment, Adam used it as a step. The big cardplayer lifted the dumpster’s lid, and with a swift movement José tossed Adam headfirst into the mess of boxes, paper, waxed containers, and other debris. And contrary to what the cardplayer had said, there was garbage, too. The lid banged down, and Adam was plunged into darkness.

He felt the dumpster roll down the ramp onto the pier. Then there was a violent jolt and Adam visualized his rise from the ground. The dumpster shook, tilted upside down, and with a flash of light Adam screamed and flew into the back of the truck. He ended up on his hands and knees, covered with trash.

Almost at once the truck began to roll. It was well away from the pier before Adam worked his head clear of the trash.

The junk cushioned his ride, and he was not disturbed by the bumpy road. But after a few minutes the tropical sun turned the truck’s metal shell into a broiling oven. Adam began to sweat, and by the time the truck got to the landfill he didn’t care what happened to him as long as he could get out.

He was dimly aware of a diesel whining beneath him as the back of the truck began to lift. A moment later he shot onto an enormous pile of trash. He got to his feet in time to see his truck lumber away.

No one had seen him leave the ship. He was safe. Looking about, he could see the tiny island airport two hundred yards to his right. To his left, the blue Caribbean stretched as far as he could see.

Dusting himself off as best he could, Adam started walking to the terminal.

The airport was a casual affair with an entrance crowded with colorfully painted taxis. As Adam started inside, he saw a group of tourists eyeing him nervously. It was clear that he could not casually buy a ticket unless he did something about his appearance. Ducking into a small store, he charged a pair of jeans and a tee shirt that cheerfully proclaimed:

“Come to St. Thomas.” In the crowded men’s room Adam found an empty stall and changed his shirt and pants. On the way out, he tossed José old clothes into the trash where they certainly belonged.

Looking about, Adam spotted the flight schedules, which were displayed on felt boards with white plastic letters.

There were two major carriers: American and Eastern. To his delight, Adam realized that he could easily make American’s nonstop flight to New York, which would leave at nine-twenty.

He got at the end of the line to buy his ticket.

The line crept forward at a snail’s pace, and Adam began to fear he would miss the plane.

“One-way ticket to New York,” he said when he finally reached the counter.

The girl glared at him as if she thought his casual dress, unshaved face, and lack of luggage a little odd, but all she said was, “How do you plan to pay?”

“Credit card,” said Adam as he pulled out his wallet, which had somehow snagged a piece of lemon peel. Embarrassed, Adam flicked it off and extracted his Visa card.

The girl looked at the card and requested some identification. Adam went back to his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license. The girl checked it, then showed it to the heavyset clerk at the next counter.

“The Visa card is for Schonberg, but the license reads Smyth,” the man said, coming over to Adam.

Beet red, Adam got out his real license plus his Arolen employment card that had his picture and handed them over. He tried to explain that a friend had entrusted him with his license.

“Would you step to the side, please?” the man said, taking Adam’s cards and disappearing through a door. Adam tried not to appear nervous as the girl continued to sell tickets to the rest of the people in line, eyeing Adam from time to time to make sure he was not about to leave.

It was nearly ten minutes before the clerk returned with an airline agent who told Adam he was Baldwin Jacob, the supervisor. He was holding Adam’s cards.

“We’ll issue you a ticket,” he said, “but the flight is full. You’ll have to go standby.”

Adam nodded. There was nothing else he could do. The clerk made out the ticket and pointedly asked Adam if he had any luggage.

“No,” said Adam. “I travel light when I’m on vacation.”

He walked over to a cafeteria and bought a couple of donuts and a cup of coffee, happy not to have to worry about the possibility of being drugged. Then he put through a call to the Carsons’. Just as he’d feared, Jennifer didn’t answer the phone. Instead, Mr. Carson’s baritone echoed over the wire.

“Hello,” said Adam more cheerfully than he felt. “This is Adam. Is Jennifer awake yet?”

“Jennifer is not here,” said Mr. Carson in a distinctly unfriendly voice.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t think you can reach her.”

“Look, I know you love your daughter,” said Adam, “but the fact of the matter is that I am her husband, and it is urgent that I speak with her.”