Mindbend

Adam was acutely conscious of his ragged appearance. The ride in the truck had almost dried his clothes, but seeing the agent’s reaction, he decided he’d better come up with a good story. Hesitating only a moment, he launched into a long explanation that featured an end-of-vacation party with lots of booze and a last-minute sail. He and his friend had washed up on a beach miles from their hotel and then had hitched a ride to the airport. Adam said they had to be at work the next day and that their luggage would follow when the rest of their group flew back.

“It’s been a hell of a vacation,” he added.

The agent nodded as if he understood and said there was plenty of space available. Adam asked if there were any earlier flights to the States and was told that Delta had a flight to Atlanta in an hour.

As far as Adam was concerned, the sooner they got off the island the better. He asked for directions to Delta and was told to go to the next building. Deciding Alan was best off where he was, Adam hurried to the next terminal, where there were a number of travelers waiting to check in.

Adam joined the end of the line. When he got to the counter, the agent eyed him uneasily, but Adam repeated his now practiced story. Again, the agent seemed to believe him.

“First-class or coach?” he asked.

Adam looked at the man, wondering if he were trying to be funny. But then, remembering that Arolen paid his Visa card charges, he said, “First-class, of course.”

Adam scanned the terminal nervously as the man wrote up the tickets, but he didn’t spot anyone who appeared to have been sent by MTIC.

When the agent had finished, Adam said, “We could use a wheelchair. My friend really got banged up when we tipped over in the surf.”

“Oh my gosh,” said the agent. “I’ll see what I can do.”

In less than five minutes he was back with the wheelchair.

Adam thanked him and set off for the other building to get Alan.

• • •

From a vantage point on the mezzanine overlooking the Delta ticket counter, two ambulance attendants dressed in white uniforms watched as Adam disappeared from sight. The fact that he was pushing a wheelchair suggested that Iseman could not be far away.

The two men quickly descended to the terminal floor and hurried outside to the ambulance, where they told the driver to radio Mr. Burkett that the subjects had been spotted. The taller of the attendants, a burly man with a blond crew cut, pulled two collapsible gurneys from the back of the ambulance, while his partner stuffed a number of syringes into a medical bag.

Back in the terminal, they checked the gate number for the Delta flight to Atlanta and set out for Concourse B.

When Adam got back to the shoeshine stand, he was horrified to find the bench empty. Frantically, he ran the wheelchair back toward the Eastern counter, where he spotted Alan trying to talk to the agent, who was telling him that he was in Puerto Rico, not Miami, but that he could give him a reservation to Miami if he wanted one.

“He’s with me,” explained Adam, helping Alan into the chair.

“The man thinks he’s in Miami,” said the agent.

“He’s been through a lot,” said Adam. “You know, the shipwreck . . .” He let his voice trail off and started back to Delta.

“What am I doing in Puerto Rico?” asked Alan. Although his diction was still slurred, he was the most alert he’d been since Adam had talked to him at the Fjord departure terminal.

With only twenty minutes before flight time, Adam pushed Alan at a rapid pace. A tour group with gaudy shirts was noisily assembled in front of the Delta counter. Having the people around gave Adam a sense of safety. Going through security before boarding the plane, Adam helped Alan out of the wheelchair so he could go through the metal detector. The guard eyed them suspiciously but didn’t say a word. Once they were through and on their way to the gate, Adam felt a growing sense of excitement. He’d done it. In a few hours they’d be landing in the States.

The floor of the concourse angled downward and Adam now had to restrain the wheelchair from rolling forward on its own accord. Ahead was a water fountain and rest rooms, and Adam considered stopping; they had nearly twenty minutes to spare. He noticed a small sign on the floor next to the men’s room door, indicating that the rest rooms were being cleaned.

Adam decided to do his drinking and peeing on the plane.

He had slowed to a normal walk and was about to continue on when out of the corner of his eye he caught a sudden movement. Just as he began to turn his head, someone grabbed him from behind, crushing his arms against his torso. Before Adam could respond, he was lifted off the floor.

Adam tried to twist as he cried out, but he was rammed directly against the closed door of the men’s room, hitting it with his chest and forehead. The impact threw open the door, and both Adam and his attacker fell headfirst onto the tile floor.