Things happened fast after that. Once Sarah got inside the terminal, she
realized she still didn’t know where she was going. She paused by the door and pulled out the
envelope her ticket was in. Opening it,
she took a look at the destination.
Delta Flight 2525—BWI to—
“Atlanta?!” Sarah exclaimed.
She’d never been to Atlanta before, nor did she know anyone who lived
there. “What am I going to Georgia for?”
“Just make sure you do whatever I
say, no matter how crazy it sounds! And
believe me, this may get a little crazy before it’s all said and done.”
Tracy’s words repeated themselves in her head, and Sarah
resolved to follow her friend’s advice.
She glanced over at the check-in counters, then realized she didn’t have
any tickets to pick up or any bags to check.
Guess I can just head on in, then,
she told herself.
She made her way over to security for the second time that
day and the third time in two days. This
time, there was a really long line in front of her, and Sarah chafed at the
delay. The last thing she wanted was to
wait in line, especially right now, not knowing what was going on.
She was reminded of the scene on the platform. “Lubov, Zherdev, and…some other one,” she
repeated to herself. “If they’ve caught
her, they’ll come looking for me next!”
Sarah hadn’t gotten a very good look at the men—she wasn’t even sure
she’d seen them at all. They could be
anyone wandering through the terminal right now…they might even be in line with
her! The thought sent shivers running
down her spine, and she glanced warily at the other passengers all waiting in
line. Suddenly, they all seemed
suspicious. That man in the suit, on the
phone—businessman, or spy? That fat lady
with the large bun of gray hair on her head—grandmother, or spy cleverly
disguised? The teen on his MP3—student,
or spy receiving instructions—”
“Ticket?”
Sarah jumped—until she realized it was only the TSA official
speaking to her. The man had no smile on
his neatly shaven face, which sported a slight beard. His manner was very businesslike as he
repeated his request. “Ticket, please?”
“Oh, sure,” Sarah handed it to him, even having the presence
of mind to hand over her ID.
The TSA official looked at it. “Sarah Emery?” he said, a little emotion
coming into his voice. “You’re clear. Head on through.”
“Huh?”
“I said, you don’t have to go through security.” The man cracked a smile. “You’ve flown enough, we know you’re not a
terrorist.”
“Oh…alright, then!” This had never happened to Sarah before,
and she smiled. “Thank you!”
“Better hurry!” the man told her. “Your flight leaves in twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes?! Sarah took a look at the ticket. Sure enough, 11:22 was the listed time…and it
was 11:02 now.
“Oh, dear,” she said to herself. “And I’ve never been to this airport before,
either. I hope the gate’s easy enough to
find!”
Fortunately, her gate wasn’t far from security, and she’d
soon reached her destination. The
stewardess looked stern as she scanned her ticket. “You should have shown up earlier,” she
said. “You could have pre-boarded.”
“Pre-boarded?”
“Sure! All first class
passengers get to pre-board.”
Sarah took a closer look at her ticket. Sure enough, it was first class!
“Oh, thanks,” Sarah said as she made her way inside. Inwardly, she was elated. She never got to fly first class—ever!
When she got on, she saw that all the other seats were
full. She made her way forwards and soon
found hers, right on the aisle on the right side on the fourth row. She carefully placed her carry-on bag in the
rack, then sat down.
“Greetings!”
Sarah turned her head surprisedly to the right. There were only two passengers on this
row—her and the one on the window seat, a middle-aged lady with short, blond
hair in the shape of a crew cut, only it was curly. She was heavily made-up, and she had large,
gold earrings that looked to Sarah like they might pull her ears off. Her fingers, nails coated with some sort of
magenta polish, drummed steadily on her armrest as she spoke.
“I’m Andrea Hayes,” she said.
She spoke with the manner of a teacher, businesslike and…maybe a little
condescending at the same time, though Sarah didn’t take it that way. Looking at the woman, Sarah thought Hayes
could indeed be a teacher—she just had that look about her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Uh-oh, what do I say? Sarah wondered nervously. She couldn’t remember whether her ticket had
her name on it or someone else’s, and she knew better than to check. She tried to remember the name Tracy had
called her on the train, then decided to use that.
“Isabel,” she said.
“Isabel? My, what a
lovely name. Do you know, my
granddaughter’s named Isabel.”
“Oh, that’s nice!” said Sarah. “How old is she?”
“Just turned two yesterday…that’s what I was in Maryland
for. Would you like to see some
pictures?” The woman pulled out her
phone. “There she is!”
“Aw, how cute!” Sarah said, looking at the baby photos.
“Isn’t she a darling?” Hayes said. “I must say, Baltimore was a much easier trip
than many I’ve been on. In the last six
months, I’ve been to Seattle, Portland, and Los Angeles—all on separate trips! So much flying, I just had to get first class
this time. It really does a toll on you,
my dear. Why, this year, I...”
Hayes prattled on and on about her travels—visiting family or
teachers’ conferences. She was really
easy to talk to, and Sarah soon forgot to be nervous, in spite of her
situation. Flights were often boring for
Sarah, especially when she had someone uninteresting next to her. Nappers, TV watchers, and non-English
speakers (except Spanish—Sarah could practice with them) got boring fast. If there was someone more talkative, though,
it could make a flight fly by—figuratively as well as literally.
And Mrs. Hayes was quite interesting. Soon, Sarah felt like she’d known the lady
for years. She knew all about Mrs. Hayes’s
family, her extended family, her students at school, her travels, her cooking
exploits, her photography hobby, her favorite movies, her doll collection—all
that sort of thing. It was very
interesting—for a while anyway.
An hour into the flight, though, Mrs. Hayes began to get a
little boring. She was friendly, of
course, but Sarah felt like she just wanted to relax. So, when the TV screen on the seat in front
of her lit up, announcing she had a free show in turn for being a first class
flyer, Sarah pulled some headphones out of her pocket.
“Ooh, a free show,” she said.
“I think I’m going to watch something.”
“Aww, but child, you haven’t told me anything about yourself
yet!” said Mrs. Hayes. “I’m sorry I’ve gone
on about myself for so long—I feel I’ve taken no interest in you whatsoever—”
“Oh, that’s totally alright!” Sarah quickly said. “It was so interesting—but I need to get a
show started. We don’t have that much
longer to go, after all.” And, despite Mrs.
Hayes’s protests, she put in the headphones.
Six choices of what to watch popped up on the screen, but to
Sarah’s surprise, they were all old TV shows—dating back to the ‘60s and
‘70s. From left to right (three on top,
three on the bottom) her choices were:
·
Leave
It to Beaver
·
The
Andy Griffith Show
·
The
Brady Bunch
·
M*A*S*H
·
Bewitched
·
The
New Adventures of Annie Oakley
That one on the bottom right (the western) was flashing as if
it was recommended, but Sarah wasn’t really a western person. She’d seen M*A*S*H a few times before, so she
chose that one and settled back to watch Alan Alda and company.
The screen went black, temporarily. Then, there was a burst of music, and the
title came whirling its way onto the screen.
“The New Adventures of Annie Oakley!” a ‘50s-style announcer announced as
a volley of gunfire rang out in the background.
Huh, thought Sarah.
That’s not the one I picked. Oh, well.
I could watch anything right now.
“Starring Greta Gerbec as Annie,” the announcer continued, as
black-and-white paintings of the different characters appeared on the
screen. Knowing these types of shows,
Sarah doubted they bore much of a resemblance to the actual actors and
actresses. “Boyd Berwick as Annie’s
father, and Barrel as Annie’s horse.
Guest-starring Snidely Severs and Mortimer Malone in tonight’s thrilling
episode, Sixgun Showdown! And now,
before we begin, we have a little story for you all.”
The paintings faded into animation, as a narrator told the
story of what was going on.
“This is the story of a boy so slow they called him Sammy the
Snail. Sammy’s trouble was simple: no
energy. He didn’t know he should eat
meat, milk, eggs, fruit, vegetables, and Wonder Bread.”
Wonder Bread? Sarah perked up at those words. My
favorite!
The commercial continued on.
Sammy started eating Wonder Bread, and he went on to break the track
record to win the big race. Moral of the
story? Eat Wonder Bread. Of course, Sarah didn’t need any
encouragement.
The show itself started off with a bang!—or a few bangs,
literally. Two suspicious-looking
characters (whom Sarah guessed were played by Snidely Severs and Mortimer
Malone) robbed the First National Bank in whatever city the show was set
in. They rode off into the distance on
horses, as the distressed survivors at the bank wondered who they should
call. Exciting stuff, for sure, but
Sarah soon stopped paying attention.
Her thoughts went back to Tracy, and she wondered what had
happened at the train station. Had Tracy
gotten away safely? Had she been
captured? Cell phone use wasn’t allowed
in airplanes, so Sarah hadn’t checked to see if Tracy had tried to call, but
she knew Tracy hadn’t been in touch with her since before she got on the plane. And
what about me? Sarah wondered. Will I be alright?
“Oh, Annie, Annie?” came a voice on the screen. “Annie Oakley? Oh, hello, Barrel. Is Annie anywhere around?”
The sounds of shots seemed to indicate the answer was yes.
And what about Dad? Sarah knew she shouldn’t think about her father right now,
since there wasn’t anything she could do to help him—outside of following
Tracy’s instructions, that is. But she
couldn’t help it. Her father had never
been in danger before—not that she knew of, anyway.
“Hi, Mr. Oakley!” the actor on screen was saying. It was a kid, a boy of about fourteen, who
looked upset. “Is your daughter around?”
“Why, she’s just practicing her shooting, Will,” Oakley’s
father said. “What’s the matter?”
“Trouble, Mr. Oakley.
Big trouble, down at the bank!
Two men just held it up and robbed it, and they’re getting away—look,
there goes one of them now!”
The camera turned to show one of the suspicious-looking
characters riding away on horseback.
“Oh, my!” said Mr. Oakley.
“Annie? Annie, get your gun!—wait,
there she goes too!”
The camera turned back to show the fleeing horseman. Soon, another horse thundered onto the
screen, saddled by a much shorter rider who had long, done-up hair flowing from
under a bonnet. One hand held the
reins…the other held a gun.
I sure hope Dad’s alright, Sarah thought to herself. I hope
they’re not torturing him!
The camera zeroed in on the escaping outlaw. He suddenly rounded a bend, then hid behind a
rock. “Heh, heh, heh,” he chuckled to
himself in a villainous manner. “I’ll
let that Oakley girl get nice and close, then I’ll take her down before she
ever knows what happens! So much for the
fastest gun in the West!”
Exciting, suspenseful music played as Annie’s horse got
closer to the rock. The camera was still
only showing her back. It showed her
continue her ride to the rock—closer and closer she came—then—
The camera jerked up just as a volley of gunshots went off!
When will I get back to Minnesota, Sarah wondered. Or will
I ever get back to Minnesota? Where am I
being taken exactly, and can I outrun those spies? Aargh!
It was just too many questions. Sarah shuffled her foot nervously and stared
down at the ground, as on screen, the worried-looking bank president was shown
pacing back and forth. (You could tell
he was the bank president by the large sign on his desk that said A. P. Monroe,
bank president.) He looked up as the
sound of a door opening trickled into the room.
If only Tracy were here, Sarah told herself. She’d
know exactly what to do!
“We found these bills inside the moneybags with the stolen
loot,” the president said, handing it to the person on the other side of the
desk (off camera). “What do you think?”
“Looks phonier than a golden gopher!”
“Huh?!” Sarah jerked
her head up. “That sounds like—”
She gasped. The camera
shifted for the first time to show Annie Oakley up close. Only, the girl up on screen wasn’t Greta Gerbec. It was Tracy Turner!
The hair was different—those curls had to be from a wig—but
the face was exactly the same…as was the voice!
There was no way this could be an actress from the 1950s—it had to be
Tracy herself!
But how—what’s she doing in this
show—when was it made—Tracy stared intently at the screen, searching for answers.
The camera moved back to the bank president, who looked just
as shocked as Sarah right now. “Phony?”
he said. “How can you tell?”
“The forger made one mistake,” Tracy said, looking at the
bill. “His Washington engraving has a
scratch, right over where the left cheek’s supposed to be. Comes out looking like a jagged scar,
see? My guess is that Rial switched the
money before giving the bags to his partner.”
Now Sarah was interested, not necessarily in the story, but
in whatever strange role her friend had to play in the show. She stared intently as the bank president came
back on the screen.
“By this time, Rial’s probably fled back to Omaha,” the
president said. “He runs a gambling
house there. I don’t know who we can
find that’ll be big enough to stand up to him.”
“Leave it to me!” said Annie (or Tracy). “I can handle him.”
“You? You?”
“Sure,” said Annie.
“I’ve handled dozens of his kind,” and she rattled off a list of twelve
would-be gunfighters she’d defeated.
“—Stevens, Lone Wolf Brown, Lizard Eyes, and the Hayes Gang.”
“Alright,” said the president. “You might be our best bet at that. Get your gun, Annie, and get that money
back! You know what happens if we don’t
recover it. All the ranchers around here
will lose their homes.”
“Don’t worry!” said Annie.
“You can count on me!”
Within two minutes, as Sarah continued to watch, Annie was
packing for her trip. Her father stood
by, watching.
“You’ll be careful going to Omaha, won’t you?” he said. “Use special caution on the Missouri—you’ll
have to cross it to get there from Iowa.
Remember the advice I gave you about travelling?”
“Of course, Father,” Annie said, turning. “How could I forget? Tip nicely, smile at everyone you meet, and
never trust the person on your right in the stagecoach.”
“That’s right,” said her father. “You do that, and you’ll do just fine. What do you plan to do once you get to
Omaha?”
“Catch Rial,” said Annie.
“Recover the money.”
“You should have some fun while you’re there, too,” Mr.
Oakley said.
“Oh, I will, father,” said Annie. “I might go see a motion picture show at the theater.
I heard that Under Fiesta Stars is playing.”
“You should go see it,” Mr. Oakley agreed. “That Mr. Autry’s a talented actor. I only wish Sarah could go with you too.”
What???!!!! Did he just say my name?
Annie just smiled.
“Oh, I’ve got a feeling Sarah’ll be there,” she said. “You know her. She’s got a good head on her shoulders—knows
when to do something.”
Sarah’s mouth was opening wider and wider as the western
seemed more and more to be a private message to her. But right on cue, the other bank robber
appeared on screen again, walking into a bank in Omaha. In shocking fashion, he proceeded to pull off
a violent robbery, firing his gun at customers all over the bank before he
pulled out. Anyone watching the screen
at that moment might have had the same shocked face Sarah did—particularly if
they were expressive.
“Well, there goes Annie.” the announcer suddenly cut in, as
Tracy boarded a stagecoach. Seated on
the left, she waved goodbye to her father out the window as the announcer
continued. “Will she make it to Omaha
safely? Can she find Rial and get back
the stolen gold? Or, will this be the
first gunman too tough for her to handle?
Be sure to tune in next week, when Annie’s faced with a real dilemma in
Not Nice, Nebraska! And now, before we
go off the air, here’s Annie’s Tip of the Day!”
Tracy once again appeared on the screen, still in her Annie
Oakley costume. She started speaking,
but this time, there was something a little different about her voice. It was hers, alright, but there were no sound
effects or static mixed in with it. Her
tone sounded as if she was addressing someone in particular.
“Sarah!” she said.
“When you get to Atlanta, go straight to gate B13. You can trust anyone that offers to give you
a lift to it, and anyone you meet once you’ve gone in. Only, hurry Sarah! Don’t take time for anything once the plane
doors open! And remember, don’t trust
anybody else! Not even the person
sitting next to you!”
With that, Annie faded away, and the closing credits came on.
Unbeknownst to Sarah, Mrs. Hayes had become quite interested
in the show. When the “Tip of the Day”
had come on, her eyes had roved over to the TV screen. True, she couldn’t hear Tracy speaking, but
she could read lips. She got the message
perfectly.
“When I’m tracking down outlaws,” Annie said, “I always have
two slices of Wonder Bread first. It
contains as much muscle-building protein as roast beef, as much calcium for
bones and teeth as cottage cheese, as much phosphorous for cell metabolism as
an egg, and as much iron for red blood as three lamb chops. You can get yourself some Wonder Bread today
too! Just make sure to ask your mom for
it next time you go to your local grocer.
And remember kids, until next week, make your folks proud!”
The words Sarah heard and the words Tracy’s lips had been
forming had been two different things.
Mrs. Hayes sat back, satisfied that the Western had been nothing more
than some typical ‘50s TV show.
Sarah sat back, too, but she knew better. She snuck a brief glance at the seat next to
her. “Never
trust the person in the stagecoach on your right.” Is Mrs. Hayes a spy?
No, Sarah told herself.
She couldn’t be. She doesn’t seem at all like one.
Then again, Tracy never did all those
years…
“Show over?” Mrs. Hayes asked. “How was it?”
Sarah smiled bravely.
“Oh,” she said, “you know. Better
than nothing!”
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” crackled the
loudspeaker. “This is your pilot
speaking. We’ve begun our descent into
Atlanta and should be landing within the next twenty minutes. I repeat, we’ve begun our descent into
Atlanta and should be landing in the next twenty minutes. Thank you for flying with Delta.”
“Oh, I can’t wait until we land!” said Mrs. Hayes. “I long to get home. Is Atlanta your home too, dear? Or are you just connecting to somewhere
else?”
SHE IS A SPY!!! a voice in Sarah’s head
screamed. No, she’s just friendly! another
one screamed. Sarah didn’t know which
one was right, but she did know one thing.
Mrs. Hayes didn’t need to know exactly what was up, whether she was
alright or not.
“It’s hard to say,” Sarah answered vaguely. “What is home? When you’ve been as many places as I have,
home becomes kind of a relative thing.”
Totally meaningless, she thought to herself, but polite enough she might accept it.
Mrs. Hayes didn’t accept it.
“You’ve moved around a lot?” she asked.
“I’ve moved…not a lot,” Sarah said, ending her sentence
there.
“But some,” Mrs. Hayes frowned. “You know, child, I’ve moved several
times. I always wonder what it would be
like to live the same place one’s entire life.”
Oh, I could tell you exactly what it
would be like, Sarah
thought to herself, but I’m not going to. “Me too!” she said.
For the next several minutes, Mrs. Hayes continued to bombard
the girl with questions. And for the
next several minutes, Sarah continued to sidestep them brilliantly. She answered every single one of them without
really answering them, giving replies that counted as answers without revealing
any information about herself at all.
Through it all, Mrs. Hayes smiled, but Sarah couldn’t help wondering
just what her travelling companion was thinking.
She soon got a better idea.
The plane finally came down and, after what seemed an interminable
length of time, taxied up to the gate.
There, it was still another couple minutes or so before the door
opened. The front several travelers
stood up in anticipation of their escape, and Sarah joined them.
“Where’s your next gate?” said Mrs. Hayes.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Sarah said. The door opened at that moment, and the
travelers started to push their way out.
“Let me help you find it then,” Mrs. Hayes insisted. “I’ve been to this airport a bunch of times—I
know where all the gates are.”
“Uh, no thank you,” said Sarah. Only one person was left in Row C right now,
and Sarah pushed past him. She gave a
brief nod at the pilot, who thanked her for flying, then ran up the exit ramp,
swerving past other travelers right and left.
Behind her, she could hear Mrs. Hayes. “Isabel?
Hey, Isabel! Come back!”
That’s just too friendly, Sarah thought to herself. That TV show had been a message, and that
message had been to escape, fast. Sarah
ran out of the gate and glanced quickly around for a number.
D13!
At any other time, Sarah might have been amused about the
coincidence (that was supposed to be the gate for her Philadelphia flight the
previous day). Right now, she realized
that she had no idea where Terminal B was.
She came to a dead stop at the hallway and glanced right, then left.
Where do I go?
“Going to B13?” a friendly voice asked.
Sarah turned to the left, just in time to see one of those
airport vehicles drive up. The driver
looked like just a typical airport worker—dressed somewhat casually and wearing
a reflective safety vest—but Sarah knew he must be connected with Tracy somehow. She hopped aboard gratefully.
“Yes, please!” she said.
“Hold on tight!”
Mrs. Hayes emerged from the tunnel just in time to see the
vehicle’s taillights as it sped away, much faster than usual. “Isabel, come back!” she yelled. At the same time, she knew it was useless.
Dropping her bag, she pulled out her cellphone and quickly
reset it from airplane mode. “Firefly?”
she said. “I just arrived. The girl’s in an airport vehicle speeding
west towards Terminal A. Have agents
intercept.”
“Will do,” came the voice over the phone.
The speeding driver navigated his vehicle through traffic like
a NASCAR driver getting through The Big One at Daytona. His vehicle beeping, he swerved past
businessmen, sports fans, vacationers, and just about anyone else who happened
to be in his way. He was just driving
past an escalator—
When, suddenly, a man in a suit leapt down off it and landed
in the back!
“Stop right there!” he demanded.
The driver stopped, then turned around, the picture of
surprise. “Oh, hello!” he said. “Need a ride somewhere?”
“Never mind that—where’s the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The girl you picked up at B13.”
“I didn’t pick up a girl at B13.”
“What?!” The man
looked around. Sure enough, Sarah wasn’t
on the vehicle.
“Where is she, then?”
“Where’s who?” The
driver looked puzzled. “Listen, buddy,
are you sure you’re alright—”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mrs. Hayes, in the meantime, was running in the direction the
airport vehicle had gone. She wasn’t
very fast, and the vehicle was soon out of sight, but she kept her run up—just
in case Sarah tried to double back.
All at once, her phone rang.
She answered, quickly.
“This is Tomato Soup—”
“You NINCOMPOOP!!!” screamed an irate voice on the other
end. “You said that [bleep] airport
vehicle was headed west, towards Terminal A!”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Hayes, smirking triumphantly. “I’m on my way there right now—”
“Then why did a vehicle with her on it just pass me, in Terminal C?”
“A vehicle passed you—”
“You heard me!” screamed the voice. “Why, why?”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Hayes.
“Come to think of it, there was a second vehicle heading the opposite
direction. The one going towards
Terminal A was the one that was speeding, though, and I just thought—”
“I’ll deal with you later, you bumbling idiot!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sitting just behind the driver, Sarah watched the crowds of
people fly past. She’d never gotten a
ride on one of these vehicles before, and she was enjoying it immensely. As they started through Terminal C, she
whispered indistinguishably to the driver—
“Looks like we gave them the slip.”
The man didn’t turn around, but he whispered back, grimly,
“Not by a long shot.”
“Huh?”
“See that fellow in the suit behind us. The one talking on the phone—”
Sarah squinted. “The
one waving his arm like he’s trying to flag a taxi?”
“Naw. He’s just
mad. That’s Firefly.”
“Firefly?” Sarah looked quizzically back at him. “Who’s that?”
“Only the leader of Menace’s Atlanta chapter,” the man calmly
replied. “They’ve got people all over
the U.S. This means we’ll be followed to
the gate.”
“Followed to the gate?!” exclaimed Sarah. She wasn’t feeling so great now. “But then I won’t be able to hide—”
“Don’t worry,” whispered the man. “Just trust me.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the vehicle drove into Terminal D, Sarah saw they were
indeed being followed. Another airport
vehicle came after them, and this one wasn’t being driven by an airport
employee. He had the vest on, but he was
too fancily dressed—and Sarah was pretty sure airport employees didn’t normally
wear sunglasses.
“They’re gaining on us!” she said.
“That’s because they can just follow our route, without
swerving around people,” the driver said.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost there!”
“We are?” Glancing up,
Sarah saw the gates ahead of her. She
just had time to read D13 when suddenly, the airport vehicle stopped.
“Have a nice day!” the man said, as she got off. “And hurry!” he whispered.
Sarah looked back. The
second vehicle was still well behind, but it was gaining quickly—especially now
that she’d stopped. She ran towards the
gate, not even taking the time to check the flight information. A lone Delta employee had the door open and
was just sweeping some dust out of the doorway when Sarah came running up.
“Get inside,” he said, holding the door just wide enough for
her to enter. She darted through, and
the door closed behind her, cutting her off completely from whatever was taking
place in the terminal.
The lights in the gate weren’t on, but a bit of light came up
ahead, at the end of the ramp. She ran
down the passage, thinking as she did so that it was much shorter than she was
used to. That light was getting brighter
and brighter! Sarah rounded a curve,
and—
“WHOA!!!”
—fell straight out of the empty gate! There wasn’t a plane waiting for her!
However, there was a bag cart, attached to one of those
little airport tugs. Running over to the
window, her pursuer saw her fall into it.
“Clam Chowder here,” he said into his phone. “Girl is in bag cart, speeding directly away
from Gate A.”
“Good work, Clam Chowder.
We’ll intercept her shortly!”
Clam Chowder watched as the tug and cart headed away from the
gate. They made their way into the open
area where planes prepared to taxi to the runway. Planes normally went to the right, but the tug
turned left—
And crashed right into a fire truck!
The tug came uncoupled from the bag cart, tipped over, and
came to a stop. The doors to the fire
engine opened, and six people dressed out, all wearing firesuits.
Only, they weren’t firemen, and they weren’t
there to help.
