Just waiting for somebody to pick up a bomb.
I lit another cigarette and glanced now and then toward the baggage
claim area. The red bag was still there. All sorts of theories ran
through my head as to why it should still be there, and none satisfied
me.
I should not have been there, that much I knew; I should be with a
man named Amos Magaffey on Sixth Street at ten o'clock, discussing
something very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what could
I do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take the
bag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able to
live with myself.
No. I had to stay to keep the balance wheel stationary until--until
what?
A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out of
the entrance to stand on the stone steps beside me while he put on a
pair of dark glasses. A member of the airport police detail. I could
tell him. I could take him down to the little red bag and explain the
whole thing. Then it would be his baby and I would be off on my own
business.
But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and started
across the street to the parking area. I could have called to him,
"Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag." But
I didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claim
counter out of the side of my eye.
The attendant had picked up the bag and was walking with it up the ramp
to the rear of the air terminal. Picking up my own suitcase, I went
inside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bag
on the scales at the airline desk and say something to the clerk. The
clerk nodded and moved the bag to the rear room.
I could visualize the balance wheel once again rocking like crazy. How
many minutes--or seconds--were left? I was sweating when I moved to the
counter, and it wasn't because of the sunshine I'd been soaking in. I
had to get as close to the bag as I could if I was going to stop the
clock again.
"Can I help you?" the clerk asked.
"No. I'm waiting for someone."
I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against the
counter and reached out for the wheel. I found I could reach the
device, but it was far away. When I tried to dampen it, the wheel
escaped my grasp.
"Do you have my suitcase?"
I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The blonde in the plane stood
there looking very fresh and bright and unconcerned. In her right hand
she had a green baggage claim check.
The clerk took it, nodded, and in a moment brought out the overnight
case and set it on the scales. The girl thanked him, picked it up,
glanced at me indifferently, and then started for the entrance with it.
"Just a moment," I found myself saying, grabbing my bag and hurrying
after her.
* * * * *