The Last Witness

[THREE]

Washington Dulles International Airport, Virginia

Sunday, November 16, 10:17 P.M.

“Just one more second and we should be done,” the gray-haired, plump female American Airlines desk agent said helpfully, smiling as she tapped keys on the computer terminal. “You really should consider joining our frequent-flyer program. It keeps all your information handy to speed up this process. Plus you get miles toward trips, so as you zip right through the process, eventually you’ll travel for free!”

The woman looked up and smiled broadly at the nicely dressed young woman with the pleasant face, intense green eyes, and, under a GEORGETOWN HOYAS ball cap, chestnut brown hair that fell softly to her shoulders. There was a backpack hanging by one strap over her right shoulder.

Will you please just hurry up and get me on the plane!

“Perhaps later,” the young woman said.

The agent nodded, then turned her attention back to the computer terminal.

I wonder what she’d say if she knew I’m a platinum-level member and have enough miles banked in my account for probably ten first-class tickets.

“You also should seriously look at getting yourself a passport,” the desk agent added helpfully. “It’s not required for Saint Thomas-your valid driver’s license is all the ID you need-but it does speed the process, too.”

Got one.

But sirens would probably go off if you scanned it.

“You’re just going to love the Virgin Isles,” the agent went on. “Hurricane season is as good as over, and you’re there right before the high season starts, mid-December, when it gets really expensive.”

I know. I was just there for two weeks.

“Do you like living in Philadelphia? So much history.”

And crime. Can’t forget that.

Just like our nation’s capital.

The young woman looked as if she were trying to be patient. But the talkative agent, who seemed to be attempting to single-handedly deliver friendly customer service for the entire airline, unfortunately was coming across as increasingly annoying.

Okay, I’ll play along.

“I prefer living here on the Hill much better,” the young woman said. “I don’t know what I’ll do when my internship ends, but Georgetown Law sounds like it might work.”

“Politics. Now, that must be exciting. You know this airport was named for John Foster Dulles, who was secretary of the State Department.”

Now she’s giving a history lesson? Ugh.

Can I just get my ticket, please?

I guess she means well.

Well, except for when I told her I needed the card to sign declaring that I’m checking a firearm.

She about wet her pants. “You have a pistol? And you travel with it?”

Then it really made her mad when I corrected her by quoting the regulations, telling her it was okay to have both the unloaded gun and its ammo in the same bag, as long as they were in a locked case.

“I looked it up on the Internet.”

She practically hissed, “Well, we’ll let our friends at TSA clear that.”

She wasn’t quite so chatty after hanging up with them, having learned that I was right.

The American Airlines desk agent held out a paper ticket.

“Okay, you’re all set,” she said, her tone now professional. “Your first leg, I have you ticketed to Miami on flight six-eight-eight with a connecting flight, five-oh-four, the first flight out to Saint Thomas. I have your bag checked all the way through to your final, SST.” She pulled back to show the back of the ticket. “I’ve stuck your bag tag here, on the back of your ticket. And your inbound”-she paused and glanced at the young woman-“that’s your return flight, I have you booked for next Thursday.”

“Thank you very much,” the young woman said, smiling warmly as she took the ticket. “You’ve been most helpful. I do appreciate it.”

The desk agent smiled back.

“And here’s your ID and debit card,” the agent then said, her tone again cheerful. “Have a nice vacation.”

Well, that seems to have mended the bridge.

“Thank you again very much,” the young woman said.

“Oh, and by the way: Happy birthday, Miss Stewart!”

The young woman looked up. “Excuse me?”

“That’s okay. I see you’re being shy. But celebrate life! Congrats on turning twenty-one last week. It should be a happy, exciting time!”

Yes, it should, she thought, carefully placing the ID and prepaid Visa debit card in her leather clutch near the zippered pocket that held the IDs and debit cards of two other young women.

I’d share that with Alexis Stewart, if she hadn’t stumbled back to Mary’s House and overdosed last month, having never gotten over those years of being raped in foster care.

And with Krystal and all the others. .

“Well, thank you,” the young woman said, forcing a smile. “It is. This trip actually is a birthday gift. I’m just a bit harried right now.”

“Don’t you worry. You’ll figure out this travel stuff soon enough. You’re young. Have a nice flight.”