The Millionaires

49

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Joey pleaded through her cell phone as her car tore around the corner in the USAir parking lot.

“How many different ways you need me to say it?” Debbie asked. As a USAir ticket counter agent, Debbie was used to dealing with short-tempered customers. But as Joey’s oldest high school friend, she knew this was one who couldn’t be ignored and sent to the back of the line. “The computers froze – the whole system’s down. Stop giving me heartache. They’ll have it back up in ten minutes.”

“I don’t have ten minutes,” Joey said as she screeched into an open spot. “I need it now.”

“Yeah, well, I need a push-up bra that works minor miracles and a husband who remembers how to make my toes curl in bed, but sometimes you’re stuck with what you’ve got.”

“What about frequent-flier miles? Can’t you track them by that?”

“Joey, the computers are down – it’s all on the same system. Besides, how do you even know they’re on USAir?”

“Why else would you leave your car in the USAir parking lot?” Joey asked as she cut the engine. Taking one last look at the blue triangle on the electronic screen, she hopped outside, squinted in the slowly rising sun, and feverishly scanned the packed-to-capacity lot. According to this, the car should be right-

There.

In the corner… close in toward the terminal – Gallo’s government-issued navy Ford – parked illegally in a handicapped spot.

“Crap,” Joey whispered as she turned back and yanked her bags from the trunk. Tacklebox under one arm; duffel bag under the other. With the earpiece still dangling from her ear, she ran off-balance toward the terminal. Dashing across the crosswalk, she cut off two honking taxicabs. “What about searching by government-issued tickets? Or on the manifest list?” she called to Debbie. “Isn’t that how you found out who Marsha’s lowlife husband was sitting next to?”

“How many different ways can I say it? It’s all on the same-”

“What about the LEO list?” Joey asked, referring to the airline’s list of law enforcement officers. “Don’t they have to file special paperwork if they want to travel with their guns?”

There was a pause on the other line. “Y’know what…” Debbie began. “Hold on a sec. Lemme call the gate…”

Shoving her way through the automatic doors and ignoring the baggage claim carousels, Joey made a sharp right and flew up the escalator stairs two at a time. At the top, along the ticket counters, she surveyed the sparse early morning crowd. Businessman in a rumpled suit, high school student in an oversized sweatshirt, old lady in a pale yellow turtleneck – but no one who resembled Gallo or DeSanctis.

“You better thank the Lord for useless government paperwork,” a familiar voice sang in her ear.

“You found them?” she asked Debbie.

“I swear to you, sometimes I think some of this stuff was invented by the CIA to keep track of us…”

“So what’d you-”

“According to our records, Agent James Gallo and Agent Paul DeSanctis just hit the LEO list on our 6:27 A.M. flight to Miami.”

Joey went right for her watch. 6:31. “Are they-?”

“Long gone.”

“When’s the next-?”

“Hour and a half. I already told them to book you a seat as soon as the system goes up.”

Shaking her head, Joey checked the TV screen. Miami – Flight 412 – Departed. “How the hell did I miss them?”

“Don’t wet your eyes,” Debbie said. “All they have is a head start.”