Almost at once the truck began to roll. It was well away from the pier before Adam worked his head clear of the trash. The junk cushioned his ride, and he was not disturbed by the bumpy road. But after a few minutes the tropical sun turned the truck’s metal shell into a broiling oven. Adam began to sweat, and by the time the truck got to the landfill he didn’t care what happened to him as long as he could get out. He was dimly aware of a diesel whining beneath him as the back of the truck began to lift. A moment later he shot onto an enormous pile of trash. He got to his feet in time to see his truck lumber away.
No one had seen him leave the ship. He was safe. Looking about, he could see the tiny island airport two hundred yards to his right. To his left, the blue Caribbean stretched as far as he could see.
Dusting himself off as best he could, Adam started walking to the terminal.
The airport was a casual affair with an entrance crowded with colorfully painted taxis. As Adam started inside, he saw a group of tourists eyeing him nervously. It was clear that he could not casually buy a ticket unless he did something about his appearance. Ducking into a small store, he charged a pair of jeans and a tee shirt that cheerfully proclaimed: “Come to St. Thomas.” In the crowded men’s room Adam found an empty stall and changed his shirt and pants. On the way out, he tossed José old clothes into the trash where they certainly belonged.
Looking about, Adam spotted the flight schedules, which were displayed on felt boards with white plastic letters. There were two major carriers: American and Eastern. To his delight, Adam realized that he could easily make American’s nonstop flight to New York, which would leave at nine-twenty. He got at the end of the line to buy his ticket.
The line crept forward at a snail’s pace, and Adam began to fear he would miss the plane.
“One-way ticket to New York,” he said when he finally reached the counter.
The girl glared at him as if she thought his casual dress, unshaved face, and lack of luggage a little odd, but all she said was, “How do you plan to pay?”
“Credit card,” said Adam as he pulled out his wallet, which had somehow snagged a piece of lemon peel. Embarrassed, Adam flicked it off and extracted his Visa card.
The girl looked at the card and requested some identification. Adam went back to his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license. The girl checked it, then showed it to the heavyset clerk at the next counter.
“The Visa card is for Schonberg, but the license reads Smyth,” the man said, coming over to Adam.
Beet red, Adam got out his real license plus his Arolen employment card that had his picture and handed them over. He tried to explain that a friend had entrusted him with his license.
“Would you step to the side, please?” the man said, taking Adam’s cards and disappearing through a door. Adam tried not to appear nervous as the girl continued to sell tickets to the rest of the people in line, eyeing Adam from time to time to make sure he was not about to leave.
It was nearly ten minutes before the clerk returned with an airline agent who told Adam he was Baldwin Jacob, the supervisor. He was holding Adam’s cards.
“We’ll issue you a ticket,” he said, “but the flight is full. You’ll have to go standby.”
Adam nodded. There was nothing else he could do. The clerk made out the ticket and pointedly asked Adam if he had any luggage.
“No,” said Adam. “I travel light when I’m on vacation.”
He walked over to a cafeteria and bought a couple of donuts and a cup of coffee, happy not to have to worry about the possibility of being drugged. Then he put through a call to the Carsons ’. Just as he’d feared, Jennifer didn’t answer the phone. Instead, Mr. Carson’s baritone echoed over the wire.
“Hello,” said Adam more cheerfully than he felt. “This is Adam. Is Jennifer awake yet?”
“Jennifer is not here,” said Mr. Carson in a distinctly unfriendly voice.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t think you can reach her.”
“Look, I know you love your daughter,” said Adam, “but the fact of the matter is that I am her husband, and it is urgent that I speak with her.”
There was a pause as Mr. Carson apparently made up his mind. “She’s not here. She and her mother just left for the Julian Clinic. They are admitting her this morning.”
“Admitting her?” repeated Adam with alarm. “Why is she being admitted? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” said Mr. Carson. “And that’s why I think you should leave her alone for a few days. After that, you two can iron out your differences. But frankly, Adam, your being away at this time is very upsetting.”
“Why? What’s going on?” said Adam, trying to control his fear.
“Jennifer had a repeat amniocentesis,” said Mr. Carson, “and it was again positive. She’s decided to have an abortion.”
Adam felt something snap. “She doesn’t need an abortion,” he shouted.
“That’s your opinion,” said Mr. Carson calmly. “It is not ours or Jennifer’s, and under the circumstances, there’s not a lot you can do about it.”
There was a click. The line was dead.
In a panic, Adam tried to call Jennifer at the clinic, only to learn that she had not been assigned a room yet and, no, patients could not be paged.
Adam slammed the phone down. There was still a half hour before flight time. He tried calling Vandermer, but was told he was in surgery.
Leaving the phone booth, Adam ran back to the American Airlines counter, which was now jammed with people trying to check in for the flight. Pushing and shoving, he managed to get to the front of the line and asked to speak to the supervisor.
It was several minutes before Mr. Jacob appeared. Not even trying to conceal his rising hysteria, Adam told the man he had to get to New York because his wife was going to have a baby.
The supervisor took Adam’s ticket and without saying anything checked the computer. “We’ll do the best we can, but, as I said, the flight is fully booked.”
Adam didn’t know what to do. Jacob obviously wasn’t going to put out any extraordinary effort for his sake. Adam stood there, trying to think what he could do. Then he ran back to the telephone and put in a call to an old friend from college, Harvey Hatfield. Harvey had finished law school and was working at a big Wall Street firm. Without going into details, Adam told Harvey that his wife was going to have an abortion and he wanted to stop her.
Harvey seemed to think he was kidding. “So why are you calling a firm that specializes in corporate mergers?” he asked.
“Jesus, Harvey, I’m serious.”
“Well, you’d better get someone who specializes in litigation. Try Emmet Redford. He’s a friend of my father.”
“Thanks,” said Adam as his flight was announced over the loudspeaker, the flight he hoped to be on. He dropped the receiver and ran back to the counter, where he practically flung himself at the clerk he’d originally approached.
“Please, Miss, I’ve got to get on the plane. My wife is having a baby and it’s going to die unless I get to New York.”
For the first time, Adam had the feeling that someone was taking pity on him. The girl stared into his frantic eyes and said, “I’ll put you on top of the standby list.”
Adam allowed himself a little hope, but a few more passengers arrived breathlessly and were given boarding passes. Then a portly man showed up with a walkie-talkie. He went through the boarding gate and pulled it closed behind him.
“Mr. Schonberg,” called Carol, the airline clerk.