A welcoming committee of two scraggy dogs appeared at the edge of the beach and began to bark loudly. A light went on in the nearest house. When Adam struggled to his feet, the dogs dashed out of sight for a moment, only to reappear and bark more insistently. Adam ignored them. He untied Alan and got the man standing.
Alan held his head as Adam led him up the beach. Just within the shelter of the palms, they came upon a ramshackle house with a beaten-up half-ton pickup parked outside. Adam peered hungrily inside the cab. No keys were dangling from the ignition. He decided to knock on the door of the house and take his chances. The dogs were barking wildly now, nipping at his legs.
As he walked up the steps, a light went on and a face appeared at the window. Adam checked his back pocket to make sure his wallet was safe. A moment later the door opened. The man who opened it was stripped to the waist and barefoot. He had a gun in his hand, an old revolver with a mother-of-pearl handle.
“No hablo much español,” said Adam, trying to smile. The man did not smile back.
“Me puede dar un ride al aeropuerto,” said Adam, turning slightly and pointing toward the truck.
The man looked at Adam as if he were crazy. Then he made a waving motion of dismissal with the pistol and started to close the door.
“Por favor,” pleaded Adam. Then, in a combination of Spanish and English, he rapidly tried to explain how he’d been lost at sea on a sailboat with a sick friend and that they had to get to the airport immediately. Pulling out his wallet, he began counting out soggy bills. That finally perked the man’s interest. He put the gun into his pocket and allowed Adam to lead him down to the beach.
In the midst of his frantic attempts to capture the man’s interest, Adam had had an idea. When he got to the beach, he picked up the bowline of the Hobie Cat and put it into the Puerto Rican’s hand. At the same time he struggled to explain to the man that the boat was his if he took them to the airport.
The Puerto Rican finally seemed to comprehend. A broad smile appeared on his face. Gleefully, he pulled the boat higher on the beach and lashed it to one of the coconut palms. Then he went back to the house, presumably to dress.
Adam lost no time in getting Alan into the cab of the truck. Almost immediately the Puerto Rican reappeared, swinging his keys. He started up the truck, glancing warily at Alan, who was slumped in his seat, and at the point of drifting off to sleep again. Adam tried to explain that his friend was sick, but he soon gave up, deciding it was easier to pretend that he, too, had fallen asleep. He sat with his eyes closed until they reached the airport. Indicating that he wanted to be dropped at the Eastern departure area, he began to worry how on earth he could explain Alan’s and his appearance to the ticket clerk.
The truck came to a stop, and Adam touched Alan’s shoulder. This time it was easier to wake him up.
“Muchas gracias,” Adam said as they got out.
“De nada,” called the driver, and roared away.
“OK,” said Adam, taking Alan by the arm. “This is the last lap.” He walked into the almost empty terminal. A few taxis and an ambulance idled by the entrance, but it was too early for many departing tourists. Adam surveyed the old-fashioned building and seated Alan at an empty shoeshine stand. Then he went over to the ticket counter.
Looking up at the schedule, he saw that the next Eastern flight to Miami was in two hours. A small sign said “For After Hours, Use Phone.” Adam picked up the receiver next to the sign. When the agent answered, he told Adam that he’d be right out. Sure enough, by the time Adam hung up, a man in a clean and pressed brown uniform emerged from a door behind the counter. When he saw Adam, his smile faltered.
Adam was acutely conscious of his ragged appearance. The ride in the truck had almost dried his clothes, but seeing the agent’s reaction, he decided he’d better come up with a good story. Hesitating only a moment, he launched into a long explanation that featured an end-of-vacation party with lots of booze and a last-minute sail. He and his friend had washed up on a beach miles from their hotel and then had hitched a ride to the airport. Adam said they had to be at work the next day and that their luggage would follow when the rest of their group flew back.
“It’s been a hell of a vacation,” he added.
The agent nodded as if he understood and said there was plenty of space available. Adam asked if there were any earlier flights to the States and was told that Delta had a flight to Atlanta in an hour.
As far as Adam was concerned, the sooner they got off the island the better. He asked for directions to Delta and was told to go to the next building. Deciding Alan was best off where he was, Adam hurried to the next terminal, where there were a number of travelers waiting to check in.
Adam joined the end of the line. When he got to the counter, the agent eyed him uneasily, but Adam repeated his now practiced story. Again, the agent seemed to believe him.
“First-class or coach?” he asked.
Adam looked at the man, wondering if he were trying to be funny. But then, remembering that Arolen paid his Visa card charges, he said, “First-class, of course.”
Adam scanned the terminal nervously as the man wrote up the tickets, but he didn’t spot anyone who appeared to have been sent by MTIC.
When the agent had finished, Adam said, “We could use a wheelchair. My friend really got banged up when we tipped over in the surf.”
“Oh my gosh,” said the agent. “I’ll see what I can do.”
In less than five minutes he was back with the wheelchair.
Adam thanked him and set off for the other building to get Alan.
From a vantage point on the mezzanine overlooking the Delta ticket counter, two ambulance attendants dressed in white uniforms watched as Adam disappeared from sight. The fact that he was pushing a wheelchair suggested that Iseman could not be far away.
The two men quickly descended to the terminal floor and hurried outside to the ambulance, where they told the driver to radio Mr. Burkett that the subjects had been spotted. The taller of the attendants, a burly man with a blond crew cut, pulled two collapsible gurneys from the back of the ambulance, while his partner stuffed a number of syringes into a medical bag.
Back in the terminal, they checked the gate number for the Delta flight to Atlanta and set out for Concourse B.
When Adam got back to the shoeshine stand, he was horrified to find the bench empty. Frantically, he ran the wheelchair back toward the Eastern counter, where he spotted Alan trying to talk to the agent, who was telling him that he was in Puerto Rico, not Miami, but that he could give him a reservation to Miami if he wanted one.
“He’s with me,” explained Adam, helping Alan into the chair.
“The man thinks he’s in Miami,” said the agent.
“He’s been through a lot,” said Adam. “You know, the shipwreck…” He let his voice trail off and started back to Delta.
“What am I doing in Puerto Rico?” asked Alan. Although his diction was still slurred, he was the most alert he’d been since Adam had talked to him at the Fjord departure terminal.
With only twenty minutes before flight time, Adam pushed Alan at a rapid pace. A tour group with gaudy shirts was noisily assembled in front of the Delta counter. Having the people around gave Adam a sense of safety. Going through security before boarding the plane, Adam helped Alan out of the wheelchair so he could go through the metal detector. The guard eyed them suspiciously but didn’t say a word. Once they were through and on their way to the gate, Adam felt a growing sense of excitement. He’d done it. In a few hours they’d be landing in the States.
The floor of the concourse angled downward and Adam now had to restrain the wheelchair from rolling forward on its own accord. Ahead was a water fountain and rest rooms, and Adam considered stopping; they had nearly twenty minutes to spare. He noticed a small sign on the floor next to the men’s room door, indicating that the rest rooms were being cleaned. Adam decided to do his drinking and peeing on the plane.