"Houston? You live there?"
"I live there," Alastair confirmed. "Our corporate offices are there."
There was a hustle of motion near the front, and Dar got a glimpse of the crew being crowded out the door, surrounded by the soldiers. She got a look at the pilot's face, and saw utter fear there. "What's going on there?" she asked, pointing at the door.
"That's not your concern ma'am." The other customs officer studied the rest of her ID. "I see you have a Florida driver's license in here." He glanced up at her. "Can I ask what that's for?"
"Driving," Dar answered. "You need one. It's the law."
The officer looked hard at her. "You need a Florida license in Texas? That's news to me. What about you, Roger?"
"News to me too," the other officer said. "Can you explain why you have a Florida license if you live in Texas?"
"I don't live in Texas." Dar was starting to find the conversation irritating. "I live in Florida, at the address on the license." She pointed at the passport. "That's why the passport was issued in Miami, too. Flying to Texas to get one would have been pointless."
"But you were going to Texas?" The man ignored her sarcasm.
"We were going to Texas because it has a country on its border we could fly into." Dar explained. "And we were trying to get home. But trust me, I would be a lot happier to be in Miami." She paused. "Where I live. At the address on the license."
"I'm not, given this conversation," Alastair said. "I'd rather have played poker with the agents in Laredo."
The first officer swung around to him. "You may think this is funny, but I can assure you it's not."
"I don't find it funny at all," Alastair shot back. "Considering you've had our names for four hours and a five second visit to Google would have identified us and the company we work for, and since we've got to now go bust our asses fixing things for the government I'd just appreciate it if you agree we are who the passports say we are and let us get on with it."
"Alastair, you're getting grumpy in your old age," Dar remarked. "C'mon, the only pressing thing we have to deal with is getting the government payroll out and bringing the systems back up for the Pentagon. I'm sure they'll understand we had to spend time with customs."
Alastair sighed again. "Bring back the fellas with the guns."
The customs officer studied Alastair's passport. "Do you have anything to declare?" he asked. "I assume they didn't get you entry cards."
"Nope, and nope," Alastair said. "Didn't even stop for a bottle of Scotch."
The second man handed her back her identification. "Ma'am, anything to declare?"
Dar took her passport and tucked it into her briefcase. "No--wait, yes," she said. "About four hundred bucks worth of stuff I got for friends before the planet crashed in on us."
The customs agent nodded somberly. "Souvenirs?" He watched Dar nod in response. "Did you bring in any tobacco, alcohol, or prohibited products?"
"No."
"Roger?" Another man stuck his head in the door.
"We need you guys over here. We may have something with these pilots."
Roger handed Alastair back his passport. "Welcome home," he said, briefly. "No one wants to give you a hard time, Mr. McLean. We just have a job to do."
"I appreciate that," Alastair said, sincerely. "It's just been a very long day, and it's only half over. I'm sure yours is too," he added. "And I realize it's not our affair, but is there a problem with the fellas who flew us here?"
Roger hesitated, then shook his head. "I can't discuss that," he answered. "They're being investigated. They may be allowed to go on their way. They may not." He motioned his companion to move toward the door. "Have a good day, folks. Watch your step on the way down."
They rattled down the steps and there was a sound of engines revving outside, then silence.
Alastair looked at Dar, as a gust of hot air blew in the door. "So that's it?"
Dar got up and went to the door, peering out. The tarmac was now empty, the cars disappearing into the distance where a big hangar was abuzz with military activity. There were no other planes anywhere near them, and they were alone. "Guess so."
"Lord." Alastair sighed. He got up out of his seat and came over to where she was standing, poking his head out to look around. "Y'know Dar? I'm not getting much out of today."
"C'mon." Dar went to the back of the plane and unlatched their luggage. "Glad they didn't put this underneath. I've lost my chops for breaking into aircraft."
Her boss came over to claim his rolling bag. "Did you used to do that?" he asked curiously. "I didn't think you had a larcenous youth, Dar."
"I didn't." Dar followed him down the aisle, pulling her own bag behind her. "Just a wild one. We used to run all over the base getting into things. Personnel carriers. Old airplanes."
"Ah."
"Tanks."
They climbed down out of the airplane, awkwardly dragging the luggage behind them. Outside it was a very typical muggy Miami afternoon, and after about ten seconds Dar was direly grateful she'd stripped down to her T.
She paused, something odd niggling at her senses. The airfield was dead quiet, and there was a warm breeze that moved the muggy air and the thick foliage of the trees at the perimeter of the field. It was partly cloudy, and everything seemed normal.
"Dar?"
"Hang on." Dar turned all the way around, then slowly tipped her head back and scanned the sky. It wasn't something odd, she realized, it was something missing. "It's so quiet."
Alastair looked at the sky, then at her. "No planes?"
"No planes," she answered. "The only time before this I remember there were no planes is when Andrew hit. And it sure as hell wasn't quiet."
"Huh." Alastair shaded his eyes. "Well--"
"Yeah." Dar turned and started walking. "Where were we?"
"Tanks?" Alastair asked, as they trudged across the steamy tarmac toward the terminal.
"Tanks," she confirmed. "Ask my father. He loves to tell people how I took out the dining hall with one."
"Did you?"
"Not on purpose," Dar admitted. "I ordered a car for us."
"Are those two statements related?" Alastair asked. "We could take a cab, y'know."
"Only if you'd be amused at me knocking the driver out and taking control of the air conditioning and the radio. I lost my love for sweat and someone else's taste in music years ago."
"Well, all righty then."
"Besides, with our cab drivers the car's cheaper." Dar opened the door, standing back to let Alastair enter. The inside of the terminal was cool and empty, only a single security guard slouched in a bored posture at the entrance desk. He looked up and studied them, then went back to reading his magazine.
"Ah," Alastair mumbled. "High security."
"Guess he figures if the goon squad let us loose we're safe." Dar gave the man a brief nod. They passed the desk and exited the front of the small terminal and back out into the muggy sunshine. The drive in front was full of empty cars. Military vehicles were lined up against the curb and some pulled up randomly. "Must be using the Coast Guard base here."
"Sure." Alastair took advantage of a small bench and sat down on it, glancing at his watch. "Hope that car's fast," he said. "Or he'll end up pouring me into the back seat." He rested his elbows on his knees. "I'm too old for all this crap."
Dar took a seat on the concrete, leaning against one of the support posts that held up the seventies era concrete overhang that would, in a rainstorm, almost completely fail in protecting anyone from getting wet. She could smell newly cut grass, and the dusty pavement, and drawing a breath of warm damp air, admitted privately to herself that no matter how uncomfortable it was, it was home.
She'd been in prettier places, with better weather, and nicer scenery but there was something in her that only relaxed, only felt 'right' when she was in this air, with these colors and the distinctive tropical sunlight around her.