Philadelphia,” said Stevens as they hurried through the terminal. “Gate A12. Boards in ten minutes.”
Windermere and Mathers followed Stevens through the crowded airport. The place was chaos: displaced travelers, crying babies, angry businessmen swearing into their cell phones, and police of all stripes wading through the mix, staring at printouts of the composite sketch of Richard O’Brien and scrutinizing faces in the crowd.
Stevens led them through the security checkpoint, flashing badges quickly at the harried TSA guards. Then they were through, and racing down the terminal concourse toward gate A12 and the Philadelphia flight.
“Better hope he’s on this flight,” Windermere muttered as she dodged tourists and slot machines on her way after Stevens. “There’s about a hundred other flights leaving at the same time.”
It was true. Rawson had categorically refused to shut down his airport, even for an hour, and Sunday afternoons were gong shows at McCarran. If Richard O’Brien hadn’t chosen a direct flight, he was going to get away clean.
There were two airport cops waiting at the gate. They’d commandeered the microphone and stood at the head of a long line of confused passengers. Stevens and Windermere showed them their badges. “Any luck?”
The cops shook their heads. “No O’Brien on the manifest,” they said. “Nobody who looks like him at the gate yet, either.”
Windermere surveyed the line of travelers. Young people, old people, fat and skinny, couples and families and groups. Confused people, angry people, tired and impatient people. No zombies. Nobody like O’Brien.
Behind them, the US Airways gate attendant cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said. “We really need to start boarding if we’re going to have an on-time departure.”
Windermere looked at her. Then she looked back at the line. “Grab the manifest, Stevens,” she said. “Work with me. Mathers, you guard the line.”
Mathers nodded and wandered out into the crowd. Stevens took a copy of the manifest from the gate agent and stood beside Windermere. “We’ll board,” Windermere told the agent. “But we’re doing it my way. One by one.”