Stephen White - Critical Conditions

Poof! In a blink, Merritt and the tube disappeared into the automated baggage system.

I wasn’t even sure the Skycap saw her go.

I yelled, “Hey!” or something equally incisive. The man who had been holding Merritt was struggling to be inconspicuous, but I was pretty sure I saw something shiny and metallic in his hand. Fearful that it was a gun, I yelled again, “Get down! Everybody get down!” Everyone, of course, looked my way-assessing me for signs of mental instability and for indications that I might be dangerous-but nobody got down, and the man who was after Merritt took advantage of the diversion I provided. He edged to the back of the group at curbside and lowered himself onto the conveyor that carried individual suitcases into the system. In a blink, he disappeared through a tunnel, in pursuit of Merritt.

Impulsively, I went after him but a Skycap had me by the ankles before I could get down the conveyor. Somebody asked if they should call for security and I allowed myself a moment of hope before I realized that the most likely target of security’s interest was me.

I stood up and said to the Skycap, “Okay, okay, listen. Two people just disappeared into the baggage system. A man is after a girl, a teenage girl. I think he might be armed. She’s in trouble.”

The Skycap had heard better stories recently. He made a sound like a pony neighing and said, “I didn’t see anybody go in, George, did you?”

George, the other Skycap, said, “Not me.”

A little girl, maybe six, maybe seven, stepped forward and raised her hand like a well-behaved schoolgirl. She said, “I did. I saw them. She went down that hole.” She pointed at the elevator with the big gray trays, then moved her outstretched arm in the direction of the conveyor. “And he went down that hole. There.”

I said, “Thank you.”

The next voice I heard was Sam’s. He was behind me. “Where is she, Alan?”

“Down there, Sam, the baggage system. Somebody’s after her with a gun.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, a man, I didn’t get a good look at him. White, my size. Brown hair, bomber jacket.”

Sam held out his badge and showed it to George. “Get us down there.”

The Skycap named George had his own idea. He asked me, “You want we should shut it all down? We can call, do that. One call and we can shut it all down.”

I had no idea what the consequences would be of shutting the automated baggage system down. Would it help Merritt get away, or would it make it easier for whoever was after her to catch her? Would the car she was in stop abruptly and throw her out of the bin she was in? I didn’t know.

I shook my head. “I don’t think we should do that. We don’t know what would happen. It might help the guy catch her. Where will she end up? The girl that went in the bin? If she stays in the tray, where will she go?”

A Skycap said, “That case she’s with was going to Dallas. Let me see, that’s gate B-35. If she stays in that tray, she’ll end up in the collecting station for oversize materials that’s on the west side of B Concourse.”

I said, “We have to go in after her, Sam.”

The Skycap said, “Can’t let you.”

Sam said, “Then look the other way.”

“Can’t.”

“You know who that girl is who that man is after? That’s Chaney’s sister. You know Chaney?”

“The sick girl? On the news?”

“Yeah. That’s her sister. She’s on her way to see Chaney in Washington and somebody’s trying to hurt her.”

George said, “Who are you?”

“I’m her uncle.”

George seemed to be pondering his options. He was bigger than Sam, but I was sure Sam could overpower him physically and force his way into the system. Unless Sam actually killed him, however, George would immediately pick up the phone and shut the system down.

George said, “Chaney, huh? B-35, Dallas? I’ll turn my back. You guys go down one at a time. I’m gonna deny this.”

“Wait. Sam, you go after him, the man who’s chasing Merritt. He’s in that part of the system with the suitcases. I’ll go after her, this way. This is where she went down.”

He nodded, said, “Go.”

I watched Sam climb onto the conveyor as I laid down in the bin. George punched some buttons on a nearby keypad and I felt a quick jerk as the tray slid into the elevator and fell rapidly about fifteen feet. When I came out of the shaft I was in a huge cavern of orange tracks mounted with dozens of individual tele-cars that were topped with beige plastic bins. The tele-cars zoomed above me and below me in a pattern that was befuddling. To my left, suitcases were being loaded automatically into the beige bins mounted on top of the tele-cars, and large arrays of laser scanners were reading the luggage tags and deciding where the tele-cars should go.

I saw Sam sitting Indian-style on a segmented conveyor, waiting his turn to be loaded into a beige bin on top of a tele-car. He was holding the luggage tag George had given him. George had already instructed the computer exactly where to send me and, with smooth acceleration, the big gray tray I was riding was loaded into a cradle that spanned across two of the tele-cars. With a rumble and a sudden swooosh, I figured I was on my way to join Merritt on Concourse B.

I flipped myself over to a prone position and looked back as Sam was being unceremoniously dumped into the awkward beige bin on top of a single tele-car. The bin was designed for a solitary suitcase and was way too small for Sam’s big body. He seemed to be trying to find a way to sit in the bin, but his balance was precarious. I lost sight of him as he laid back and the tele-car zoomed around a bend.

I’d seen all the news reports of the infamous baggage system on television and still found myself totally unprepared for the scale of the installation. It was immense. Tracks ran everywhere in this space that was the size of at least two high school gymnasiums. I thought to myself, This is one of six collecting stations?

As my double tele-car crossed toward the far corner, I scanned the huge room where we had started but couldn’t find any sign of Merritt or her pursuer. Or any workers. The system was totally automated; I couldn’t find a single technician monitoring the system’s progress.

Below me and behind me, Sam’s car was accelerating into the system. I heard him yell, “Oh, shit,” as his car migrated around a bend.

I laid back down and tried to clear my head. Who was after Merritt?

And why?

Denver International Airport is designed with one large central terminal and three separate concourses built in parallel at great distances from the main building and at great distances from each other. Our destination, Concourse B, was over half a mile away from the terminal and could only be reached by passengers via a subway system that runs in two wide tunnels beneath the tarmac.

That is, unless you happen to be impersonating luggage.

Parallel to the train tunnels are two service tunnels. These tunnels contain roadways for the electric carts that transport whatever baggage the automated system doesn’t. Above the roadways, suspended from the ceilings, are the tracks that shoot the baggage system tele-cars from the terminal to the concourses and back.

When Sam and I cleared the sorting area where we began our journey, we entered a cluttered interchange where our tele-cars slowed to merge with tele-cars carrying suitcases from the other sorting areas on the west side of the terminal. It was like entering a busy interstate at rush hour. I was about a dozen tele-cars ahead of Sam as we merged onto the main line.

Twice that far ahead of me was the man in the bomber jacket who was chasing Merritt.

He was looking forward, after Merritt. I couldn’t see her. I prayed that she was prone in her gray tray and that he couldn’t see her either. I was also hoping that George the Skycap had alerted Denver Police and that they would be waiting for Merritt whenever and wherever the system was planning on dumping her in Concourse B.