Spencerville

half-empty now as people gave up on the possibility of the airport reopening and as the airlines bused ticket holders to nearby motels.
    At ten P.M. , the young man from Avis walked in and spotted him. He said, “I asked around, but there aren’t any takers.” He added, “I called our other locations around the area, but there’s nothing available. Probably the same all over. You might try Amtrak.”
    “Thanks.” Keith offered him a twenty-dollar bill, which he wouldn’t take. Keith went back to his beer. In most parts of the world, greenbacks could buy you the prime minister
and
his car. In America, money still talked, but not as loudly. Most people actually did their jobs without being bribed or bought and sometimes wouldn’t even take a tip. Still, there had to be an inventive and enterprising solution to the problem of getting from point A to point B.
    He thought awhile. There were many ways to get out of a city, as Keith had learned over the years. But when the airport was closed because of weather, artillery fire, or rebels on the tarmac, it put a strain on ground and sea transportation.
    He considered calling Terry and explaining the situation, but that would be premature and an admission of defeat—or worse, a failure of the imagination. “Think.” He thought. “Got it.”
    He left the bar and went to the public telephones. There were lines there, too, and he waited.
    At ten-thirty, he got to a phone and called Charlie Adair’s home number but got the answering machine. He said, “Charlie, I’m stranded at the airport. There’s a hurricane outside, in case you haven’t noticed. Send a car to take me back to the hotel. Page me here. I’m at Dulles, not National.”
    Keith read a newspaper in the waiting area so he could hear his name paged. He knew that Adair would get the message, because in that business you checked your answering machine by remote from wherever you were at least once an hour. The free world depended on it. Or once did.
    At ten fifty-five, the public address system informed Mr. Landry to pick up a courtesy telephone. He’d already located the closest one and picked it up. A man’s voice said, “Mr. Landry, this is Stewart, your driver from this morning. I got a call from Mr. Adair to—”
    “Where are you now?”
    “I’m here, at Dulles. I can meet you right outside of the USAir departures area.”
    “Five minutes.” Keith walked quickly to the USAir departures doors. He saw Stewart, a gray-haired man in his fifties, standing beside the Lincoln and went over to him. Stewart put Keith’s bag in the trunk, and Keith got in the front seat. Stewart asked, “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the back, sir?”
    “No.”
    Stewart got in, and they pulled away from the curb and down the ramp.
    Keith said, “Thanks.”
    “My job, sir.”
    “Are you married, Stewart?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Is your wife an understanding woman?”
    He laughed. “No, sir.” The driver proceeded slowly through the driving rain and followed the airport exit signs.
    Keith asked, “What are your instructions?”
    “To take you to the Four Seasons, sir. They’re holding a room for you. Everything’s filled up because of this weather, but Mr. Adair got you a room.”
    “He’s a great guy.”
    “Mr. Adair sent me out to National as soon as he heard it was closed down, and I paged you there.”
    “I appreciate that.”
    “Then I got a call at home, and Mr. Adair said you’d gone to Dulles, so I came here.”
    “Modern communications are a miracle. Everyone’s in touch.”
    “Yes, sir. I have a beeper, a car phone, and a radio.”
    “Did Mr. Adair say where he was calling from?”
    “No, sir. But I have to call his answering machine and tell him I found you.”
    “I can do that.” Keith picked up the cellular phone, punched in Adair’s number, and said into the answering machine, “I’m in the car, Charlie. Thanks. I’ll try to be there tomorrow night, but I’ll go back to Ohio first. Call me on this phone.” He gave him the number and said, “Talk to you later.” He hung up and asked Stewart, “You ever been to Ohio?”
    “No, sir.”
    “The Buckeye State.”
    “Yes, sir.” Stewart glanced at him but said nothing.
    They approached the entrance to the Dulles access road, and Keith said, “Take 28 north. We have to make a stop before we go back to D.C.”
    “Yes, sir.” Stewart got onto Route 28.
    Keith looked at the dashboard clock. It was a quarter past