What Could Go Wrong? (6 page)

“Got it,” I agreed.

“Good. I'll be waiting for your call. See you in a few hours,” Aunt Molly confirmed, and we said good-bye.

When we got back to the loading area, we recognized a lot of the passengers waiting there. Including one that surprised us quite a bit.

I grabbed Charlie's arm. “Hey! Look! It's
the crabby guy in the Hawaiian shirt, from Seattle! He didn't get on Flight 211, did he?”

“No way,” Charlie said, swiveling to stare at the man, who hadn't noticed us. He grinned. “He followed you to get back his newspaper.”

“How'd he get here the same time we did? Well, no more than half an hour later, anyway.”

“Who knows? He's witchy enough he could have come on a broom.”

“He must have taken a later flight,” Eddie said, more practically.

“Or he chartered his own plane,” Charlie suggested.

The man in the Hawaiian shirt seemed to be looking over the crowd from a vantage point on the edge of it. He was chewing gum like crazy. I began to understand why our teachers wouldn't let us chew it in class; he looked gross.

“Why would he do that? He could have flown on our plane; there were empty seats, and he was there in plenty of time to get on it,” I objected.

“He probably had to go to the bathroom at the last minute and didn't get back fast enough, so he missed the flight.”

“We got delayed while we waited for that other guy,” Eddie pointed out. “He'd have had to be in the bathroom for a long time.”

Charlie laughed. “That's been known to happen. Maybe there was a long waiting line or something. Come on, let's find seats. It doesn't look as if we're leaving soon.”

The seats close to the departure door were taken, so we settled down in a back row. I was arranging my bag and purse under my seat when I heard the conversation ahead of us, between a couple I remembered had been angry and upset about the delay.

“How will we know it's safe to get back on the plane?” the woman was asking.

“Gladys, they won't let us on unless it's safe.”

“But if they don't find the bomb, how will we know it isn't still on there?”

I sucked in a breath and sat back, forgetting my gear. A bomb?

“If they don't find it, it's because there
is
no bomb,” the husband replied. “So it will be safe to get on the plane. I promise you.”

“How can you know that, Howard? Why
would anyone tell them there was a bomb aboard if there wasn't one?”

“Who knows why kooks do things? They like a good laugh, knowing they scared a whole lot of people, I suppose. The security people are used to things like this, Gladys. Trust them to take care of it. They won't take any chances loading up a plane if there's any possibility there's a bomb hidden on it.”

I looked at Charlie. He was grinning. Eddie's mouth had sagged open so he looked a bit like Max's goldfish.

“I told you,” Charlie said, sounding smug. “A bomb.”

So Charlie was right again. I sighed.

Of course it never occurred to any of us that a bomb threat had anything to do with
us.
Not even to Charlie.

Charlie was right. There was no question about it. We had landed in Portland because of a bomb threat.

I wondered if it would be in the paper, and imagined what my dad would say. I didn't see how they could blame this on Charlie, but it wouldn't surprise me if Dad did.

Everybody was talking about it. Charlie struck up a conversation with the man beyond him, who seemed to know all about it.

“Did the passenger agent make an announcement about it?” Charlie wanted to know.

“No, no. The airlines don't tell you anything. But we saw the crew going on board to search the plane, and somebody talked to one of
them.
Seems like there was a phone call—up in Seattle, where the flight originated—said there
was a bomb aboard, set to go off over San Francisco. Some of those idiots protesting something by trying to kill off a whole planeload of people! What good's that going to do their cause, whatever it is?” The man was middle-aged, rather overweight and bald, wearing a rumpled business suit. He sighed. “The crew's been in there and gone, and they still aren't letting us get back on. Oh, ho, they're bringing in reinforcements! See, there's another crew going on!”

It didn't seem to me they'd leave the plane as close as it was to the terminal if they really thought there was a likelihood it would blow up, but of course it wasn't scheduled to be over San Francisco quite yet, though we'd already been in Portland for over half an hour. We watched the new crew of investigators go aboard; and as soon as they'd disappeared down the carpeted ramp, the buzz of excited conversation started again.

The woman in front of us spoke in agitation. “Howard, I'm not getting back on that plane, not unless they carry a bomb off and I see it! I want to change our reservations to another airplane!”

“They're not going to carry it off so we can see it even if they find one,” her husband told her crossly. “They'd put it in a steel box or something before they handled it. Besides, the chances are there is no bomb. Just some kooks getting their kicks by scaring people and causing a ruckus.”

“I want you to see if you can get us on another plane,” Gladys insisted.

“There isn't another plane for two hours. By that time, they'll have put us back on this one.”

“But what if it's not safe?”

I didn't like Gladys's voice, she was so whiney, but I could sympathize with her. I felt pretty uneasy about getting back on a plane that might have a bomb on it, too.

Charlie must have read that in my face. He shook his head. “There's no way they'll endanger ninety or a hundred passengers without being sure. Don't worry. If they aren't sure, they'll send us on a different plane. When one's available.”

The woman named Gladys heard him and turned around, stricken. “You mean there might not be another one available? We might not get to San Francisco tonight? I mean, our
plane was almost full. They can't get all of us on the
next
plane along with the people who've already reserved seats on it!” She didn't wait for Charlie to respond, but turned to her husband in dismay. “What will Julie think if we don't show up for her wedding?”

“We'll show up. They'll get us there,” her husband said, and by now he was speaking through his teeth. “I'm gonna go get a cup of coffee. You coming or you want to sit here and work yourself into a stroke?”

She went with him, but she continued to worry in a voice that carried across the waiting area.

Mrs. Basker passed them, saw us, and came toward us with a rueful smile to sit down beside me. “It's rather exciting, isn't it? You read about such things in the papers, but you don't expect it will happen on
your
flight. I guess they haven't found the bomb yet?”

“No. Another crew just went aboard a few minutes ago. Where did you hear about it?”

“Oh, everybody in the restaurant was talking about it. They try to keep such things quiet, but everybody knows. I thought I'd go
have a sandwich, in case they don't have time to serve us dinner when we finally get back in the air. I had a patty melt. I'd never heard of them before, and I felt adventurous. Have you ever eaten one? It was quite good, though I suppose it had too much cholesterol.”

I nodded. “Did you hear anything about how long it might take them, before we take off again?”

“I don't suppose they'll know, unless they find a bomb. But I'm sure it will be all right. My, my son thought I would be bored by my first flight, but it hasn't been a bit boring, has it?”

“Not really,” I admitted, and hoped my parents would be as calm about it as this old lady was.

We sat there for another ten minutes, and nothing seemed to be happening. I saw the man in the Hawaiian shirt lounging by a pillar at one side of the waiting area and wondered guiltily if he'd gone back for his newspaper after I'd taken it. Maybe that was why he'd missed our flight and had to take a later one. I hoped, in that case, that he didn't know I had the paper.

The bomb squad was still on the plane.
Nobody made any announcements. Suddenly Mrs. Basker spoke to me.

“I think I'll go to the rest room one last time before we board. And I'll get some cough drops; my throat feels a bit scratchy. I wonder, would you mind watching my sweater and this box of chocolates I got for my son and his family? I couldn't resist them. It's so awkward, carrying a sweater, and it's too warm to wear it.”

“Sure,” I told her. “I'll watch them.”

She placed the parcel and the sweater carefully on the seat beside me and walked away. I hoped nobody else ran into her and knocked her purse open again. I noticed that the man in the Hawaiian shirt had decided to take a stroll, too, as had several other people. Everybody was tired of sitting still.

Mrs. Basker had been gone probably ten minutes, and Eddie was debating whether or not to add to his food supply before we took off again when one of the airline employees picked up the microphone at her booth. I poked Charlie with my elbow. “Maybe we're finally going to go!” I looked around for Mrs. Basker, but she was nowhere in sight.

“Passengers for Flight 211 to San Francisco,” the attendant said, her voice sounding metallic over the speaking system, “your attention, please. Flight 211 will resume in approximately thirty minutes. You will be boarding a different aircraft, at this gate, in thirty minutes. You are urged to be ready to board with your carry-on baggage at that time. For those of you scheduled to make connecting flights in San Francisco, consult our passenger agent immediately for assistance.”

We checked our watches. Half an hour, and on a different jet. I felt a bit relieved. “I suppose we'll never know if they actually find a bomb,” I said.

“Sometimes they put it on the six o'clock news,” Charlie commented. “At least we're not going to have to sit here all night. I was beginning to wonder.”

Eddie rustled a candy bar wrapper as he opened it. “What would happen if we had to stay here all night? Would we just sit here in these uncomfortable chairs?”

“No, they'd send us to hotels,” Charlie assured him. “They even pay for them, and
your dinner if you have to eat in a restaurant. Well, if we've got half an hour, why don't we walk down to that model display? If I've got any money left in two weeks maybe I can find something like them before we leave San Francisco.”

“I can't go,” I said, when both boys stood up. “Not unless I carry Mrs. Basker's stuff. I told her I'd watch it.”

Charlie frowned. “How long's she been gone? She didn't hear the announcement. Maybe we better find her and tell her when the new plane is leaving. Anything is better than sitting in this chair any longer.”

We ended up with Eddie carrying the box of chocolates and me stuffing Mrs. Basker's sweater into the side pocket of my flight bag with the newspaper I hadn't gotten around to looking at. When we left the seating area, it had worked out that I would go into the ladies' room to find Mrs. Basker, and the boys would go take another look at the models on display farther along the corridor.

There were a dozen or so women in the rest room, but none of them was Mrs. Basker. I
even called her name, and looked under the doors for a pair of feet in sensible white shoes. She wasn't there.

Well, she'd said something about cough drops, too. I pushed through the heavy door and walked along to the gift shop. She wasn't there, either.

Frowning a little, I joined the boys, who were trying to decide which models they would buy if they had the money.

“Find her?” Charlie asked absently. I saw that they'd each acquired a package of corn chips.

“No. Nowhere.”

“Maybe she went out another door or something, and back to the boarding area,” Eddie offered through a mouthful of chips.

But when we got back there, with fifteen minutes to spare, there was no sign of Mrs. Basker.

“Now I'm getting worried,” I said, hoping I didn't sound like the woman named Gladys.

“She's not your responsibility,” Charlie said.

“I've got her sweater, and Eddie has her candy. That makes us sort of responsible. What
are we supposed to do if it's time to take off and she hasn't come back yet?”

“She's a grown woman,” Charlie pointed out.

“She's an
old lady,
” I countered. “Like Grandma or Aunt Sophie. And this is the first time she's ever been in an airport. If she were Grandma, wouldn't you want someone to look after her, if she needed it?”

Charlie gave me a resigned look. “Okay. What do you want to do?”

“Look for her,” I said, glad he wasn't going to make me go by myself.

We walked the length of the main corridor nearest our gate, looking into every business establishment, even the places like the bank and the bars. There was no sign of Mrs. Basker.

In the gift shop I asked the clerk, between customers, if she remembered an old lady in a blue-and-white striped dress, who had bought cough drops.

The girl nodded. “Yes, I remember her. She bought cherry cough drops and a magazine.
People,
I think it was.”

“We think she's lost. Would you have noticed which way she went when she left here? Maybe
she got turned around and walked away from our boarding area instead of toward it.”

“The man she was with seemed to know where he was going. They went that way.” The girl gestured, away from our boarding area.

“A man? She was with a man?” I asked, puzzled. “She's traveling alone.”

“What did he look like?” Charlie put in.

The clerk thought a minute. I suppose it was a miracle she remembered anything about Mrs. Basker, considering the number of customers she'd waited on. “Just an ordinary man. About forty, forty-five, maybe. I think he was wearing tan slacks and a sport shirt about the same color. I'm sorry, I really can't remember any more than that. Excuse me, I have to wait on these customers.”