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They went past a yellow sign that said, “Santa Fe Regional Airport.” A wide, low control tower appeared in the dim light, and what had to be the terminal building in the ubiquitous boring stucco brown. They were powering past a line of concrete traffic barriers, with a chain-link fence on the other side.
Cartwright: “Man, I’ve been in stone-cold shitty airports in North Africa, the Middle East, and Central Asia, and this is in the top-ten shitty list.”
“Miss Tolerance America,” Hawkins said.
“It’s a construction zone,” Letty said.
—
Across the streetfrom the terminal, they could see a fifteen-foot-high cone-shaped pile of dirt behind chain-link gates. They followed the entrance road to the terminal, and Cartwright said, “I’ll drop you off at the door, I’ll find a spot to set up. I’ll try to climb that big pile of dirt. Should be able to see everything from up there. Keep me up on your phone. I won’t know what’s going on, so you gotta make the call.”
“We’ll keep her outside the terminal—if she even shows,” Letty said.
Cartwright dropped them off at a temporary entrance, and then kept moving. Letty watched as she drove halfway around the arrival loop, stopped, hopped out of the SUV, pulled open a gate, drove through and disappeared behind the dirt pile.
Hawkins said, “If she gets up there, she’ll see everything coming in. Let’s go inside. You have your little gun…”
Letty touched her pocket where her Sig was tucked inside a Sticky Holster. “All set.”
“I hope Barb is as good a shot as you think she is.”
“Barb…doesn’t miss. Ever.”
Hawkins picked up his suitcase and held the door as Letty stepped inside, her fingers on the gun. There were four people inside the terminal—two sleepy-looking airline clerks, and two sleepy-looking travelers, both male, sitting in chairs that lined the outer wall of the terminal. The terminal itself couldn’t have been more than fifty yards long and looked more like a hallway that should have been connecting two buildings, rather than the building itself.
Hawkins said, “I’ll check right, you go left.”
They did that, didn’t see Callister or anyone else except the clerks and male travelers, and met back in the middle two minutes later. Hawkins said, “Security isn’t open yet, still dark inside the secure area. So…”
“Not here yet, if she’ll ever be.”
Hawkins leaned toward her and asked, “What do youfeel. Is she coming here?”
The question struck Letty as odd, but then Hawkinswasa littleodd—that whole thing about the tarot reading—his bedroom skills notwithstanding. She tipped her head away from him, considering the question, then turned back and said, positively, “Yes. She’s coming here.”
“Crikey.”
—
No one waswaiting at the American Airlines desk, so Letty led the way there, leaned across the counter with her DHS identification, and asked the clerk quietly, “Who is in charge this morning?”
“I am…I guess. The manager doesn’t get here for a couple hours.”
“Can we step behind the counter? I need to talk with you privately.”
“I suppose. Should I call security?”
“If you can do it quietly, without bothering your travelers.”
He nodded, slipped a cell phone out of his pocket, punched a button, and said, “Meet me in the break room. Uh, right now. It’s important.”
Hawkins said, “I’ll wait here in case…”
Letty nodded and followed the desk clerk into the back. “Carl should be here…here he is.”
An armed security man in a blue uniform showed up; the butt of his pistol had dust on it. “What’s up?”
Letty showed him her ID. “We have a serious criminal that we think may show up here in the next few minutes. My partner and I will be hanging out near the doors…is there any other way in here?”
