My grip on the bag handle tightens, and my eyes dart around the airport foyer. So close to the exit, to freedom. A low ‘ding’ sounds off somewhere to my left, and I turn to see a varied parade of passengers pop out of the lift doors when they whoosh open. In cartoonesque formation they rush towards the outer doors as one, with the occasional traveller peeling off from the pack to dart into the newsagency, to the public phones, or darting past me towards the coffee shop. Two suited gentlemen push past me, either misjudging or not caring about their proximity to me and I am jostled from both sides as the two men rush past. I turn, and on instinct open my mouth to protest, barely a syllable escapes me when one of the men turns back to look at me over his shoulder, even as he keeps moving forwards. I drop my eyes to the floor and hear a vicious “Watch it, lady!” from the man as I watch his feet continue to move away from me. I release the breath I had been holding and then jump as the sudden shrill whistle of the milk steamer from inside the café behind me jolts me back to my current dilemma, and I feel the hard pounding of my heart. I lay my hand over the tortured organ and start to count along with my heart rate, slowing the speed of my counting as I go and feeling my heart beat also slowing; a meditative technique that served me well in the field.
I duck into the toilets adjacent to the lift doors and finding it empty, I lean back on the far wall, groaning when the loud speaker invades the relative silence of the washroom. “Janowski. Can Doctor Stefania Janowski please attend the level 1 information desk? Janowski.” I quickly pull out my tablet and check my messages. No new notifications. Not that I was expecting any, or would know what to respond with if there was one. I am momentarily distracted by the background picture that greets me. My own happy face matched by my smiling husband, and the giggling grins of the kids, standing in front of our new home. Just one year ago. I jam the tablet back into my bag, and harshly zip it shut. No time to dwell on what I can’t change. I am a survivor; a fighter. Am I about to let one little threat, one baseless fear, stop me from my plan? Heck no.
Pep talk in mind, I storm out of the bathroom, and turn towards the information desk, but before I take 3 steps in that direction, a familiar figure steps in front of me, and I find myself pulling to an abrupt stop and looking up into the many chins of my flight companion. “Hey doc! 6B, Bob. Bob Anderson!” he booms out as people flow around him, a solid boulder in a river of travellers. “Mister Anderson.“ I nod quickly, keeping my eyes downcast and I step to the left to move around him. His arm shoots out with surprising speed, and his hand falls on my shoulder with a tightening grip, stopping me beside him. “No need to be so formal, little lady. I’m Bob, and you’re Doc Janowski,” his voice drops to a more conspiratorial tone, “And for someone who is acting all meek and shy, your file sure don’t read like that, so why don’t we stop playing games here, missy.”
“Janowski. Can Doctor Stefania Janowski please attend the level 1 information desk? Janowski. Last call.” The loud speaker crackles to life again, and from the corner of my eye, I see Bob Anderson look backwards in the direction of the mentioned information desk, and craning his neck to see past the ocean of people. If it wasn’t him trying to get me to go to the desk…then who? No-one else knows I am here; though if the agency is aware of my movements, surely anything is possible. Using his distraction, I break free from the grip of the large man and bolt towards the doors behind me. I push past the mass of people waiting for a taxi, ignoring their muted grumbles as they try to maintain the pretence of politeness, tired at the end of their journeys. I slide my jacket off my arms and dump it in a trash can as I pass, hoping the olive green of my shirt will help me blend into the crowd and I half-heartedly murmur an apology to an increasingly angry crowd as I push through them, finally free from the airport building, but knowing that this ‘Bob Anderson’ or whoever he was, wasn’t far behind.
Comments