You Can't Kill Me

 

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Introduction

An unsuspecting business man is drawn into a world of suspense, and the supernatural, where death is only a doorway to another reality, and Powers beyond his understanding will do anything to get their hands on something he doesn't even know he has.

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Chapter 1

It wasn't cold and it wasn't stormy when. I woke up with a start. The ceiling fan was beating away at the bedroom air at full strength and the faint sounds of my snoring kids could be heard from down the hall. The pool pump had kicked in and I could hear the occasional spray of the Polaris' tail indicating that it had gotten stuck on the pool stairs again. I knew it would say stuck until I or my 20 year old son went into the pool and unwound the umbilical cord that attached it to the pump system.

Besides that, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on. But something had made me wake up. I ran through a list of things I had to do today and it hit me as my body reacted before my mind did. My 7am flight to Chicago. I had set my alarm but I must had silenced it subconsciously when it went off an hour ago.

I unhooked my iPhone and iPad that were charging beside my bed and bounded into the bathroom on the tips of my toes trying to avoid the creaky corner of the floor that always woke my wife when I got ready in the morning. She had asked that I wake her but I didn't have the heart to as I heard her sleeping heavily next to our daughter. The bag was ready and needed me to only zip up the carry on and roll it out. I had surprised myself with the efficiency with which I had rolled and packed and placed all my clothing for my business week out of town. But that only added to the nagging feeling in the back of my head that I had forgotten something or would need something on day 3 or 4 and I would be forced to buy something unexpectedly. But that thought was slowing me down and I was already too late to be rethinking my packing choices. So I zipped, stared at my unshaven face and debated whether or not I should clean up or not. 

My curly hair stood in a strange cone of black and silver formed, no doubt, by my restless turning in the bed. My deep brown eyes had a few sleepies and revealed dark circles under them emphasizing my bad habit of watching late night TV and waking up early. The rest of the unshaven mess looked sort of rugged to me so I splashed my face with cold water and doused my hair to rearrange the cone into something more akin to organized spaghetti curls. A squirt of some hair product rubbed in helped the unruly mess look presentable and I jumped into the clothes my wife had laid out for me the night before.

Done, I thought as I walked out of the bathroom with my shoes in one hand and my suitcase in the other. A promise was a promise, and I had promised to wake her before I left so I tipped toed over to her side of the bed and kissed her gently, hoping that perhaps she wouldn't wake and I would feel at ease knowing that I tried and she could still enjoy her nights rest. But she sat up as I drew near.

"I love you, honey. Have a good flight." she murmured with sleep heavily on her words. She rubbed her eyes and leaned forward in bed.

"I will, baby. I love you, and I'll call you later when I arrive." I whispered back. I kissed her soft lips and with a hug let her return back to bed.  

She settled back into the covers. "Did you get your passport?" she asked from under the blankets. "Oh and don't forget your shaving kit."

I smiled in the darkness. "Yes, baby. I got every thing I need. " I replied hoping that was true. There's nothing more embarrassing than having your wife realize you forgot something. Well I'll take that back, a poorly planned anniversary can be catastrophic.

"Are you going to bring a surprise for the kids?" she added.

"Dunno, sweetie." I enjoyed getting surprises but I hated to get a trinket or toy from the airport.  They seemed so cheep and they ended up under the kids's bed or in the trash, and I hatted wastefulness even more. "It's going to be a quick trip.  I think. I hope I'll be done in one day so I should be back tomorrow.  But if I get a  chance i'll get something. I promise." I threw her a kiss and she murmured something like 'skype me' but I wasn't sure. Either way I would And find out later if I heard her alright. I slipped downstairs mentally going through the list of things I should have in my bag.

The keys were hanging on a hook by the garage door just as my wife had organized them. What would I do without her sense of order and control? Well, I could do without so much control, I thought.  I took the keys hanging from the hook and wondered if I had forgotten anything on my "Honey-Do" list. Probably, I thought. But I hoped it wasn't something too big.

At 5:30 in the morning the dark street was a balmy 89 Houston degrees. I could hear the cars of the commuters on the road behind the house.  I dropped my carrion in the truck and slid in the front seat noticing painfully my complaining sore muscles from my last few days at the gym. I had quit for a few months but during my last flight out I heard myself grunting and panting while I tried to lace up my shoes and made a mental note that I had to return to the sports gym we so gratuitously supported with a monthly fee without visiting it for weeks on end.

The moment I turned the car on the windshield fogged up as the car's AC blew against the warm glass. I checked the iPhone app to confirm which gate I would be leaving from and pulled out of the driveway, it would take me 30 minutes at least to get to the airport. The phone beeped and I checked the newly received SMS message. It was Linda, my wife asking me if I had checked the mail. "yes" I lied on the message back.  The community mail box wasn't far from the house and it wouldn't take too long to stop by. I could trash any junk mail and take what ever else came with it in my carry on.

If only I had woken up earlier, I thought. "I gotta buy a proper alarm, and stop trying to use the iPhone for everything." I said out loud.  If there was a long line at security, it would mean that I would have to take a latter flight, and that wouldn't do. I had 2 meetings scheduled back to back and they couldn't be moved for later, if anything they would have to be moved to tomorrow, which would mean another day in Chicago. There's nothing wrong with Chicago, I thought. If I can get some work done in the hotel perhaps I could catch some sights.

The mailbox had one letter for my son, a belated birthday card from his aunt in Seattle. A handful of junk mail fliers was stuffed int he box and a key for the secured lock box the mailman used to store the larger pieces of mail. This normally meant that we had a box which would be exciting since boxes in the mail were always exciting, reminding me of Christmas. But I was late and if it was too big I wouldn't be able to put it in my bag. I debated whether I should leave the key for Linda to find later that day, bit discarded that idea not wanting her to think I hadn't checked the mail. So with a huff I took the key and held my breath as I turned it in the lock.

The lock released the latch and the door squeaked open on complaining hinges. The street light standing a few feet away was strong enough to reveal a box that could have easily been for my Merrill hiking shoes. It was wrapped in brown butcher paper and reinforced with string. One side had several stamps and the addresses scribbled illegibly below them. The box was lighter than it looked and I supposed that it must be full of papers or the stuffing must be what's adding the size to the box. I couldn't help but shake it like a kid trying to discover what was inside, but I couldn't tell anything else. I quickly took a mental inventory of the items in my bag and any space I may have over looked. I imagined how I could fit the package in with my clothes and I thought that perhaps I could. It didn't even cross my mind to think what would happen if the package had anything liquid or sharp in it. So for better or worse, I decided to take it along with the other correspondence. Besides, I thought, if it doesn't fit I can always leave it in the car.

The phone beeped again. It was Linda. 'Did you take out the trash? :)'  I rolled my eyes. 

"Yes", I wrote back.  "I took it out last night before we went to bed. :)" I was hoping that my smiley face would convey a patient and loving husband, but that may be too much to ask from a colon and a parenthesis.

 

I drove out of the neighborhood and pointed my 5 Series BMW toward the airport.  The car's bluetooth system connected automatically with my iPhone just in time to answer an incoming call. "G'morning, this is Caleb." the caller ID said 'unknown'.

"Caleb, this is Franks." A coworker of mine who lives in Argentina but has recently started working in Houston. 

"Hi, Joe. What can I do for you?"

"I'm almost finished with the report on the security measures implemented in Colombia and Venezuela. Do you have those final numbers you promised from the crisis management exercise?" 

The numbers 'I promised', I mulled. There was something about this guy that made me think he was always trying to pull a fast one.  He has only recently been hired and maybe he's just trying to make a name for himself but the way he writes his emails and CC's the entire team, demanding follow up just rubbed me the wrong way.

"Yep. I'll send them to you when I land. I'm heading to the airport right now." I saw a Starbucks sign pass by and my stomach reminded me how hungry I was. 

"Oh, I thought you were in the office." Joe had recently began a new habit of opening the office, by arriving at 5:30 every morning, his temp office was directly across the hall from mine. "Never mind, I see that your lights are out. Are you pulled over? I hope my call isn't distracting you while you drive.”

A large billboard advertising Restaurante Aranda's authentic Mexican food, was looming to my left advertising a large plate of frijoles, Rajas con crema, and scrambled eggs.  No Joe, you are not distracting me. You're annoying me. The ginormous plate of Mexican food, is distracting me, I thought. 

But I lied and forced myself to say,  "I'm on my hands free. No worries."

"Oh, ok. By the way I think the new company policy is not to talk on the phone while driving, even though you're on a hands free."

"Really?" I  feigned surprise. Hoping that he didn't recognize the sarcasm in my gasp.  It was too early on the morning to be good at being subtle. "Then I should call you back."

My thumb was pressing the hang up button on the steering wheel as Joe squeezed in, "don't forget the num...". 

'Yeah, yeah, the numbers' I thought. I'll remember.

My stomach complained again. Losing weight wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't accompanied by a growling stomach. I rubbed it in hopes it would calm down and stop my mind from wandering to Aranda's Mexican Restaurant.

A chime went off in the car notifying me of a message coming in on the phone. Another button was all I had to push and the message was projected in green lights on the inside of my windshield beside the digital read out of the car's speed in miles per hour. "Did you make the appointment for me at the dentist?" The message was from Linda.

"I thought you were going back to sleep." I said out loud to the message. I'd have to answer that when I could use the phone. 

I was close to the airport. There was only one more toll booth and I would see the added street lights of the airport.  Traffic had been light and thanks to the automated toll tag I didn't have to slow down to pay the fee as I passed through.  I may be able to take it a little easy when I get there, I thought. That’s when I’ll explain that I did make the appointment but it had to be pushed into next week and not today as we had agreed on.

I glanced a few times at my smart phone and saw that I would be leaving from terminal B and changed lanes before it was too late.  When I first started to fly out of Houston International I made more than one mistake which had cost me by parking in one terminal and having to walk over a mile to find my plane.  My trainer at the academy drilled into us that "If you're arriving on-time, you're arriving late."

Even with the made up time on the freeway, I was barely arriving on-time.  The parking garage at the airport has a billboard that tells drivers how many slots are available on each level.  As I pulled into terminal B parking I noticed that there were 10 slots available on the third level. That was 10 slots out of 300 or something but I chanced it and turned in.  

God was good to me and I quickly found 2 empty spaces near the elevators that would take me directly inside the building and to the check-in counters. I chose the one on the right and pulled in. Since I had already checked in on my iPhone and I wasn't going to check any bags, I wouldn't need to go to the counters but instead I would walk straight in to the security line.

I had a few minutes to spare and that was what I needed to fit what ever was in the box in with my clothes. I used the nail clippers I had in my overnight bag to cut through the string that bound the box and unwrapped the box from the dirty brown paper. I was surprised to find that the inside of the paper was covered in handwritten notes and diagrams. The pencil sketchings were beautiful and depicted multiple hieroglyphics with a three dimensional quality. There were notes, and other drawings that looked like maps and landscapes that filled the paper's surface. It was thicker than ordinary wrapping paper or even butcher paper and there were creases in it that showed where it had been folded before. There had to have been a mistake. The drawings on the paper must have taken hours to have completed. The idea of throwing it away crossed my mind, but there was no way I was going to toss it in the garbage. So I folded it and slide it in with my computer in my computer bag. The box it had wrapped was sitting on the seat taped closed.

The box looked repurposed, and had Spanish printed on it advertising some laundry detergent that it must have carried at one time. I pulled the flaps open. The binding tape resisted then released their hold on the box with an audible pop. Balled up newspaper fell to the floor revealing a smaller box made of dark wood which would easily fit in my bag. There was something about the box that was intriguing I simply couldn't put my finger on. A quick glance at my watch reminded me that I didn't have time to analyze it now. I stuffed it in my carry-on bag and jumped out of the car. 

Another car was pulling in beside mine and I didn't see it as I jumped out. I shouted in surprise and it was going so fast that it screeched as it slammed on its brakes to avoid me. 

I hoped the driver wasn't too upset for scaring him. "I'm sorry" I said toward the driver who was hidden from sight by the dark glass on the windshield. I was acknowledged with a wave by a stubby hand pressed against the windshield which I took as an accepted apology. Nonetheless I said it again and tried not to look to hard at the car as the driver exited with a grunt. He was in a hurry too, I thought.

With a quick check on the parking spot and level, I left for the elevator. The door opened and i took the place of an Asian family who exited with a luggage cart overflowing with bags. 'International airports are a great place to people watch.' I thought as the doors began to close. Just then a hand shot between the sliding doors and opened them up again. It was the same hand that had waved at me. It was unmistakable. It had a ring on every pudgy finger of the dark hand. As the doors slid open I saw who it belonged to and I was concerned that I may have misunderstood his wave and we were going to have a problem on our way down to check in. 

The elevator doors framed a short stocky man in a black suit that couldn't close over his generous belly even if he tried.  His eyes were covered by dark sun glasses and a thin beard descended from his short cropped hair alone his jaw line which was the only thing that helped me see where his head ended and his neck started.  He wasn't wearing a tie and his opened shirt revealed more than one silver chain hiding in a nest of silver chest hair. 

I wondered if I should drop my guard but he looked like a person who had seen more than his fare share of scuffles and was no one to back down from a fight even though it was doubtful he could ever win anything except a wrestling match between himself and a 4th grader. His thick fingers were decorated with a big ring on each one giving the impression of silver knuckles which made me wonder if he hadn't used them for that exact reason. He huffed as he entered the elevator and wheezed, “Thanks, for holding the elevator."

“No problem” I answered, even though I hadn’t made a move to hold the door. I wasn’t sure what this guy was up to. Did he want to be sarcastic or did he really think I had somehow helped open the sliding doors. “I really didn’t see you there.” I said playing it safe and coming clean. “But I’m glad you made it. It might have been a while before the next elevator came.”

He smiled as he jabbed at the elevator button named “Check-in”. The sweat on his upper lip beaded on his short black mustache in the humid heat. The button lit up after the 3rd push. “At least your honest,” he mumbled.

“Look, I’m sorry I got out of the car in front of you, back there. I was looking through some papers," I paused. "...and remembered that I had to make the plane, so I jumped out.” i was pretty sure i could just push him over and if he tried anything funny, but i was getting nervous anyway. “I just wasn’t paying attention. You know?"

He nodded. “Oh, that was you.” He did the same dismissive wave again he had done in the car after slamming on the brakes to avoid me. When he did, I noticed that the rings weren’t any simple jewelry rings but thick silver had seals on them like the kind used to seal official letters with wax. “Not paying attention will get you killed, you know.” At any other time I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But somehow in the elevator on the way to check in Houston International Airport his words seemed more potent, full of foreboding, maybe even a veiled threat.

“Yea. I should be more careful.” The elevator came to a stop and the disembodied voice over the speakers told us that we had come to our destination. The door opened and the short guy left first and was quickly swallowed up in the multitude that was buying tickets, checking bags and running to the security line that was growing with every second.

I took a breath and let it out slowly. It was a way to relax and refocus. I wasn’t frightened but I couldn’t help but feel like he was a troubled man, and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the stick when he had had enough.

The security line was growing faster than the Golden Corral’s Sunday brunch line after church, so I wasted no more time to find my place and get through.

Thankfully I didn’t need to check my bags and a with a little help from my platinum travel status I was able to skip half of the people ahead of me.  With my passport in my hand and the boarding pass slipped in the page with my photo I greeted the TSA agent who was looking over my shoulder. “Good Morning.” I said.

The metal name tag above his right chest pocket read “Right”. And agent “Right” was standing up ignoring me and the rest of the masses trying to get through to catch their flights. After years on the police force I recognized the look on Agent Right’s face. And when I turned to see what was drawing his attention I was surprised to see a short man waving his hands around while pointing furiously at the counter agent. It was hard to hear clearly but he was demanding a ticket somewhere. He was pointing at his watch and at the long line for security and I knew this wasn’t going to end nicely for the short man with the rings who had shared the elevator with me earlier. No sooner had I thought that, when I heard heavy footsteps come from somewhere accompanied by the sounds of jiggling keys. Two TSA agents appeared and stood beside the man and began to talk to him in hushed tones. The man’s voice raised a few times and I saw him point and look at me. Or at least I thought he did.

One of the agents looked over at the line and shook his head. ‘Was he pointing at me?’ I thought. For a brief moment I felt sure that he was trying to tell the agent something about me. But that was crazy. I pushed that paranoia away and turned to face Agent Right who had once again taken his post and was motioning impatiently for my documents. Now that the crisis at the checkin counter had been addressed he was all business.

 

I had downloaded the airline app a few months ago which makes checking a less painful process. The app shows a digital QR Code or image that can used as a boarding pass. It’s cool and efficient but the sad thing is that the TSA agents aren’t completely up on the new technology. This means that there are times that the agent has to call the airline to confirm that my digital boarding pass is valid.

I showed Agent Right my smart phone screen and the digital boarding pass. He motioned to the scanner window with a flick of his pen. I placed my iPhone in the scanner window and handed my boarding pass to the agent. “Your name, please.” He asked.

“Caleb Walker”

“Going to Chicago, huh? I’ve never been.” He peered over his glasses at me awaiting for an answer. This was no request for small talk. It was his way of checking me out. He was waiting for some sign of impatience, nervousness, or avoidance to tip him off that he might have someone he could mess their travel plans up.

“Yup” I smiled. “The windy city. You should go one day. Don’t you get flight benefits or something?” Getting a government employee off you back is as easy as mentioning what he may or may not be receiving as benefits.

“Sure” he grumbled, “I wish.” He shined a UV light on my passport and was satisfied with what he saw because he handed it back to me and waved to the next person in line.

I glanced over my shoulder again to see if the guy in the elevator was still there. It took me a few moments but I saw him. He was at the same ticket counter but no longer asking for a ticket. He was standing behind the ticket counter with the agents looking at the computer screens. ‘He must be connected somehow. Maybe a fed?’ I thought. I slipped out of my shoes. 'How else could he now be working with the people that were about to throw him out.' As if on cue, he looked up and honed in on me. Our eyes met.

There was no mistaking it this time. He was looking at me. I knew I should probably turn away but the need to know what was going on made me keep looking at him through the security glass. He nodded curtly, acknowledging that he was interested in me and started to mouth a message to me. I didn't understand him. He was saying something mouthing the words slowly so I would get it but he could have been saying "Don't drink the water" for all I knew. I shook my head telling him I didn't understand. I took comfort in that he was trying to communicate and not trying to attack or arrest me. He tried again, getting frustrated he began to twist his face and exaggerate the expressions of his mouth with each word. -Nope- nothing. A man from behind me in line cleared his throat. "Do you mind?" he pointed at the empty area ahead of me.

"Sorry, I was trying to understand what that guy over there was trying to tell me." I pointed at the check-in counter. But there was no one there.

"Yeah, whatever, man. We are all in a hurry to get to our planes,. So, would you mind?"

Embarrassed and confused I took my belt off and rolled it into one of my shoes, and placed my watch in the other. Where did he go? Next I slid my apple computer out of the bag and slid it in a plastic bin all by itself. My wallet and passport went into my sport jacket which went rolled up beside my shoes. With my carry-on placed on the conveyor belt I stood patiently waiting another TSA agent to wave me through to the scanner.

I stood patiently with my hands over my head as the cylindrical scanner checked for metal or other hidden objects on my person. With a swish the machine scanned me and an oversized TSA agent waved me through. On the other side a third TSA agent asked me if one of the bags she was scanning was mine. There was no denying the black Tumi carry-on sprinting the the telltale red ribbon my wife had tied to the handle with a label I hadn't noticed before. It was a circle, 5 inches in diameter with the words "Cusco the center of the Universe". It was a memento someone had given me on a trip to Peru, after I nearly died when I hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, out of Cusco. I hadn't planed on using it but I figured my 7year old must have wanted to decorate my bag. There was no denying that the bag in question was mine.

I raised my hand, “That's mine." I answered. My mind went through a quick inventory of it's contents. There were no liquids, gels, fingernail clips, or hair spray. I wonder what they saw in their x-ray scan. 

The man who had asked me to hurry up saw what happened and didn't try to hide his displeasure of having one of "those" travelers in front of him. Mumbling to anyone who would hear, his displeasure. A few choice words for him crossed my mind but I opted to play it easy since it was still early in the morning and this wasn’t want I wanted start my day.. But I did turn and smile with my lips firmly pressed together. To which he turned away.

The TSA agent waved me over. I had always wondered if the TSA had any height or weight requirements and looking at the woman inform of me I no longer had to wonder about the weight requirement. Apparently an agent can weigh as much as they want. 'Another fault of being politically correct.' I thought. But then again why would anyone need to be fit to stand or sit at the security check point, pat kids down and harass old people?

She smiled, no doubt hoping to put me at ease. "We need to open your bag, cause we saw something that doesn't register in our machine." I leaned over to see what sort of image she may have seen in the X-ray, but she stood in my way. " Can't let you do that sir." she said as she placed her hand on my shoulder and quickly removed it like a person would after touching a hot iron.

I smiled back at her. "Sure, no problem." I answered. X-ray photos always seem weird and unnatural to me and so did the one I was able to catch of my bag before the mountainous agent stopped me. I could see the extra pair of shoes, dark lines which could be folded clothes, my shaving kit, wires for my laptop, a large rectangle with a circuit board, possibly my kindle, and a blinding white box. It was toward the middle of my bag and in relationship to the bag I could calculate that it was about 6 inches by 4 inches.

'Oh, the box!' I thought. 'The box from the mail.' I reached to open the bag but she was quick to stop me again.

"Sir, please let me, do not touch your bag."

There is something that happens to people when they are told not to touch or use their own property. And when the person telling you that is an overweight government agent, that "something" becomes a boiling frustration threatening to escape. "Of course" I managed.

She donned a pair of purple surgical gloves and preceded to open up my bag and slide her hand through my clothes and belongings. The box was sitting on top of the pile but she didn't seem to be interested in it. She continued to search until she closed the top and zipped it up again. She motioned me over with a confused look on her face. "I was looking for..." she paused. Then she looked at the screen that had had an image of my bag on it but was now blank. "I could had sworn that there was a ..." she paused again, waiting for the right word or her memory to jog something into her consciousness.

"I really don't think you'll find anything of interest in my bag, ma'am"

She looked up and blinked, and began to smile as if remembering something. "Ha!" she shouted. A couple of the other TSA agents looked up at her and frowned with concern. "I don't think I'll find anything of interest in your bag." she paused. “Thank you for letting me look any way."

'That was odd', I thought. But I didn't let it slow me down. I was late and the thought of the plane pulling away from the gate was all that I could think of as I ran towards the gate.

When I fly I normally schedule my flights on Tuesdays because of the amount of people who pack the airports on Mondays. But this time it couldn't be helped. Dr. Rafael Jimenez's call last night sounded urgent and when he asked me to come to the university on the first flight I could manage, I booked this one which happened to be the next day …a Monday. And the people were a challenge. They were mostly commuters who were in the process of flying to their work city to start their week. When I was a kid I wondered what that must feel like to live in one city for the weekends and in another to work in. To me it seemed strange to call the city you spent 2 days of the week in the home city. I thought that the place you spend the most time would be your home. But now that I've somehow been wrangled into a similar job I realized and that it isn't the time spent but where your heart that makes a place a home.

I glanced at my iPhone and the app I had purchased to track my flights and gates of departures, and it was pointing out what was already bugging me, and causing me to whistle, something I do when I'm nervous or hurried. I was late.

One of Murphy's laws has to say, that the amount of people in front of you increases in direct proportion to the urgency you have of arriving somewhere. And this was certainly the case with me as I shouldered through the sea of people. And that's when I heard my name. "Caleb. Caleb Walker!" it was highly unusual to hear anyone shouting in airports especially after 9-11. And I was even more unusual to hear your own name being shouted out.

My heart began to race for no apparent reason as I instinctively turned to see who had called me. A voice in my head was impatiently reminding me how late I was, and another was curiously prompting me to search a little longer for the face of the person who shouted my name. I headed to the curious side all the while reminding myself how it was that, that had killed the cat... Curiosity.

I couldn't see anything in the sea of people passing around me. My eyes lingered a second at the shops that lined one side of the terminal. My desire to find the person calling my name was diverted for a moment when I smelled the freshly baked cinnamon rolls that were being brought out of the oven to my right. The sweet smell rolled over the crowd and and more than one turned to heed its siren like call. But the digital clock above the bakery reminded me of the precious moments I had left.

It would be someone like myself who had stopped in the crowd or perhaps was moving against the flow, I told myself as I visually combed the mass of people. Then I heard it again, "Caleb Walker". It was a strong confident voice which made me think of someone tall, broad shouldered and well dressed. I adjusted my personal filter to match the image I had in my head of the person looking for me. But this didn't help at all and the voice telling me to hurry was now frantically screaming in my head.

 

I turned around to push through the sea of people and dash off to my gate, when I saw him. It isn't uncommon in an international airport to bump into celebrities every once in a while. and some of the celebrities I've seen have been athletes. The most impressive are the football players who look like walking tanks and the others are the basketball players who have to duck on occasion to avoid hitting there heads on a sign or over hang. The man I was looking at only 5 feet from me looked like a cross between a basketball player and a football player. He towered at least 7 and a half tall and his chest was so large I wouldn't be able to wrap my arms around him if I were to hug him. He was dressed in slacks and a silk golf shirt with a golden logo over his left pectoral muscle. I say it that way because the other thing that stood out were the amount and size of his muscles. The only way to describe it was that his muscles had muscles.

"Caleb" it wasn't a question, but a statement, almost a command. He took a step forward and I really felt small as his belt buckle reached my chest. The voice reminder of my late flight drew strangely still and so did all the other anxieties that a so ever present in the back of my mind, like did the trash get taken out, did I turn off the coffee pot, did I pack everything, was there something I needed to do at work. They all seemed so mundane and pedestrian. Even the hustle of the airport that is so contagious melted away.

"Do, I know you?" I managed, offering my hand. Of course I didn't know him. I would have remembered someone like him if I had ever seen him before. His hand swallowed mine and he graciously didn't squeeze it cause if he did I know I would be feeling it for several days. The sight of my hand in his reminded me of taking my 7-year old daughter by the hand as we walked across the parking lot yesterday.

"Caleb, we don't have much time. You received a package in the mail and you mustn't let anyone have it." He had to bend over to look me in the eyes. But besides his size there was something else that wasn't normal. It was on the tip of my mind but for some reason. I couldn't flesh it out.

He smiled and I was lost in a sense of sincerity as he continued. "The peace you feel is a byproduct of being in The presence. Since I’ve not left His presence. It's been a while since I've been outside the presence and it radiates from me and affects all those around me." he stopped and as I looked around I noticed the crowd around us was experiencing the same overwhelming peace I was enjoying. Some had simply stopped in mid stride and stood there smiling. Others, as they drew near us, began to slow down and lift their heads. Children began to draw near as they wandered away form their parents and began to stand in a circle around us. And that was the other thing I was noticing. I would have thought that everyone and their cousin would be staring at this giant before me but it was only the children that seemed to notice him at all. Everyone else simply kept moving around us, not noticing anything strange that a man had stopped in the middle of the airport to talk to a hulk in a golf shirt.

"Don’t be distracted by what is going on around us. I don't have control over time as you might, and that's what makes this moment very important." he glanced over my shoulder and then looked back at me. His eyes were disarming and I could see that he was someone who was used to authority and power. "You were given a gift. No one can take it from you. That's the number one thing you must know and remember.”

"Wait a minute. Who are you? How do you know me, and what are you talking about? Never mind. This is happening way too fast and I have a flight to catch.” Who was this guy? It didn’t matter if I felt at ease around him. Didn’t predators also gain their victims’ confidence before something terrible happened to them?  “Do you have my email address? If you'll send me your list that way, and I'll read it as soon as I can." the little voice in my head had started again and I knew I was late for the flight. I was told once, that if your were a frequent flier the airline wouldn't leave you behind if you were a few minutes late. I had chalked it up as an urban legend but right know that was what was coming to mind and I was hoping it is was true.

"We have a little bit longer. Don't be afraid. I've been informed that your plane has been delayed because the flight crew got stuck in traffic."

I looked for the radio piece in his ear but who was I kidding? I couldn't see that far up to notice a small radio device hidden in his ear canal. "So you’re with the Transportation Security Administration, then?" that made sense, I thought. But how did he make people around him be at peace? It could be a new device the TSA is developing to support their efforts at international airports, just like the facial recognition cameras to detect anxiety and nervousness in hopes to better identify people prepared to do unspeakable things to innocent civilians.

The circle of children drew closer and the man before me lowered his voice. "The man you saw this morning has dedicated his existence to find what you were given, and take it for himself. Do you know what that means?"

The presence of the children was oddly comforting like when you walk into a kindergarten room and you feel protected and a protector at the same time. But nonetheless the thought of their parents wondering what they were doing surrounding 2 men in an airport made me uneasy and I looked around for their guardians. "Do you mean to say that the guy after this thing I have will do anything to get it?" he nodded. "So what is this thing I have?" As a frequent traveler and Security manager for my company I have been given many things from valuable gifts from salesmen wanting my business to compromising photos of people threatening to exhort us as a company.

"What you have will be revealed to you later. What you need to know is that you aren't alone. The choice to pick you was not done lightly. Many were involved and are excited to see you succeed in this mission." he opened his briefcase which looked childishly small hanging from his hand and began searching for something.

"Wait, wait, wait... What mission? Excuse me? I have a job to do and a family and this is highly irregular." I ran my hand through my hair. "Isn't this something you can just email me?" This little adventure had taken a strange twist and I had things to do and no time to waste listening to stories of missions and things people would do anything for. Besides, how did this giant know my name? If he wasn't so freakishly enormous and probably a TSA agent I would have tried to push him to the side and walk, no run, to my gate. This had to be some sort of airport security exercise.

He pulled a card from the briefcase and handed it to me. Finally, I thought, normal business. He'll give me his card I will give him mine and we won't have to talk to each other if we don't want to. I fished a card out of my chest pocket and give it to him, while taking his and sliding it into my sport coat pocket. "Call me if you need me." he said. "Our time is up." he looked up and pointed to something behind me.

I turned and saw the small man who I had meet in the elevator. He had just gotten through security and he was looking up and down the terminal like he had just lost someone. He was talking furiously into his phone.  Oh, that's who he meant. He must be in on the game. If I don't miss my flight, I suppose I could play along. I turned back around to agree to the "mission" but the big TSA agent was gone and all that remained were a group of kids milling around where the giant had been standing.

Boy, he moved fast for a big guy. "Where did he go, mister?" a kid asked.

"I've no idea, kid. I was going to tell him something but it looks like he's gone now." then like a wave crashing on me I realized the time and all the other things that rest on our mind reminding us of all the to-do lists and pressing obligations. The overwhelming peace was gone and I was late for my Chicago flight.

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Chapter 2

Holy mackerel look at the time. I pulled the iPhone out again and checked the gate number.  The short guy from the parking garage was looking desperate trying to find something. His height wasn't a great help and whatever he was looking for must have been important because he was looking up and down the terminal hallways taking a few steps either way and returning to the same spot.  He was talking on the phone with someone and waving his arms. People were noticing and trying to give him room but it was affecting the flow in the terminal.  He looked comical as he shrugged, and times pointed furiously as he spoke to the phone pressed against his ear.

I turned to the gate and walked as fast as I could without looking disparate, which I was. The airport has large flat screen TV posted throughout the facility which they use to post arrival and departure times and gates arranged by departures and arrivals in alphabetical order.  They're useful for people who don't have a smart phone with an app like mine but they can have more recently updated information.  A few people were standing by one in front of me and my obsessive compulsive nature had me scanning the departures times and gates for the cities that begin with the letter "C". It didn't really matter what it said. I knew I was late but for some reason I always felt compelled to check my flight on the boards.  There it was, Chicago, gate C4...and C42. That was strange. I checked the iPhone app and it said C42 with no mention of the one out of C4. The flight numbers were the same and so was the departure time. Could the airline be sending 2 planes on the same flight path? Both flights had the word "boarding" blinking beside them indicating that the boarding procedure was about to end. 

"He had to have gone this way!" I heard  a voice shout behind me. A commotion of people running and keys jangling drew my attention from the board and the 2nd unannounced flight to Chicago. A group of TSA agents were running through the check point on high alert. They all had one hand on the butt of their sidearm and the other swim

Ning at their side as they burst through the area and head towards me. The activity was shocking and sea of people were parting like Red Sea on the movie of Moses and the Ten Commandments. In this post 9-11 era, anyone running in an airport especially government officials with guns we're a sight to see and be cautious of. But what wore strange was the person leading the charge.

In front of the TSA squad was the short man I had met in the parking garage. At first I couldn't tell if the group was running after him or not but as they surrounded him, he took the lead as he began running with the squad pointing in my direction with one hand while holding his phone firmly with his other hand. They weren't more than 100 feet behind me and the way they were getting through the crowd I knew they would be on me in a second. 

My heart started to race for no apparent reason. It reminded me of when I saw the red and blue lights of a police car in my rear view mirror while driving down the freeway. It wasn't until it passed me going a hundred that my blood pressure started to normalize. But this was different. I knew.  I didn't know how I knew, but. Knew that the little short guy was after me. Why he didn't get me in the parking lot was unknown but right not right here he was looking to get me. So I did what I needed to do. I ran.

It isn't anything unusual to see someone running in an airport and this time wasn't an exception. I ran into an oncoming group of tall Chinese youth dressed in matching athletic gear. They saw my urgency and parted quickly and formed back again once I passed through.  And in the midst of the excitement I couldn't help. It laugh thinking that I just passed through the Red Sea like Moses.  

I jumped on the moving path which increased my speed a little more but I had to dodge and weave move between the tourist travelers. I saw a food court half way down the terminal and ducked in.  My heart was racing from the exertion of the run and the fear of getting caught, but getting caught for what I didn't understand. A line for Wendy's breakfast curled out of the court mingling with the line for Starbucks.  It offered what I thought was sufficient cover to sneak a peek.

Before I could get close enough to the line I knew the short man wasn't too far behind since the entire line was looking back towards where I came from.  With a quick turn on my heels I continued to walk the other way until I was out of the food court. I didn't stop walking toward my gate. My plans hadn't changed. I still need to go to Chicago and I was late. Picking up my pace I wondered if the plane would even still be there and if this short man had the authority to stop the planes at the airport.  Remembering the TSA's corroboration I tended to think he just might.

I could see the gate. It was only one gate away. The seats were empty and there was only 2 attendants tidying up outside the open door to the jetway.  I was certainly the last person to arrive. I raised my hand as was about to shout to them to wait for me when the sound of quickly approaching feet enveloped me.  It wasn't just the sound of the feet but the sound of the jingling keys, coins in pockets and the huffing of men and women who aren't used to running coming to a halt I front of my gate all around me. I was caught. 

Not wanting to look directly at the group o tried looking at the, out of the corner of my eyes. Remembering what I had seen on movies, if that's any sort of educational these sort of events I knew that they would began shouting any minute now for me to get on the ground or put my hands behind my back or something like that.  But they just stood there looking at the same gate I was trying to catch their breath.  I could see a few people in suits, a few in camouflaged gear wearing military boots, and a few others in the drab TSA uniform.  All of them were panting and looking desperately for something. A voice in my head was screaming, "run hide, get out of there. Don't stop." Then a pair of pounding shoes approached and I heard the voice I could only imagine belonged to the short man. 

"Where is he? Why did you stop? Go on in there and get him." He pointed to the open jetway and the men and women ran without question through the open door, leaving me and the short man standing there watching them disappear down the corridor to my plane.  The man approached the counter and began talking to the attendants.

My heart couldn't have been beating more furiously and the panicked voice in my head was streaming for me to hide.

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