Cecilia's flight to Sicily had not yet departed, because her husband Bob was still linked to her telepathically.

Seas Honey?

Yes, Monkey Pants?

It's hard not to let nicknames slip on a telepathic link. But it's not like anyone could eavesdrop on the loving couple.

Is everything okay around here? I saw a guy walk through an emergency exit fire door. He seemed like he was in a hurry.

From her stewardess station in the airplane, Cecilia phoned air traffic control. The flight she was working was scheduled for its normal departure, as everything was running smoothly.

There are no delays. Flight arrivals and departures are nominal.

Bob stared at the door. 'Emergency Exit Only! Fire Alarm Will Sound If Opened!'

The alarm is not going off.

Hmm. That's strange. There's an override keypad on the other side of those doors, for maintenance men to use, and such.

This guy didn't look like a maintenance man.

Can you describe him, please?

It helped that Bob was a fashion model. This fact was further helped by Bob and Cecilia being linked telepathically, as he had been a left-footed clod until the day they met. Now he worked the catwalks in far flung places like Milan. It's been said by some that every person in the world has a soulmate, waiting for them somewhere out there.

Seas Honey and Monkey Pants were brain-mates.

He was wearing standard issue, olive green military fatigues. Short-sleeved shirt, button front, patch pockets. Pants unbloused. But... he had on tennis shoes, not combat boots. Black Converse low-tops.

That's not an actual maintenance uniform. Everybody here has to wear work boots. And their uniforms are blue.

Bob placed his hand on the latch to the door, signaling to his wife his desire to open it. The override code 4572, she said into his brain. Then press 'Enter' to have it accepted.

Bob passed through the door and entered a world that, though it was strange to him, as a flight attendant, his wife knew it rather well. Electrical wiring conduits and white-painted HVAC shafts, hidden from view in the concourse, snaked along the walls all around him, naked and unafraid.

Bob was terrified. His hand shook as he pressed the keypad buttons

4572?

Yes dear. And then press 'Enter.' Don't be scared.

Won't someone see me in here? Aren't there cameras?

Not so much in the gangways. Just keep your head down and keep moving.

Which way, Seas?

I don't know, Monkey. I can't actually see where you are.

Bob chose to head back the way he had come, where he'd kissed his wife goodbye on the other side of the wall. Odd noises came from metal grates on the ceilings. Boilers hissed. Air vents groaned. Bob stayed in mental contact with Cecilia, babbling to her in her mind.

That guy didn't look normal. What do you think he is up to?

I don't know. No good, I imagine.

He knew the keypad code. too, didn't he? The fire alarm didn't go off.

That is a not good thing. The public shouldn't even know what those keypads are for, much less what the code is that makes them work.

I can't believe he was wearing tennis shoes. Converse tennis shoes!

Was he carrying anything? Did he have a gun?

He had a duffel bag, I think. It looked heavy.

That is also not good. Please be careful, Dear.

I will. Just stay with me for as long as you can.

Can you describe to me where you are?

Bob began reading signs. Concourse Accessway - 9 thru 27. Log Book Service Room 12-point-126. ENGINEERING - Ground Support & Equipment.

Do you think he's trying to get on the runway?

A metal door creaked open and banged shut, echoing down the hall. Bob hurried to try and find it.

A/C Compressor Room. Maintenance Personnel Only.

Do you think he went in there?

Slowly, Bob tried the latch. The door made the selfsame creak. Inside, the air was dank. Poor lighting, made worse by grit and grease, forced Bob to squint and skulk. Machinery, spare parts and other strange things crowded him at every corner.

Odd noises came from around one such corner. Human noises.

He's here, Seas! I hear him!

Cecilia concentrated intently. Yes, dear. I can hear him too.

What's he doing?

Please be careful, Monkey.

Around the next dark corner, Bob found a massive spanner wrench with a two foot handle. He brandished it like a mace. Two more corners after that, and his target was in sight. He was kneeling with his back slightly to Bob, hooking up one of several pressurized air cylinders he had taken out of his duffel bag to the ventilation system of an air conditioning compressor unit. The cylinders had a variety of stickers and labels on them, none more telling than a black one with big, bright red letters.

Extremely Toxic. C4H10FO2P. Sarin Nerve Agent.

Close your mind, Seas Honey. Please.

With a frightening blow from the spanner, Bob rammed chunks of the man's jaw into his brain pan. He flew backwards with a sickening, soggy crunch. Dropping the weapon, Bob worked his way back to the door.

Get me out of here! Please!

Cecilia had heard and felt enough of the blow to know what her husband had done. She shuddered visibly as she guided him with her mind. Once back in the public spaces of the airport, Bob took a cleansing breath. He headed for his car in the parking garage, and soon to the safety of home.

Act like nothing happened. Someone will find him soon enough.

So why are you still here, Seas? I'm still able to link with you.

Cecilia feigned feeling mirth. There's a huge flock of birds on the runway. Crows, we're being told. They're too smart to be scared by the wailer, so someone has to go out there and chase them away.

"A murder of crows," Bob muttered to himself, trying to laugh at the irony.