I flew past the rental car center and, unsure of which airline she might be trying to get on, chose the east terminal because it looked like I could get there quickest. I momentarily flirted with the idea of pulling into the parking garage, then changed my mind. If I was able to stop her, there was going to be all kinds of chaos and the least of my worries would be a rental car parked in a pick-up zone.
I found an open spot in the pick-up area and slid in behind a gray SUV. I got out and without looking around, hustled into the airport. No one stopped me. I found a screen listing the departing flights and scanned it quickly. I spotted one flight leaving for Los Angeles at one-thirty.
Which was in exactly nine minutes.
I had to make a decision. Find the airline counter and try to get them to stop the flight or try to get to the gate myself.
I took the latter.
I found a kiosk for the nearest airline and did a quick search of flights for the day. I bought the cheapest I could find—one bound for Topeka, Kansas. I had no intention of going to Topeka, but the boarding pass would get me to the gate.
I went down the escalator, two steps at a time and cut under the empty security line ropes. The stations were nearly deserted at mid-day and I quickly had my shoes and jacket off and was through the x-rays in less than three minutes.
I checked my watch.
I had four minutes.
I jammed my feet into my shoes, grabbed my jacket and sprinted toward the trains to the gates. I slipped into one just as it closed and grabbed the metal pole to keep my balance as it took off.
It couldn’t go fast enough.
The train car pulled to a stop at the terminal and I was yanking on the doors before they finally slid open. I sprinted up the stairs, saw the directions to the gates and ran harder toward the gate the plane was leaving from. I was at Gate 20.
She was at 46.
The numbers escalated as I ran.
26.
32.
40.
And finally 46.
I stood there for a moment, my chest heaving. The seats in the gate area were empty.
And the door to the jetway was closed.
The woman dressed in the navy and white uniform of the airline punched a numerical code in the door and walked toward the podium.
“Wait,” I said, waving at her. “Wait.”
She looked at me, but kept walking toward the podium.
“Wait!” I yelled.
“Were you scheduled to be on this flight, sir?” she asked, glancing at me as she stepped behind the counter.
“Yes,” I said, trying to catch my breath. I glanced out the window. The plane was still at the end of the jetway. “I mean, no.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”
“My daughter,” I said. “She’s on that plane. She can’t go. It can’t go.”
“Sir, if she’s ticketed…”
“Open the door. Call them. You need to stop it.”
“Sir, I can’t…”
“Call them!” I yelled. “She can’t go!”
She hesitated, then looked at her screen. “What is her last name?”
“Tyler,” I said, then shut my eyes. “No. Sorry. Corzine. It’s Corzine.”
She glanced at me again. “She’s your daughter?”
“It’s Ellie Corzine,” I said, looking at the window again.
The plane was still there.
The woman stared at her monitor. “Do you have I.D.?”
I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and flipped it open. “My name is Joe Tyler.”
“But you told me your daughter’s name is Corzine,” she said.
“I can’t explain,” I said. “Just stop the plane.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then picked up the phone next to her computer.
I turned again to the window.
It was still there.
I started to relax.
“This is Elaine down at B 46,” the woman said into the phone. “I need some help down here with a guest.”
I swiveled back to her. “Call the plane. Please.”
“Yes,” she said, averting her eyes. “A guest here at the podium.”
I sprinted over to the door to the jetway and yanked on it.
It wouldn’t budge.
I pounded on the door.
I pushed all of the numbers on the keypad.
I turned back to Elaine, who had stepped out from behind the podium, still on the phone, her eyes widened in alarm.
“Open the fucking door!” I screamed at her. “Right fucking now!”
People were coming closer to the podium now, watching me, approaching cautiously. I knew what it looked like. I knew what happened in airports if you made a disturbance.
But I didn’t care.
“Open it!” I screamed again.
Elaine was talking urgently into the phone.
Jet engines whirred behind me.
I spun around.
The plane was pulling away from the jetway.
I rushed back to the podium.
Elaine backed away from me. “Sir, please. Calm…”
“Call them,” I said. “Call them right now and tell them to stop.”
“Sir, I cannot…”
I reached and snatched the phone from her. I put it to my ear, but heard nothing.
I pushed her out of the way and looked at the phone console and started hitting random buttons.
“Hey, buddy,” a guy said from my left. “You can’t just go back there. You need to calm down.” He put his hand on my arm. “Put the phone down and…”
I shoved him hard with the arm he had ahold of. He toppled over backward into the group of people standing behind him.
I looked at Elaine, tears in my eyes. “Please. Call them back. It’s my daughter. Please.”
She started to say something, then her eyes swept past me and relief filled her face.
And I knew what was coming.
“Step away from the counter,” a voice commanded.
I turned around.
There were four police officers, all with their weapons drawn, pointed squarely at me.
“Stop the plane,” I said. “Please.”
“Put your hands on your head,” the one in the middle said. “Now.”
“Stop it,” I said. “Please. Don’t let her go.”
“Hands on your head,” the officer repeated. “Now.”
I looked around. There were now hundreds of people gathered around, watching.
I dropped the phone and put my hands on my head.
“Turn around and back up toward my voice,” the officer said. “Slowly.”
I did as he said and watched as several other officers arrived, running at us.
Hands grabbed at me from behind and I was shoved to the ground, a knee in the small of my back, the hands patting me down.
I twisted my head toward the window.
The plane was already gone.
ELEVEN
“I told you to stay with that Morgan girl,” I said.
“Well, I didn’t know you were going to shut down a fucking airport,” Lauren said, shaking her head and looking away from me.
We were in a holding area somewhere in the airport. A small, square windowless room with gray walls. A single table and several chairs.
I rubbed at my wrists, the bright red lines from the handcuffs beginning to fade. “Either did I.”
The officers had pulled me up from the ground and marched me quickly out of the terminal. I’d kept my mouth shut. The plane was gone. There was nothing to fight at that point. They’d brought me to the holding area and questioned me. I’d told them my daughter was on the plane and she didn’t have my permission to travel. They were more concerned with the fact that I’d bought a ticket not thirty minutes earlier for a trip I didn’t plan to take and then proceeded to disrupt the entire gate area while threatening a gate agent.
My story didn’t make sense to them. My daughter had a different last name. With a Minnesota address. I resided in California. And we were in Colorado. Was this a custody battle? Some sort of lover’s quarrel? Did I plan to harm her? Did I plan to harm the plane? The passengers?
I finally shut up and said I wanted my lawyer. They assured me that would just make it worse. I assured them no one could make my life worse at that moment and I wanted my lawyer. After thirty minutes of silence, I was allowed to call my lawyer.