Markman’s air ambulance was set to arrive in Orlando at 3:45 P.M. Cassiopia and Rogers sat at the tiny yellow kitchen table drinking coffee, rays from the morning sun beaming through the kitchen window behind them. Despite the promise of a new day, they shared a feeling of discontent. Although Cassiopia had tried to think of everything, something was missing. They looked at each other, contemplating the ruse in quiet presentiment.
Rogers broke the silence. “We haven’t got it, Cass. We’re not ready.”
Cassiopia lowered her cup and stared. “What have I missed?”
“You’ve been your usual high IQ about everything, but you don’t know enough about Homeland Security and Airport Security. We’ll never get that truck through the gate at the airport. As soon as they pick up on something unusual or missing, they’ll pull us aside and that will be it.”
“What do we need?”
Rogers pulled out her cell phone, paused for a breath, and then dialed out. She glanced at Cassiopia as she waited and then spoke casually. “This is Agent Rogers, G040579. I’m not on duty, but I need to check out a hunch. Can you get me all scheduled ambulance services to Orlando International this afternoon? …No, it’s an unofficial request. I’m on leave, but I need to check this out. …Oh great. I appreciate that, Mark. Can you text it to me at this number? Great. I owe you one.”
Rogers hung up and held up crossed fingers. “If this works, we’re going to need some water-based paint and stick-on lettering for the truck. We can’t screw with the airport computer system, so we’ll need to look like a scheduled service that’s already in it. The ambulance colors are okay, but we need to change the name and the ID number.”
By the third cup of coffee, Rogers’ cell phone bleeped message-received. She opened it and nodded. “This is good. There are six scheduled medical pickups this afternoon. We need one that’s a patient transfer, not medical cargo and there are two. Both of them are TriCare Systems. One is at 4:15 P.M. Truck number 4127. We need to become TriCare Systems, truck number 4127B. The ‘B’ will be enough to mess with their heads for a long time. Chances are they’ll end up thinking both entries were the same truck, just logged in twice. We’ll paint over the name on our truck, stick on the new name and number, and when we’re done wipe it all off. Shall we go visit the hardware store?”
When supplies had been procured, it took three hours of painting and lettering for Cassiopia’s fake ambulance to become TriCare Systems truck number 4127B. Rogers remained discontent. They returned to the kitchen table, their hands and clothing spotted with paint, wondering if the effort was enough.
Rogers tapped one finger on the tabletop. “The gamble is that they won’t run our driver’s licenses. We can’t show up with fake ones. I can’t set any up though my agency. That’s too big a flag there. So, if they ask for it, we’ll have to use our real licenses for the photo ID. It’ll be a bitch if they run them because we sure won’t come up as EMTs.”
“Maybe I should have had the flight come into a smaller airport.”
“I doubt that would have helped. Nobody transfers sick patients using a longer route than necessary. It’s just that airport security has become so tight these days, it’s like robbing a damn bank. This is just a chance we’ll have to take.”
“What do you think will happen if we’re discovered?”
“It’ll be a giant mess. They won’t know what to do. They’ll have an aircraft waiting to leave with an undelivered comatose patient in it. They’ll probably have to bring in a real ambulance and have him sent to the nearest hospital while they sort it out. Then we’d get charged with some kind of misrepresentation or something. I don’t know what. I don’t think anyone has ever done anything like this before.”
“Well, if we get caught, I’ll do my best to take the blame.”
“I’m not that worried, partner. We just saved the world. I doubt they’ll do anything to me, and then I’ll protect you. We’ll tell them you just wanted some alone-time with your fiancée. You thought maybe being alone with him might help bring him out of it. We’ll appeal to their heartstrings.”
“I need the SCIP door plan to work. I really do.”
“You don’t have to convince me. How you came down off that mountain was a miracle.”
At 1:30, they cleaned up, donned their medical technician suits, and headed for the airport. Backroads provided the best concealment from unwanted attention. A few miles from the airport, Cassiopia pulled over and they reorganized their phony paperwork.
Cassiopia said, “We’re Airside 2, Wing 7. The document I copied said we use the contractor’s service entrance; bear left to the Special Disembarkment zone. It didn’t say how many security checks. I’m hoping for just one. The air ambulance posted their own arrival docs. I have a copy.”
“I’m betting two checks, and if we get through the first, we’ll be okay.”
“Okay, help me navigate. We need to look like we know what we’re doing.”
Back on the road, they reached the airport perimeter early. The path to the special vehicle entrance was easy to follow. At the outer checkpoint gate, they were third in line. The first vehicle went through quickly; the second directed off to one side. A security officer approached Rogers’ door and stopped at the open window. Without speaking, she handed him the clipboard. He took it and looked them both over, then flipped through the pages. “It’ll be just a minute,” he said and walked back to the guard station.
After a minute of discussion with two of his counterparts, he returned. “Would you please pull over into that spot there? We’re trying to get a confirmation.”
“Any problems?” asked Rogers.
“The air ambulance office didn’t specify who would meet the aircraft. It happens sometimes. They probably didn’t have the info at the time of filing. It should be just a minute.”
Cassiopia pulled into the designated slot. They waited tensely as discussions continued at the guard shack. Five minutes had passed before the officer returned. “Can I ask the two of you to step out of the vehicle please?”
Rogers looked at Cassiopia and rolled her eyes. They climbed out and gathered around the officer.
“I need your driver’s licenses. It should be a quick check.”
There was nothing to do but comply. The slightest hesitation would set off all the hidden alarms. The two women retrieved their licenses and handed them over. The guard returned to his shack.
“Well, it was a good try,” whispered Rogers.
“Crap,” replied Cassiopia.
They watched as two of the guards typed at a computer terminal and kept looking up through the glass at them.
“What will they do?” asked Cassiopia.
“I’m guessing they’ll wire-tie our hands behind our back and call for a golf cart to take us to the security office. From there it will be interrogation and if we’re lucky they’ll charge us with something, and turn us loose to appear later.”
“Crap,” replied Cassiopia.
“Here he comes….”
The guard approached without speaking and reached behind as though to bring out handcuffs or wire-ties. Instead, he brought out their driver’s licenses and handed them over. “Sorry about all the delay. We’ve been on an elevated alert for more than a week. Nobody seems to know why. You guys can go ahead in. Your flight is on schedule.”
Cassiopia was too choked to say anything. Rogers haughtily replied, “It’s been a pleasure hanging with you officer. Have a good day.”
With a wave from the security man, the gate swing up and Cassiopia backed out and drove through.
“What the heck just happened?” she asked in disbelief.
“You’ve got me. We were screwed. I thought for sure we were going to get a free lunch in a holding cell. I can’t explain that one. Here’s the next gate. Slow down a little.”
The swing-arm gate to the aircraft parking area swung open as they approached. A single security officer waved them through. They pulled in, found the pick-up
zone, and shut the ambulance down. Cassiopia sat back and sighed.
“I hope I never have to do that again,” she said, and she looked at Rogers with an exasperated stare.
At 3:35 P.M., an airport attendant showed up and stood at the aircraft parking area. He was studying a small notebook taken from his back pocket. Within minutes, the sound of jet engines droned in from the right, and the man began raising his arms to signal the pilots. As the jet taxied in, the reality that Scott was on the plane suddenly charged Cassiopia with so much excitement she had to struggle to regain her composure. She held one hand against her pounding heart and remembered the near miss at the checkpoint. It snapped her back to sobriety. With engines still idling, the side access door of the jet swung up and open. A Gurney bearing a sleeping form was lowered to the imposter technicians. With a few awkward moments causing curious stares from the plane’s crew, they loaded their patient into their movie-prop ambulance and pulled away.
Chapter 30