One flight had managed to come from somewhere, and the stream of passengers rolled toward me in a slow wave. Half of them weren’t looking where they were going, focused on their iPhones. One of those, a gelled man in a shiny suit with an entitled bag that was bigger than regulation, came straight for me, texting, texting, texting. I didn’t want to get knocked over. Neither was I in the mood to give way. I let him collide with me, partly because I was in the mood to hurt someone and partly to test my physical resolve.

It felt good, watching his anger flare before he stepped around me, before the entire wave of people gave me a wide berth. Plus the resistance had focused my mind on the problem. Moving off in the direction of the TSA office, I placed another call, this one to Rising Star, my old acquaintance who was currently in Homeland Security.

When she knew it was actually me, she said, “I believe I can get you to Dallas. I’ll call ahead there, but you may have to make other plans. If there’s no flight there’s no flight.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t mention it. I’m serious, we didn’t have this conversation.” And disconnect.

By the time I got to the office I was more in control and knew enough not to burst through the glass door. Bursting is not taken kindly by TSA.

“May I help you?” the woman in uniform at the counter asked, not exactly alarmed at the look on my face, but not completely at ease, either.

“I’m here to see Mr. Holly. He’s expecting me.” I shook confusion out of my head. “That is, he’ll be expecting me in approximately forty-five seconds. Tell him Brigid Quinn is here.”

The woman looked at a colleague. I could read her eyes as well as he could, and they said keep an eye on her. She disappeared through a door behind the counter, giving me a glimpse of a long hall. She was back in forty-three, forty-four, forty-five …

Forty-six. “Mr. Holly will see you,” she said, and, shooting a now-puzzled look at her compatriot, showed me down the hall and into an unassuming little office that held a small desk behind which sat an unassuming man. He was hocking up his postnasal drip with such vigor that when he finally succeeded, I wanted to applaud.

He glanced up at me and then went back to the computer in front of him. “You know so many flights have been canceled.” He started clearing his throat again, so I interrupted.

“You know this is an emergency,” I said.

“So I’m told. Would you care to elaborate on the nature of the emergency?”

“No, thanks.”