The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

  “So, this thing you mentioned that I may not remember...does it have something to do with a Johnnie?” It was an innocent question, but the effect on his guests was fantastic.

  For the first time since they’d partnered in this venture, Margie felt “it.” She looked at Byron with her mouth open, and flushed, he returned her gaze. She got it. And he knew it. And he knew in his soul that he, and Margie, were back in the game.

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  Once inside the packed terminal, Johnnie and Jeremy approached the large electronic flight monitor, inspecting the arrival announcements. She located Sandy’s flight number, thrilled to note the status as “arrived.” Glancing at her watch, she realized he was probably still taxiing or just de-boarding. She checked her phone to ensure it was turned on, in the event he called. Jeremy also looked at the information and noted which baggage claim had been assigned to Sandy’s flight, since that’s where they were to meet the big man.

  They fought their way to the edge of the turnstile which would deliver Sandy’s baggage and Johnnie scanned the area; although she was perfectly capable of crowd management, she rather enjoyed the way Jeremy strong-armed the crowd half a step ahead of her...particularly the “arm part.” But then she found the one sight more appealing to her than Jeremy’s biceps; she spotted a distant restroom sign. Touching his elbow, she looked at him urgently.

  “The one thing I really need, your fancy schmancy car didn’t offer. You stay right here, I’m going to run to the bathroom.” She pointed in the general direction she was headed and caught the concerned look on his face. She widened her eyes and placed her hands on her hips.

  “Lookit, I don’t really think he expected you to hold my hand while I pee...but if you are that a-scared of my brother...” She offered her hand as if to lead him through the crowd to the ladies’ room. Jeremy acted as though he’d consider the offer, then again laughed as she withdrew her hand and turned away, saying, “That’s what I thought. I promise to come right back...it’s far enough to the gates and it’s so crowded, I should probably beat him back here anyway.” She gave a small wave and pushed toward the central part of the terminal. Obviously still wary, Jeremy stood, feet apart and arms crossed as he lost her in the sea of bodies. He regretted it immediately.

  As she finally cleared the crowd, the ladies’ room entrance was only a few feet away; Johnnie’s temper immediately flared when she saw the “Closed for Cleaning” sign propped outside the door. She froze, as many unexplainably do, when faced with a very obvious blocked goal. She stared at the door the same way one stares at a locked restaurant or store entrance when they realize it closed just an hour before their arrival, as if this act could actually reverse their poor timing. This, she thought, is different from that...I can still go in. It wasn’t not like it was against a law or anything. And why would they close the damn bathroom during such a busy time anyway?

  She quickly glanced around the greater terminal to see if there was another restroom sign anywhere near, mentally rehearsing her speech to what would certainly be a very resistant cleaning lady. Her urgent plea would overpower the cleaner’s protest, and she decided it was worth the scuffle because she wasn’t going to hold it till they got to the cargo area...

  Johnnie lowered her head, ridiculously believing this would make her less noticeable, and closed the distance between herself and the door. She later remembered being shocked when the door swung toward her and she slammed into the exiting woman. But it wasn’t just any woman, it was the BMW lady, with her beautiful, close and surprised face. It wasn’t the face, but the enticing fragrance that accompanied the woman’s proximity which was the last sensation Johnnie would remember before awakening to Jeremy’s sweaty, frantic face and the pungent smell of smoke, dust and fear.

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  When her eyes opened, Johnnie’s ears rung and she instantly began coughing due to the thick smoke which darkened the world around them. Jeremy was so relieved to see her awaken that he yanked her to his chest, crushing her in his arms. How long had it been since they’d separated? Twenty minutes? Twenty five minutes?...give or take a lifetime. He still hadn’t fully registered all that had happened, but right now details weren’t as important as his overwhelming relief. The feelings apparently weren’t mutual, however, as the small woman fiercely shoved him away and, even in her coughing fits, she pounded his chest with one hand, frantically gesturing with the other.

  Confused, he focused on her face.

  “What? What is it?” He reached to pull her up and get her to the car, which, by his estimation, was far enough away from the blast zone that they may have a chance to get away before the area was inevitably cordoned off. His loyalty to James rapidly paled when compared to his desire to help this woman; he had no allegiance to the authorities, and he had already nearly blown it...bad choice of words, he thought, in a big way. But she pulled her arm from his reach while pressing her hand against her chest. She was obviously trying desperately to get her breath so she could tell him...no ask... him something; her expression, half concealed by her wild hair, was questioning and urgent.

  Looking at Johnnie, he still hadn’t overcome the utter fear of losing her in the initial chaos. The events were stark in his mind.

  He had still been at the luggage claim waiting for her and the Sandy guy when one fire alarm, then another, had cut through the already significant noise. Most people stood fast, looking around in irritation, wondering if this were a drill or how it would impact their personal plans. A third alarm began and was shortly followed by stern announcements directing all passengers and personnel to exit immediately. He fought to stay in the terminal against the stream of hurried, frantic humanity. When an officer assured him his friend had to have left and he needed to get out, he rushed outside to see if he could spot Johnnie in the masses, to no avail.

  He attempted to re-enter and was in a shouting match with a nervous, but huge, security guard when he saw her walk through the largely deserted terminal doors.

  Rather than seeing Johnnie’s sooty, frustrated face before him, Jeremy recalled the nearly ethereal vision of her when she exited the terminal, one of the last people to leave before the explosion. She hadn’t run, she hadn’t even appeared frightened. She probably would have been badly injured or worse if Jeremy hadn’t knocked the harried TSA officer down to get to her. With no forethought at all, he hooked his arm around her and hauled her to the designated safe zone. He shoved their way into the area packed with anxious, angry and questioning people who were less concerned than he about increasing the space between themselves and the alarm-blaring building.

  He had made slow progress toward the parking garage when the deafening explosion knocked them both down; he’d curled his body around Johnnie’s to protect her more from the human stampede than fire or debris which, at their distance, was less of a threat.

  He was jerked back into the present as Johnnie grabbed his collar and yanked his face to hers so he could hear her strained voice,

  “Where is Sandy?” He was taken aback by her strength and fierceness as her grip tightened. “Where is he?”

  He had swallowed and was about to tell her exactly what she did not want to hear—that he didn’t know--when he heard the faint sounds of a cell phone ringing. It wasn’t his tone, but a look of recognition struck her face and he knew when she, blessedly, released her grasp on his shirt and fumbled for her pockets, that it must be her phone. When she found it, her face appeared to dissolve in relief upon seeing the name clearly displayed on the cracked screen.

  “Sandy,” it read. Shaking, she accepted the call but broke into another fit of coughs when she tried to speak. She thrust the phone Jeremy, and her expression made it clear that he would take the call.

  “Johnnie?! What the hell is going on? Are you alright?”

  Sandy was shouting through the phone; Johnnie could hear him even from where sh
e sat and winced. She strained to control her cough and hoped with all she had to never hear those questions again for as long as she lived.

  Jeremy and Sandy spoke briefly, and to the point, as if they were already associates...and although neither were aware of the need for Johnnie’s protection, both sensed that getting her out of there was the first priority. Sandy was still on the airplane and he was completely unharmed. His plane had been on the taxiway, awaiting an open gate, when the explosion at Terminal 8 took place before his eyes.

  The two men determined that it would likely be some time before Sandy would be freed from his plight, and when that time came, he would contact Jeremy for transportation for he and the dog, who, of course, was also still in her 3 X 4 cell in the cargo compartment. Johnnie had stopped coughing and upon hearing Jeremy’s half of the clipped, all-business conversation, ascertained they were to leave without her friends. With no warning, she grabbed the phone in protest, but Sandy wasted no time telling her she would get her butt out of there or when he got off this plane, he’d get on the next one out.

  He wasn’t playing. Few people could talk to Johnnie Carter like that, but in very short order, Sandy Sanders had become one of them. Besides, she was incredibly weak, foggy minded and had still not sorted out her role in the events resulting in the airport calamity. She bit her lip and squeaked, “Okay. Okay, Sandy. Please hurry.” Realizing how ridiculous that request had been, she handed the phone back to Jeremy and proceeded to try to stand on her own.

  Jeremy, giving up on trying to convince this girl to do anything, stood and offered a hand, which she took reluctantly. Wordlessly he pulled her toward the direction of their parking garage; they could already hear the onslaught of police and rescue sirens and Jeremy knew their escape window was narrowing.

  Just before ducking into the garage entrance, Johnnie froze, stopping Jeremy in his tracks. Even over the sirens and general pandemonium, they could hear a screeching voice which trumped all other noise, “Noooooooooooooooooooooo! Let me go! God should have taken me! I want my babies!!” These words were followed by a high pitched keen which chilled the blood in Johnnie’s veins. Jeremy was temporarily transfixed, but knew they had to get out of there. His ward, however, was rooted in her spot. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as they heard, almost exclusive of all other sounds, words entombed in a nearly inhuman scream, “She knew! How did she know? Who is she?”

  Johnnie’s face, inches from his own, had gone completely white and when her hazel eyes darted from the direction of the distant voice to his own, he knew there was a lot more to this story than he’d been told, and he instinctively understood to whom the distant manic woman referred. Johnnie had become an inanimate object and offered no resistance as he ripped her hood up, concealing her face.

  He would later have no memory if he pulled, pushed, or carried Johnnie to the car, and would have only vague recollections of careening from the garage, through the temporarily unmanned toll booths. He would never know how close they came to being locked down at the airport for hours, or what would have happened if they had.

  He had no conception of what the threat was. But he did know that he would have moved heaven and earth to get this woman to safety. He did so, not out of loyalty or obligation to his boss, but because he had never felt a fiercer desire to protect anyone in his life. Something fueled it, something drove it, he had simply complied, in kind.

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  When Wei shared his son’s e-mail question with the Hoffstedders, as to whether Byron remembered his story about a girl named Johnnie, the pair and the older man mutually ascertained their conversation on the subject would not be a light or short one. It was late in the morning and Wei asked them how badly it would encumber their plans if they stayed for lunch.

  The small flat-screen television in the kitchen broadcast the news loop from National Headline News on low volume throughout their visit. Wei had apologized to his guests, but explained it kept him in closer touch with his son’s world if he tuned in to national and world events.

  “It spares us much unnecessary conversation if I’m already as up to speed as possible when he decides to talk shop.” Wei managed to speak of his son in an un-self-important manner and communicated as any father regarding his child’s world and employment.

  They had suspended the pending discussion about the mysterious person who wove a common, although obscure, thread in their lives. Wei seemed eager to prepare lunch himself and did so, chatting about general topics with his new friends. With busy hands, as Byron and Margie sat close by at the table, he chatted about his on-going love affair with Food Network when Margie gently interrupted, with her eyes on the television screen.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Liang, but this looks like breaking news...something is going on at JFK...” Any breaking news would be worth watching, but with the ever-present threat of terrorism, all news regarding chaos in locations of critical mass was of instant interest and concern. Especially, one would think, to the father of the American President.

  “Call me Wei, please, I insist,” The older man told her as he wiped his hands on a towel and reached for the remote. He increased the volume and all three were immediately taken in by the story and initial images of a smoking building at the large New York airport.

  “...stranger and stranger. Within seconds of an isolated explosion inside a terminal at the John F. Kennedy International Airport, all major news networks, including NHN, received an electronic communication from the individual claiming responsibility for the act; it appeared the message had been timed for release prior to the explosion. A Marsha Renee Schreiver sent a bizarre message stating, in short, that the unfortunate event at JFK would be a warning from God and a minor ‘expenditure’ to prevent the further cost of infant lives in the United States, further calling our country a shamed nation of sanctioned infanticide. She also made reference to her own sacrifice as the instrument of God’s message. The explosion, indeed, took place, however, while we continue to collect information, it appears that in a strange turn of events, the affected terminal was evacuated due to unexplained setting off of fire alarms from within the facility. While the JFK spokesperson verified the evacuation was strangely and miraculously completed literally seconds prior to the explosion, they have refrained from any further comment.”

  Byron was inexplicably pulled in by this story, irrationally drawn by the word “miraculously” when he realized Margie had seized his knee under the table. He shot her a glance and she was looking at him with the same expression as when Wei had first mentioned Johnnie’s name. She raised her eyebrows, mouthing, “New York?”

  He cleared his throat and leaned toward her.

  “That is where her mother lives.” He said quickly, in a hushed tone, hoping the information would release her vice grip on his pitifully aching knee. It was preposterous to make this immediate connection, but neither seemed bothered by the instant assumption or the leap of imagination required to make such an assumption. His eyes were back on the television and he suggested she do the same as he gestured toward the screen with his chin.

  “...reporters on scene, however, captured these images of a woman taken into custody shortly after the explosion. Here is a recap of the footage and a conversation I just had with reporter Georgia Suffield.”

  Although the ensuing films were taken from a distance, Byron, Margie and Wei were mesmerized by a screaming, writhing woman...intrigued by her mania, her absolute resistance to the police and, oddly, by her refined appearance. They quickly exchanged glances. Although terrorists came in all shapes and sizes, this woman presented a new target group; to date, no American female, particularly in a class such as hers, had executed a high profile act of violence. While her words were not discernable from the news crew’s vantage point, the reporter was only too happy to translate, as well as possible.

  “Bobbie, it appears the woman is upset about being foiled in this act. Hold on...”
The reporter held up one finger to the camera as she listened from a distance and to her crew. “She is saying she should be with God...something about her babies...and...Well, she’s asking who ‘she is’ and how ‘she knew’....” As the suspect was stuffed into a police car, the excited reporter refocused on the camera.

  “Obviously, there is much more to come on this story, and it promises to be compelling. So far, although we have not heard from the airport personnel and the terminal is cordoned, first responders have entered the smoking facility and no bodies or injured parties have been brought out as of this time. Although not confirmed, we’re hearing that as the building was force evacuated, the security personnel had to literally drag this particular woman, the suspect, out of the terminal; her rants likely led to her apprehension. .”

  The NHN home reporter asked, “Georgia, do you believe the fire alarms were pre-emptive based on the airport’s foreknowledge, or that perhaps they were set off by an unknown party?”

  “Bobbie, that’s a great question, but we just don’t know. There will surely be an announcement, soon, by JFK staff or law enforcement, and, of course, we will stand by to cover it...”

  Wei leaned on the table and exhaled, turning his attention from the television to the strangely silent couple at his kitchen table. He started to comment on the report when he noted their uncomfortable expressions.

  “I realize that was a weird one, and I’m hoping no news is good news with the victims...” he said slowly looking at Byron, then Margie. “But, did I miss something?”

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  The event at JFK was, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the darling of the news networks as reporters and “experts” sliced and diced the few known facts into a thousand specimens of speculation. NHN promised to continue to cover the story as it “unfolded” as if it were a volatile piece of origami which needed to be undone to release enticing secrets.