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Farther up the aisle； the storyteller reached the exit door and disappeared into the debarkation umbilical。
Joe was afraid of losing his stalker； but it was imperative that they continue to believe that he was unaware of them。
Barbara Christman was in terrible danger。 First thing； he had to find a phone and warn her。
Faking patience and boredom； he shuffled forward with the other passengers。 In the umbilical； which was much wider than the aisle in the airplane； he finally slipped past them without appearing to be alarmed or in a hurry。 He didn't realize that he was holding his breath until he exhaled hard with relief when he spotted his quarry ahead of him。
The huge terminal was busy。 At the gates； the ranks of chairs were filled with passengers wailing to catch a late…afternoon flight in the fast…fading hours of the weekend。 Chattering； laughing； arguing； brooding in silence； shuffling…striding…strolling…limping…ambling； arriving passengers poured out of other gates and along the concourse。 There were singles； couples； entire families； blacks and whites and Asians and Latinos and four towering Samoan men all with black porkpie hats； beautiful sloe…eyed women willow graceful in their turquoise or ruby or sapphire saris； others in chadors and others in jeans； men in business suits； men in shorts and bright Polo shirts； four young Hasidic Jews arguing （but joyfully） over the most mystical of all documents （a Los Angeles freeway map）； uniformed soldiers； giggling children and shrieking children and two placid octogenarians in wheelchairs； a pair of tall Arab princes in akals and keffiyehs and flowing jellabas； preceded by fierce bodyguards and trailed by retinues； beacon…red tourists drifting homeward on the astringent fumes of medicated sunburn lotion； pale tourists arriving with the dampish smell of cloudy country clinging to them …and； like a white boat strangely serene in a typhoon； the man in the Panama hat sailing imperiously through the polygenic sea。
As far as Joe was concerned； they might all be stage dressing； every one of them an agent of Teknologik or of institutions unknown； all watching him surreptitiously； snapping photographs of him with trick cameras concealed in their purses and attaché cases and tote bags； all conferring by hidden microphones as to whether he should be permitted to proceed or gunned down on the spot。
He had never before felt so alone in a crowd。 Dreading what might happen…might even now be happening…to Barbara； he tried to keep the storyteller in sight while also searching for a telephone。
FOUR
PALE FIRE
1
The public telephone； one in a cluster of four； was not in a booth； but the wings of a sound shield provided a small measure of privacy。
As he entered Barbara's Colorado Springs number on the keypad； Joe ground his teeth together as though he could bite off the noise of the crowded terminal and chew it into a silence that would allow him to concentrate。 He needed to think through what he would say to her； but he had neither the time nor the solitude to craft the ideal speech； and he was afraid of mitting a blunder that would pitch her deeper into trouble。
Even if her phone had not been tapped the previous evening； it was surely being monitored now； following his visit to her。 His task was to warn her of the danger while simultaneously convincing the eavesdroppers that she had never broken the pledge of silence which would keep her and Denny safe。
As the telephone began to ring in Colorado； Joe glanced toward the storyteller； who had taken up a position farther along…and on the opposite side of…the concourse。 He was standing outside the entrance to an airport newsstand and gift shop； nervously adjusting his Panama hat； and conversing with an Hispanic man in tan chinos； a green madras shirt； and a Dodgers cap。
Through the screen of passing travellers； Joe pretended not to watch the two men while they pretended； less convincingly； not to watch him。 They were less circumspect than they should have been； because they were overconfident。 Although they might give him credit for being industrious and clever； they thought that he was basically a jerk civilian in fast…running water way over his head。
He was exactly what they thought him to be； of course； but he hoped he was also more than they believed。 A man driven by paternal love…and therefore dangerous。 A man with a passion for justice that was alien to their world of situational ethics； in which the only morals were the morals of convenience。
Barbara answered the phone on the fifth ring； just as Joe was beginning to despair。
'It's me； Joe Carpenter；' he said。
'I was just…'
Before Barbara could say anything that might reveal the extent of the revelations she'd made to him； Joe said； 'Listen； I wanted to thank you again for taking me to the crash site。 It wasn't easy； but it was something I had to do； had to see； if I was ever going to have any peace。 I'm sorry if I badgered you about what really happened to that airplane。 I was a little crazy； I guess。 A couple of odd things have happened lately； and I just let my imagination run wild。 You were right when you said most of the time things are exactly what they appear to be。 It's just hard to accept that you can lose your family to anything as stupid as an accident； mechanical failure； human error； whatever。 You feel like it just has to be a lot more significant than an accident because 。 。 。 well； because they were so significant to you。 You know？ You think there have to be villains somewhere； that it can't be just fate； because God wouldn't allow this to happen。 But you started me thinking when you said…the only place there's always villains is in the movies。 If I'm going to get over this； I'm going to have to accept that these things just happen； that no one's to blame。 Life is risk； right？ God does let innocent people die； lets children die。 It's that simple。'
Joe was tense； waiting to hear what she would say； whether she had understood the urgent message that he was striving to convey so indirectly。
After a brief hesitation； Barbara said； 'I hope you find peace； Joe； I really do。 It took a lot of guts for you to go out there； right to the impact site。 And it takes guts to face the fact that there's no one to blame in the end。 As long as you're stuck in the idea that there's someone who's guilty of something； someone who's got to he brought to justice 。 。 。 well； then you're full of vengeance； and you're not healing。'
She understood。
Joe closed his eyes and tried to gather his unravelled nerves into a tight bundle again。
He said； 'It's just 。 。 。 we live in such weird times。 It's easy to believe in vast conspiracies。'
'Easier than facing hard truths。 Your real argument isn't with the pilots or the maintenance crew。 It isn't with the air…traffic controllers or with the people who built the airplane。 Your real argument's with God。'
'Which I can't win；' he said； opening his eyes。
In front of the newsstand； the storyteller and the Dodgers fan finished their conversation。 The storyteller departed。
'We're not supposed to understand why；' Barbara said。 'We just have to have faith that there's a reason。 If you can learn to accept that； then you really might find peace。 You're a very nice man； Joe。 You don't deserve to be in such torment。 I'll be praying for you。'
'Thanks； Barbara。 Thanks for everything。'
'Good luck； Joe。'
He almost wished her good luck as well； but those two words might be a tip…off to whoever was listening。
Instead； he said； 'Good…bye。'
Still hummingbird tense； he hung up。
Simply by going to Colorado and knocking on Barbara's door； he had put her； her son； and her son's entire family in terrible jeopardy…although he'd had no way of knowing this would be the consequence of his visit。 Anything might happen to her now …or nothing…and Joe felt a chill of blame coil around his heart。 On the other hand； by going to Colorado； he had learned that
Nina was miraculously alive。 He was willing to take the moral responsibility for a hundred deaths in return for the mere hope of seeing her again。
He was aware of how monstrous it was to regard the life of his daughter as more precious than the lives of any hundred strangers…two hundred； a thousand。 He didn't care。 He would kill to save her； if that was the extreme to which he was driven。 Kill anyone who got in his way。 Any number。
Wasn't it the human dilemma to dream of being part of the larger munity but； in the face of everlasting death； always to operate on personal and family imperatives？ And he was； after all； too human。
Joe left the public telephones and followed the concourse toward the exit。 As he reached the head of the escalators； he contrived to glance hack。
The Dodgers fan followed at a discreet distance； well disguised by the ordinariness of his dress and demeanour。 He wove himself into the crowd so skilfully that he was no more evident than any single thread in a coat of many colours。
Down the escalator and through the lower floor of the terminal； Joe did not look back again。 Either the Dodgers fan would be there or he would have handed Jo