that moment was his airline ticket, and to get away from the counter, and secure an inconspicuous seat on the airport bus. But the agent glanced curiously at him a second time, and Guerrero knew that, from this moment onward, he would be remembered. He had stamped himself indelibly on the ticket agent's memory---all because he forgot to bring a suitcase, which he could so easily have done. Of course, the reason he had not done so was instinctive. D. O. Guerrero knew---as others did not---that Flight Two would never reach its destination; therefore no baggage was necessary. But he ought to have had baggage, as a cover. Now, at the inquiry which would inevitably follow the flight's loss, the fact that one passenger---himself---had boarded without baggage, would be remembered and commented on. It would underscore whatever other suspicions about D. O. Guerrero investigators might, by that time, have.
But if there were no wreckage, he reminded himself, what could they prove?
Nothing! The flight insurance people would have to pay.
Would the bus never get to the airport?
The children from the Italian family were running noisily up and down the aisle of the bus. A few seats back, the mother was still jabbering in Italian to the husband; she held a baby which was crying lustily. Neither the woman nor the man seemed aware of the baby's crying.
Guerrero's nerves were stretched and raw. He wanted to seize the baby and throttle it; to shout to the others, Shut up! Shut up!
Couldn't they sense?... Didn't the fools know that this was no time for stupid chattering?... No time, when Guerrero's whole future---at least, his family's future... the success of the plan so painstakingly worked out... everything, everything, was predicated on getting to the airport with time to spare.
One of the running children---a boy of five or six, with an attractive, intelligent face---stumbled in the aisle and fell sideways into the empty seat beside D. O. Guerrero. In regaining his balance, the boy's hand went out, striking the attache case still on Guerrero's lap. The case slipped sideways and Guerrero grabbed it. He managed to stop it before it fell, then turned to the child, his face contorted to a snarl, his hand raised to strike.
Wide-eyed, the boy regarded him. He said softly, "Scusi."
With an erfort, Guerrero controlled himself. Others in the bus might be watcbing. If he were not careful, be would draw attention to himself again. Groping for some of the words he had picked up from Italians who had worked for him on construction projects, he said awkwardly, "E troppo rumorosa."
The child nodded gravely. "Si." He stood where he was.
"All right," Guerrero said. "That's all. Get lost! Se ne vada!"
"Si," the boy said again. His eyes were uncomfortably direct, and for a moment Guerrero was reminded that this child, and others, would be aboard Flight Two. Well, it made no difference. There was no point in be coming sentimental; nothing would change his intentions now. Besides, when it happened, when he pulled the string of the attache case and the airplane ripped apart, everything would be over quickly, before anyone---especially the children-had time to know.
The boy turned away, and went back in the bus to his mother.
At last!---the bus was moving faster... now it was speeding up! Ahead, through the windshield, D. O. Guerrero could see that the traffic had thinned, other lights in front were moving quickly. They might... just might... arrive at the airport in time for him to buy flight insurance without any need to arouse attention. But it was going to be close. He hoped the insurance booth would not be busy.
He noticed that the children from the Italian family had returned to their seats, and he congratulated himself about not attracting attention a moment ago. If he had struck the child---as he almost had---people would have made a fuss. At least he had avoided that. It was still a pity that he had got himself noticed when checking in, though when he thought about it, he supposed that no irreparable harm had been done.
Or had it?
A new worry nagged him.
Supposing the ticket agent who had been curious about the absence of any baggage remembered the incident again, after the bus had gone. Guerrero knew he had appeared nervous at the time; supposing the agent had noticed, had later become suspicious. The agent would talk to someone else, a supervisor perhaps, who might already have telephoned the airport. Even at this moment, someone---the police?---might be waiting for