Idlewild was a busy place the following morning. Harker got there at half-past-nine, and the sprawling buildings were jam-packed.
"Flight 906 leaving for London via TWA in fifteen minutes—Flight 906 leaving for London via TWA in fifteen minutes—"
He heard a deep-bellied boom; someone next to him said, "That's a cross-country job, I'll bet."
Sure enough, the loudspeaker said, "Now departing, Flight 136 for San Francisco—"
Above him a neon board flashed. The bright letters said: Flight 136. Lv Idlwld 0932, Ar SF 1126.
Less than two hours across the continent. Harker shivered; the plane that had taken off two minutes ago was probably somewhere over Pennsylvania or Ohio by now.
"Attention, please. Flight 199, United Air Lines, for Washington, D.C., departure 0953, now boarding—"
That was his plane. Leaving in about twenty minutes, and arriving in Washington only about twenty minutes after that. Harker looked up and saw a great golden stratocruiser coming in for a landing on a distant runway. All around him he felt the nervous urgency always surrounding people traveling.
Inwardly he began to grow tense. He had checked off two of the three names on his scrawled list; neither had been of much encouragement. Only Senator Clyde Thurman remained, and Thurman represented the old-guard conservative wing of the Nat-Lib party; there was no telling how he would react to the news that a technique had been developed for—
"Attention, please. Telephone call for Mr. James Harker. Mr. James Harker, please report to any ticket desk. Telephone call for James Harker—"