Once they passed a lurking police car, waiting with darkened lights to catch a speeder, but Randy’s driving, though fast, was steady and unobtrusive. The patrol car stayed parked in the field alongside the road.
Finally, Peggy made out the searchlights of the airport, far ahead of them, and then the general glow in the sky that marked the landing strips, public buildings, lounges, and airline ticket offices.
As they approached the airport, Randy broke the silence. “I’ll drive straight to the International Airways Building,” he said, “and I’ll put the car in the employees’ parking lot. The regular parking lot takes a little more time, especially if we have to wait for a ticket. We can go right in from the employees’ lot, and worry about getting a ticket later.”
“How do we go about finding Mr. and Mrs. Andrews when we get there?” Peggy asked. “We don’t even know what plane they’re taking.”
“We shouldn’t have any trouble finding out about that,” Randy said. “I’m sure that even International Airways doesn’t have more than one plane bound for Europe at this time of night. We’ll look at the flight schedule board, and then head for the gate. At least there’s no problem about recognizing Paula’s mother when we do find her. She has one of the most famous faces in the world, I guess.”
By now they were on the approach road to Idlewild Airport, which looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. The highways curved in symmetrical patterns, crossing over and under each other, and arched over with slim, modern lamps. The airline terminal buildings, brightly lighted, were each different from the other, and different, too, from any buildings that Peggy had ever seen. One looked like a giant glass-and-steel mushroom; others, in the most modern shapes, defied simple description. The International Airways Building, one of the largest, was a long, square, crystal box, with soaring bridges and terraces connecting it to other buildings.
Randy drove under one of these bridges past the front entrance of the building, swung sharply to the right, and pulled the car into the parking lot reserved for pilots. Before anyone could come to question them, he and Peggy were out of the car, running for the entrance.
Inside, in sharp contrast to the deserted highways and sleeping landscape that they had just roared through, the terminal was alive with hurrying people. Loud-speakers were crackling with announcements, porters carried baggage in all directions, people stood in knots waiting for planes to leave or for planes to arrive. Peggy’s head swam with the excitement.
“This way!” Randy said, and grabbed her by the hand. He led her through a maze of people to a counter at the far side of the room. Behind the counter was a smartly uniformed young woman posting information on a large blackboard.
“Miss,” Randy called, “could you please tell me if there’s a plane leaving for Europe—or scheduled to leave for Europe—in the next few minutes?”