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The call came just ten minutes before midnight:

“Carib Airways announces the departure of Flight two nine six, for Port-au-Prince, Haiti, Willemstad, Curaçao, and Fort-de-France, Martinique. Now loading at Gate Nine. All aboard, please.”

Biff joined the line which was moving slowly through Gate 9. He looked carefully about him, as he always did, spotting faces that he might run into again. He had learned in the past that it was wise to remember as much about one’s fellow passengers as possible. No telling when such knowledge might come in handy. Besides, he found the faces of traveling people interesting. On many long rides, he had amused himself by trying to guess where they had come from, where they were going, and why.

The line shuffled slowly forward. Flight 296 was filled. There would be no seats for the hopeful standbys.

Biff had checked his heavier bag through earlier, when he had presented his ticket. Now he carried only a small, light dispatch case. Accidentally, as the person directly in front of him stopped suddenly, Biff’s dispatch case swung forward, striking the person on the calf of one leg.