Then the tall, cigar-chewing figure of Ted Marrett pushed through the little knot of officials. "Welcome to Fun City!" he boomed, and all the others seemed to pale and melt back. 521
Kinsman extended a metal-braced arm and Marrett grasped his hand warmly. "I'm here as the unofficial greeter and personal representative of the Secretary General. We've got a squad of cars waiting outside to take you to UN headquarters. The three of you will be guests of the Secretary General."
But it was not that easy. The officials immediately formed themselves into a reception line and the three lunar visitors had to be introduced to each one of them. Kinsman wondered idly how they had arranged their pecking order, since they seemed to come from a dozen different nations and two dozen different types of government agencies, ranging from the United States' National Institutes of Health to the Ministry for Development of Natural Resources of Tanzania. A trio of photographers cruised around at a distance, dis- creetly snapping away without flashbulbs. Kinsman noticed tiny apertures in the walls and ceilings where other cameras might be recording their arrival, as well.
Kinsman shook hands with each of the officials, including the blonde, who turned out to be from Kansas City, repre- senting the American Urban Council. A good front for an intelligence agent, Kinsman guessed. Glancing at her clinging sweater, he decided she had a good front for anything.
Finally they were ready to head down the corridor toward the main terminal building. One of the American medics offered, "We can get a wheelchair for you, Mr. Kinsman."
"No thanks. I can walk."
Landau came up beside him. 'Tt would be better to conserve your strength."
"I feel fine."
"You are high on your natural adrenalin at the moment," Landau advised. "A wheelchair is advisable."
So they wheeled Kinsman, fuming inwardly, through the emptied terminal building. Security's tighter than a Mafia summit conference, Kinsman realized as he saw that the entire terminal of one of the world's busiest aerospaceports had been completely shut down. All the ticket counters were empty. All the TV monitors showing arriving and departing flights were dark. The fast-food counters and restaurants and bars were shuttered. Grim-faced, heavily-armed security 522 guards were posted everywhere. The only sign of life outside of the funeral cortege flowing through the deserted building was the trio of photographers skipping back and forth with the agility of Oz's scarecrow, clicking away with their tiny cameras.
Kinsman and Landau were ushered into a sleek limou- sine, together with Marrett and the American State Depart- ment representative: a square-jawed young man with a deep tan and the kind of wrinkles around his eyes that come from being outdoors, not behind a desk.
If he isn't ISA I'll eat the upholstery, Kinsman told himself as he settled into the limousine's back seat. The braces of the exoskeleton poked into him uncomfortably. Landau sat beside him while Marrett and the State Depart- ment man took the jumpseats facing them.
"You okay?" Marrett asked. He had to hunker down on the jumpseat to keep his bald head from bumping against the plush-lined roof.
"As well as can be expected," Kinsman replied. He caught a glimpse of Harriman entering the car ahead of theirs, with the blonde from Kansas City at his side.
"How's that one-man jail cell feel?" Marrett asked as the chauffeur started up the car and pulled away from the terminal building.
"Not all that bad. It's a lot better than trying to get along without it, I guess."
The State Department man, whose name Kinsman had not caught, asked, "How does it feel to be back home again?"
Kinsman threw him a sharp look. "My home's almost half a million kilometers from here."
"Oh. Yes, I see ... I meant . . ."
But Kinsman turned to stare out the window at the acres of totally empty parking lots surrounding JFK. "They've really shut down the whole damned airport? For us? What were you afraid of?"
