THE BOARDING PASS AT GATE SEVEN
Chapter I: The Glass Terminal and the Duffel Bag
The late afternoon sky over International Terminal 4 was cast in cool shades of dusk, with massive commercial jetliners taxiing across the tarmac outside the panoramic glass windows. Inside the concourse, polished granite floors reflected the warm ambient lighting of luxury retail shops and executive lounges.
Walking steadily along the concourse was an elderly man in a worn olive-green field jacket, faded burgundy button-up shirt, scuffed leather work boots, and an old canvas duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His face was weathered and deeply lined, his graying hair ruffled by the terminal's air conditioning.
Marching aggressively behind him in a sharp charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and burgundy silk tie was Richard Sterling, a high-ranking corporate vice president.
Richard caught up at the frosted-glass entrance of the VIP lounge, scowling as the scruffy traveler approached the private threshold.
"First class only, sir," Richard barked condescendingly, brushing past him to present his black frequent-flyer card.
Standing behind the welcome podium was Ethan, a young lounge concierge wearing a light-blue dress shirt and a tailored tan vest.