Behind Eleanor, the frail, wheezing elder slowly leaned back into the wheelchair. The trembling in his hands ceased. His hunched posture straightened into unmistakable, commanding dignity, and his faded blue eyes sharpened into steel.
Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he pulled out a sleek black smartphone.
He pressed a single direct speed-dial and brought the phone smoothly to his ear.
His deep, gravelly voice resonated across the terminal like a judge delivering a verdict:
"This is Harold."
He paused as the line on the other end responded with immediate, breathless urgency.
"Ready now."
Chapter IV: The Executive Swarm
Eleanor let out a sharp, condescending chuckle. "Harold? Who are you calling, the janitorial union? You two have exactly three minutes before airport security drags you both out onto the curb—"
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.