Capture the Flag Read Free

his palm. He slipped it into his pocket and slid his hand along the smooth underside of the table to the next clamp.
    One by one, he removed them. When his pockets were almost full, he began setting the clamps carefully on the floor instead.
    When he was halfway around the table, the man looked at his watch.
    12:14.
    He needed to go faster. The shift changed at one, and the guard they had bribed would soon be gone, replaced by another who hadn’t been paid to look the other way.
    With seven minutes to spare, as he was reaching for the final clamp, he sneezed. Darn allergies. Who knew what kind of old dust he’d stirred up just touching the flag.
    The man sniffled. Another sneeze tickled his nose.
    No , he thought. The noise and the moisture could set off alarms.
    And he was so close.
    He wrinkled his itchy nose and puckered his twitching lips.
    The sneeze went away, and he unscrewed the final clamp.
    Then, as if he were folding up a beach blanket, the man took a corner of the flag in his hands and pulled it across the table until it rested on the opposite corner. He folded the flag over and over on itself until it was piled up on an edge of the table, the size of an extra-large garbage bag, stuffed full.
    He heaved the fragile bundle over his shoulder — he could smell its dusty age — and calmly walked out of the room.
    There was no problem.
    No lock.
    No retina scan.
    The security system was designed to keep people out. Not in.
    His path to the freight elevator was clear, as he knew it would be at this hour. He punched in the code he’d memorized. The metal cage opened, and waiting, as promised, was the black case on wheels, plenty big enough for the flag.
    It was almost done. With trembling fingers, he flipped the latches and lifted the lid. He eased the flag inside, tucked in the frayed, yellowing edges, and closed the lid.
    The man took a deep breath and pressed the elevator’s DOWN button. It was clear sailing now. He looked like just another museum employee at this event, helping with cleanup. All he had to do was stay calm, avoid suspicion.
    When the freight elevator sank to the bottom level, he wheeled the case onto the smooth concrete floor of the hallway, past caterers clinking along with carts of dirty dessert plates, past the loading dock attendant drinking coffee in his glassed-in booth.
    â€œHave a good night, now.” The guard nodded and waved.
    â€œWill do.”
    Whistling “Stars and Stripes Forever,” the man pushed the black case up to the silver van that waited, swung open the back door, and loaded it inside.
    He looked back at the loading dock and scratched his itchy nose. Had it really been that simple? A few fat snowflakes parachuted down in the floodlights as the man climbed into the passenger seat.
    He slammed the door, and the van disappeared into the night.

If there had been an appropriate number of electrical outlets at Gate B-16 of the Washington, DC, airport, Anna, José, and Henry probably would have stayed strangers.
    But there weren’t enough outlets. Not even for a regular day. And for sure not for a day when half the flights were delayed because of a freak snowstorm that had started after midnight and grown in intensity through the morning.
    Anna was tired of the kid with the video game hogging all the electricity.
    â€œHey! What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled.
    â€œSorry, but I thought you’d be done by now, and I really need this outlet.” She had already unplugged his game and plugged in her laptop. “I have so many ideas right now, I’m about to burst, you know?”
    The boy in the University of Vermont baseball cap apparently didn’t know. He glared at her as if that would make her surrender the outlet. Anna was impressed; it was a good glare, not unlike the one her math teacher gave kids who forgot their pencils. And even aside from that, this kid looked familiar.
    â€œHey! I know you. You were