Portland, Oregon By the time the plane landed and rolled to a stop on the tarmac it was dinnertime by Christopher's body clock, but only three in the afternoon Oregon time. To keep his travels simple, he kept his bag with him, thus avoiding the long lines at the luggage claim counters. Now all he had to do was fall into the long line of passengers unloading onto the connecting platform and start his search for the limousine that was supposed to be awaiting his arrival.
The flashing message on his computer screen, the only instructions he had been given so far, told him only that a driver would pick him up at the airport. There were no phone calls to confirm the arrangements and no further messages from the creator of the crossword puzzle game. Once again, he found himself blindly facing a situation he knew nothing about. On the upside though, he was getting a free trip to a city he had never visited. If his ride did not show, at least he could take a shoestring tour of the city and see a few landmarks. He would then catch a red eye flight home using his brother's buddy pass and chalk the whole thing up as a mini vacation.
The Portland Airport was much smaller than the gargantuan Cleveland International, where Christopher had the pleasure of getting lost twice while waiting two hours for his connecting flight. He purchased a can of Coke from a drink machine, then seated himself in a waiting area where he could see most of the airport-and most of the airport could see him.
The stream of weekend travelers and businessmen was never ending. Surprisingly, Christopher found that watching other people scurry about in their daily lives was pretty relaxing; he had just dozed off when he heard a deep voice bellow his name.
Christopher turned toward the voice and discovered a man standing a short distance away. His arms were folded behind his back and he stood board stiff. The dark blue suit and hat identified him as a chauffeur.
"Mr. Gilbert?" he asked. "I beg your pardon if I have the wrong man."
Christopher stood and reached out to shake the man's hand. "I'm Christopher Gilbert," he said. "You the man I'm supposed to meet?"
His condescending smile was accompanied by a curt nod. "I'm only the driver," he said. "Please, don't ask me anything beyond that."
Christopher's brow furrowed in sudden doubt upon the man's abrupt words. "Well, lead the way," he heard himself say.
A black stretch limousine was waiting for them at the main entrance, along with the cabs and busses that sat in the cool Oregon air. The chauffer paused under the overhanging portico to open the back door for Christopher. "May I take your bag?"
