The Price of Silence

Part 1

Steve Sloan looked up at the arrivals board. Flight number six fourteen from Boston was flashing. Now arriving at twelve noon.

Sighing he looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes to get his luggage, about a five minute walk to the car, another fifteen minutes to get him to the hospital and fifteen minutes to get to court, he thought. I can do this.

Making a mental note of the gate number, Steve headed that way. He couldn't understand why the airport was so crowded for a Tuesday. Then he realized that half the people there were hockey players.

Must be some kind of convention.

His cell phone started ringing. Taking it out of his jacket pocket, Steve flipped it open, bringing it to his ear. "Yes Captain… It's only the fifth time you've called me, that's how I knew it was you… Not yet… Noon… I know… No, I still have plenty of time to get to the courthouse… No, you don't have to send someone down here… Yes, I'll call if the flight is any later than twelve… Okay, Captain, talk with you later."

Putting his cell phone away, Steve wasn't watching where he was walking. Colliding with a little kid holding an ice cream cone, he backed up and saw the chocolate stain on his pants. Smiling at the child, he looked for a sign for a men's room. Finding one, he walked towards it.

Entering the bathroom, Steve walked over to the sink. Grabbing some paper towels and turning on the water, he started to rub the stain away.

Damn, he thought. This is my good suit, now I'm going to have to change.

Paying attention to his pants, Steve didn't notice the two well built large men with hockey bags walk into the bathroom.

Oh well maybe I can get away with changing the pants.

"Flight number six fourteen from Boston is now arriving at gate A thirteen." The announcement came over the loud speaker.

Steve looked at his watch, it was only eleven thirty-five. Made it in early after all.

Looking at the stain once again, he threw the paper towels in the garbage. Washing his hands, he noticed the two men standing at the urinals, smiling as one of them looked back at him.

Seeing the hockey bags close by, Steve was surprised at their size. "Those a new type of bag?"

The dark haired man walked up to the sink. "Yeah, issued to use this year."

"Looks like you can fit your sticks in there."

"That's the great thing about these bags. You can fit just about anything in there."

"How come you guys are carrying your own bags?" Steve asked.

"When you're on the third line, you carry your own bag," was the answer.

"Ah, I see," Steve said, grabbing another paper towel. "Good luck with your games." Wiping his hands he started walking towards the exit.

The tall blond stepped away from the urinal to block Steve's way.

"Excuse me," Steve said, trying to walk around the guy. The man moved, blocking his way again.

Before Steve could move around him, he was grabbed from behind. He began fighting, but a chloroform soaked rag covered his mouth and nose. Steve held his breath while trying to hit the man that held him from behind. His lungs felt like they were about to explode. Feeling a punch to his stomach, Steve had no choice but to exhale. Once he began breathing, he started inhaling the sweet smell of the chloroform. He went for his gun and his world began to spin as the drug started to take effect. His body fell limply into his attacker's arms. They dragged him over to one of the hockey bags that they'd left on the floor.

"Come on let's hurry this up," the dark haired one said.

The blonde opened up the bag, placing an unconscious Steve carefully inside. He zipped it up and lifted it.

"Jesus Christ, this guy's heavy," he complained.

"Let's go."

Walking out of the bathroom, the two men joined the others heading towards the exit of the airport. Making their way through the crowds, the bag knocked into Mark Sloan.

"Watch it," the blonde said, brushing past Mark.

Mark watched the two walk out of sight. "I hope you lose your game," he muttered under his breath. Looking at his watch, he looked around to see if he could spot Steve in one of the shops. Not seeing his son anywhere, Mark walked up to one of the information desks.

"Can I help you sir?" the young woman behind the desk asked.

"Yes, I was wondering if you can page my son and have him meet me here," Mark requested.

"What's his name?"

"Steve Sloan."

She picked up the phone. "I'll have security page him; we can't page from here."

"Thank you."

Within minutes Mark heard the voice over the loud speaker paging his son to come to the information desk and meet his party. He looked around, trying to see if he could spot Steve walking up to the desk. After checking his watch again, Mark turned to the young lady once more.

"Excuse me, Miss," Mark said.

"Yes sir, what can I do for you now?"

"I was wondering if you could call me a taxi."

"If you go right out those doors," the girl directed by pointing to a set of doors, "you will find the taxis all lined up waiting."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Mark proceeded to the doors he was directed to. He took one last look to see if Steve was around. Not seeing his son, Mark exited the airport.