17 #2
“Use the corporate credit card. If it won’t read the group code, buy individual tickets—whatever’s faster. The important thing is that you’re on that train.”
“Got it.”
I pull the emergency card out of my pocket with sweaty fingers.
I enter the details on the touchscreen, and the machine takes an eternity that probably lasts only seven seconds.
Just as I’m about to punch the glass, the slot starts spitting out an endless stream of tickets.
And the next second, I almost plant a kiss on the machine.
“I’ve got them,” I announce, catching them on the fly. I look at Nico. “Are they all here?”
Nico gives a thumbs-up, the color returning to his cheeks.
“Full group, Maika.”
“Good,” Helen chimes in from the other side.
“The port agency’s bus has already been notified.
It’ll be waiting for you at the exit of the Civitavecchia station with the engine running.
The officer on duty already knows you’re running tight, so they’ll keep the Alfa gangway open just for your group.
Don’t let anyone get distracted when getting off the train, Maika. ”
My patience, which had already been running on fumes since the dome crisis, decides to evaporate completely. I turn my back on the group so no passengers can hear me and blurt out:
“Yes, Helen! I know perfectly well how to do my fucking job!”
Nico’s eyes widen again.
“You didn’t hear a thing.”
“I’ve been deaf since we left the Vatican,” he promises, nodding vigorously.
On the other end of the phone, there is a deathly silence.
“Maika,” she says, so slowly it makes my blood run cold.
“I’m sorry,” I reply before my pride gets in the way.
I stand still in the middle of the lobby, the wad of tickets in one hand and the phone pressed to my ear.
“I’m sorry, Helen. I’m nervous, okay? And I’ve got a bunch of cruise passengers staring at me as if I had the power to stop a hundred-thousand-ton ship with my bare hands. ”
Helen takes a deep breath on the other end of the line.
“I know. Get on that train. We’ll talk once you’re on board.”
“Are you going to give me a lecture?”
“Get on the train.”
“I’m going.”
I turn to the group, waving the tickets in the air.
“Attention! We have the tickets. Everyone to the platform. This train will take us straight to Civitavecchia, where private transportation will be waiting to take us directly to the ship’s gangway. We’ll make it on time!”
I don’t know if I have the medical authority to promise that, but sometimes a white lie is definitely the only thing keeping a group of tourists going.
As soon as we step inside, the passengers collapse into their seats, fanning themselves with Vatican tourist brochures. Nico sits down for two seconds, but gets right back up, unable to contain his adrenaline.
For the first time in three hours, I feel like the day has stopped fighting us.
I lean against the train car door, keeping my eyes fixed on the group. Through the window, the suburbs of Rome begin to fly by at full speed. And a few minutes later, Helen calls again.
“How are you?” she asks, just as the train passes the halfway point.
The question catches me off guard. I look at my reflection in the windowpane: my hair is a mess, my press pass is crooked, and my eyes are utterly exhausted. A wonderful sight.
“I’m holding up,” I reply. “Which is a miracle in itself.”
Helen takes a moment to respond, and I can feel the weight of her relief through the line.
“Good.”
The journey flies by and lasts an eternity at the same time. When the train finally slows down at the coastal station of Civitavecchia, the tension tightens my stomach again.
“We’re on the platform now,” I tell her over the phone.
“Head straight out through the main lobby. The shuttle driver is at the door with a sign from the company and security clearance. He’ll get you into the port area in three minutes. Hurry up.”
“Three minutes is all I have left before I pass out too.”
“Get a move on, Maika, and cut the crap.”
“At your service, officer.”
We pour out of the car like a solid tide.
The shuttle bus is parked right in front of us with its emergency lights flashing and the driver waving us over.
Helen has delivered. Of course she has. She always has a Plan B.
“That’s what happens when you don’t trust anyone,” I tell myself.
The phrase comes back to me now with a completely different nuance.
It hurt when she said it on deck, but today, that damn mistrust saved our lives.
The bus speeds through the port security checkpoints, and suddenly, the ship appears before us. Huge, white, imposing, silhouetted against the afternoon sky. The boarding announcement sirens are blaring over the loudspeakers.
The passengers rush down, swiping their cards through the gangway scanner, and when I finally cross the gangway and step onto the deck inside the ship, my legs are shaking so badly they feel like they’re going to give out on me.
I lean against the bulkhead in the hallway, let my head fall back, and close my eyes.
“God… This has been the worst day of my entire career with this company.”