Balance of Power

    His skin felt clammy now. The heat of alcohol cooled into a numbness against which the compulsive pacing became his only weapon. His T-shirt was rancid with sweat; depression seeped through him like nightfall.

    The carousel was still. At the edge of his consciousness, a woman's voice announced, "The baggage for Flight 88 from Washington-Dulles now will be arriving at carousel five . . ."

Bowden began moving.

• • •

Marie was glad her mommy had taken her to the bathroom.

    The baggage was taking too long. Holding her grandmother's hand, she waited for her bright-flowered suitcase, wondering how grown-ups could keep watching a rubber belt turning with nothing on it.

    Amidst the crowd, her family formed a small group with the two security guards who had met them. This nearness to those she loved—her grandmother's hand, her head against her mother's waist, the sound of her mother talking quietly to Mary—made Marie feel warm and secure. Doll hugged to her chest, she peeked out at the men with cameras.

    Her mother had refused to talk to them; her aunt and grandmother would not either. Although she did not know why, her mother seemed to fear these strangers. She looked away, and then peered out again.

    Daddy.

    He was carrying a box with pink ribbons wrapped around it. Startled, Marie glanced up at her mother.

    Daddy had come to meet her with a present. But her mother did not see him.

    Her daddy saw her now.

    Tentative, she raised her arm, a tiny wave to say she saw him, too.

* * *

    Bowden sank to his knees, eyes fixed on Marie. As her mouth formed words he could not hear, her mother turned toward him.

    Fumbling, he opened the box.

    As he slung it over his shoulder, the gun felt heavy, solid. The movement around him slowed, and then his eyes met Joan's.

    First, she would watch the others die.

    Gun at his hip, Bowden aimed at Inez Costello.

    "No," his wife cried out.

    Inez turned, startled at the anguish in her daughter's voice. Bowden pulled the trigger.

    A red stain appeared from the shredded flesh of Inez Costello's throat.

    Bowden froze, stunned at his power. Joan's screams filled the air; one of the guards reached inside his shirt. A gentle pull of the trigger launched him backward. In a split second Bowden sprayed three more bullets. A blonde girl slumped, then the second guard. Passengers dove to the floor.

    There was no one in front of Joan.

An unearthly calm came over him. First she would watch her sister die, feel the weight of all she had done to him.

* * *

    On her hands and knees, Mary scrambled onto the metal slope of the baggage carousel.

    Shrieks of panic echoed behind her. As she crawled toward the mouth of the baggage tunnel, a bullet exploded the suitcase beside her.

    Frenzied, she reached the opening, pushing aside the luggage it expelled. Another bullet smashed the rubber flaps across it, then two more. In a panic, Mary scrambled inside.

    The belt kept carrying her backward. Twisting to face forward, she pushed against its momentum with the palms of both hands, the baggage piled behind her shoving at her feet. Through the swinging flaps she saw John Bowden aim the gun.

* * *

Alarms began shrieking. The sound made Bowden's finger twitch.

A bullet parted the rubber flap near Mary's face.

    To both sides of the carousel people ran or fell flat on the tile, hands covering their faces or curled like fetuses. Now each movement was too fast for him.

    Panicking, he turned to aim at Joan.

    She clutched Marie, gaping in terror and disbelief. Her daughter's face pressed against her leg. At their feet her mother lay in a spreading pool of blood.

    "John," she cried out, and then the bullet shattered her jaw.

    Marie fell with her mother, looking into her ruined face. She turned away, eyes shut, doll clutched to her chest.

    Her father stared at her, gun frozen. His eyes were still and wide.

    "Stop!" a man's voice shouted.

    Bowden flinched. In an involuntary reflex, the gun jerked in his hand.

    "No . . . ," he cried out.

    Marie's doll shattered in china pieces.

* * *

Desperate, Mary struggled to fight the moving belt. As her head cleared the rubber flaps she heard Bowden's wail of grief.

"Marie . . ."

    Staring in horror at something Mary could not see, Bowden placed the gun to his temple.

    There was a short, percussive pop, a spume of red. Bowden crumpled.

    As Mary's arms went slack, the conveyor belt expelled her with the luggage. Turning facefirst on the carousel, she passed Marie.

    Mary began sobbing.

    With a shudder, the belt stopped moving. In the terrible silence, Mary slowly raised her head.

    Around her, passengers wept, some prone, others rising to their knees. A woman, staggering past, chattered like a monkey. Police stood over Bowden's body. Near Marie a paramedic felt Inez's wrist. Beside them, Joan stared emptily at Mary. A burly man with a Minicam bent over them, filming.

    Dropping Inez Costello's wrist, the paramedic turned to Marie.