Interchange 01 - The Boulder

Who would ever thought?

That day was one like many.

It was still late at night.
The brilliant constellations of the celestial vault shone sharply, in contrast to the dark blue that surrounded them.
The sounds of the city in the distance created a slight background hum, which mingled with some sporadic howling of wind.
At regular intervals, the nocturnal stillness was interrupted by the roar of engines: some, suffused, increased in intensity, gradually becoming more and more stunning; some others, deafening, were on the contrary fading with the passage of time.

In the winter atmosphere surrounding the airport, the ramp attendants on the night shift were carrying out the final routine checks on the BOEING 737 departing from Pier 11: some of those, sunk in heavy padded garments and suspended on moving platforms, were completing the anti-icing procedures on the aircraft wings; another pair of them, a few meters away from the tip of the fuselage, were intent on communicating with the captain in the cockpit; the flight attendants, dressed in refined uniforms and with an impeccable hairdo, were graciously welcoming passengers on boarding; other ramp attendants, regardless of the harsh temperatures, shuttled relentlessly between the aircraft and the baggage loading vehicle wearing a simple anorak, left half open in an attempt to lower body temperature a few degrees.

As soon as all the preparations for the turn-around phase were completed and the push back operations were carried out, the pilots, assisted by the team of ramp officers, started the engines: once they entered the taxiing phase, they waited for the cleared by the control tower and prepared for take-off.
The ground team watched for a few moments, then headed to the next gate, ready to assist the crew of the next international flight: a BOEING 777 arriving from South Korea.

~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~ . ~

By the time the cell phone started ringing, dawn had not yet broken.

That was supposed to be her day off!

How do I know? Well, it will be at least a week since I have seen her go back and forth from the Director's Office: the first few times, she entered enthusiastically,  but she came out with a disconsolate expression painted on her face; yesterday, however, she walked the entire corridor almost hopping as she headed towards the elevator.
On the way to the parking lot she met a colleague and I heard her say that she had finally been given a fixed day off per week and that that day had to be today.

Yet, early this morning, there she is, parking in her usual place: she gets out of the car, retrieves her bag and backpack, activates the alarm and walks away.
She is wearing the uniform and walks briskly: takes the elevator to the second floor; exits the first and enters the one next to it - you must know that the floors above the second are newly built and, therefore, can only be reached by changing the lift as she is doing at the moment.
Arriving at the office floor, she looks around, seeing no one but her.
She takes a seat on one of the chairs on the side of the corridor and checks her mobile phone; a little less than five minutes later, the sliding doors in front of her open and a middle-aged, rather stocky, heavy-walking woman emerges.

...Wait a moment! I know that person: she's the head of the International Relations Office, if the sight doesn't fool me.
A few hours ago, just before midnight, I saw her enter the Director's Office with the Chief of Staff; after more than three quarters of an hour, they went out: she went back to her office, while he went to the outside landing to smoke a cigar; shortly before returning, he contacted that girl by telephone. From what I have heard, a 'ISC' - better known as the 'International Special Case' - is on the way - the management of which required the presence of a highly qualified figure. She.

What will they need this time?

I see the two women entering the Director's Office.
Time passes, with no significant movements.
Finally, after more than an hour, they re-emerge from behind the glass door: walking side by side, they reach the middle of the corridor, where the Manager lingers in front of her study, addressing the girl a few words of apprehension and various recommendations; then, she dismisses her and disappears behind the door.

Sighing, the young woman continues further: she takes the elevator again, goes down to the ground floor and begins to cross the Terminal in the direction of the Arrivals section.
Suddenly, she stops, turns and begins to smell the air: not far away, one of the waiters of the most popular bar in the airport has just placed a generous tray of brioches - still warm from the oven - in the window; the girl lingers for a few seconds, visibly undecided about what to do...
In the end, she lets herself be overcome by hunger - or, perhaps, by gluttony? - and crosses the central clearing diagonally.

There were only a few meters left, when, suddenly, a dull thudding sound spread through the air and the floor began to tremble ...