“So, what’s the plan?” I asked Constance, ignoring the rest of the attendant’s corporate spiel.

“Doctor Jante said someone from Carswell would be meeting us at baggage claim,” she replied.

“So they’ll be taking us to the hotel, and we don’t need to rent a car or anything?”

She shook her head. “We shouldn’t need a rental. But considering the rush Jante put on this for the flight and everything else, my guess is we’re heading straight to the facility, not the hotel.”

“No rest for the Witch, eh?” I grunted.

“My guess would be no,” she replied. “But if it’s any consolation I’ll make sure the bureau buys you a nice dinner this evening.”

“I’ll take you up on that if I’m not already asleep,” I replied as I dug out my cell phone and thumbed it on. “I might need a rain check though, depending on how all this goes.”

“We can do that,” she said as she imitated my actions with her own cell. “Maybe you can grab another nap on the way. Carswell is about an hour from DFW.”

“An hour, huh…” I grunted.

“A little over actually, according to Jante,” Constance added. “She tried to get us on a regional flight into Meacham since it’s closer, but DFW was the best she could do on short notice.”

“So we get the dollar tour instead.”

“Pretty much,” she answered with a nod.

“Lovely,” I sighed, watching my phone as the bars indicating signal strength appeared one after another. I shot a glance out the window then turned back and added, “Looks like we might be another minute or two getting to the gate. I’d better call Felicity and let her know we made it okay while I actually have the chance.”

“Good idea.” Constance nodded. “I need to call Ben too.”

I hit the speed dial for my wife’s number. Two rings later her mellifluous Celtic lilt poured into my ear.

“Row?”

“Yeah, honey, it’s me,” I told her. “Just wanted to let you know we’re on the ground at DFW.”