Chapter One
March 18, 1995
Saturday Evening
My first thought was: What in the world am I doing here and how am I going to last the week?
I got off the plane in the early evening darkness, walked through the automatic doors and there I was in the Charlottesville airport, finally. Up the escalator, through the empty second-floor lounge, and down the escalator to the main floor, wondering if my van ride to the institute had waited the extra hour, and if not, how I was going to get out there. I suppose if the rental car agencies are closed, I’ll have to call a cab, I thought. A 40-mile taxi ride will make an impressive addition to the tab.
Wasted anticipation, because as soon as I came out of the secured area through the revolving door, a guy came up and said, “You must be Angelo. I’m Mick. I’m your transportation to the institute, and I’ve got two of your fellow participants over here,” pointing behind him. He was maybe 50, a youngish 50, pretty average looking.
“Yes, I’m Angelo. How did you know?” I wasn’t the only man from the plane coming through the door.
Mick smiled. “I can generally tell. Let’s get your baggage and get on the road so we can get you some supper.” He led the way to the airport’s only baggage carousel. “You guys can introduce yourselves. You’re going to know each other a little better by the time I bring you back here next week, you might as well start now.”