One Rough Man pl-1

by Brad Taylor

  “Well, I just don’t think we should quit.”

  She saw me start to react and held up a hand. “Wait — before you go into asshole mode — hear me out. We believe that these guys are up to no good. Nobody else does, and maybe they’re right, but what if they’re not? Can’t we do something else? You’re the expert. Have we exhausted all our options?”

  I thought about what she said, feeling a little slimy that I wanted to continue more for the sense of mission than saving anyone’s life.

  “Well, if you want to foot the bill, we can go to D.C. and contact Kurt again. We don’t have a lot, but we do have a few things he hasn’t seen. We can give him the e-mail addresses for further tracking, get a real translation of the initial message, and tell him that the superficial investigation in Guatemala supports what we said. Is that what you want to do?”

  This isn’t right. I’m convincing her to chase shadows so I don’t have to go back to my boat. So I don’t have to face my life. If she’s dumb enough to say yes, give her the truth.

  We walked in silence for a minute. She said, “Yes.”

  Man, is she stubborn. “Are you nuts? You’re going to flunk out of school. Our own government doesn’t give a shit about this. Even if we do go to D.C., we don’t have a clue where the terrorists are, or what they have. We won’t get anywhere, and you’ll just get a lighter bank account from paying the way.”

  Jennifer crossed her arms. “Yeah. I know that. But my family has a long history of doing stupid shit. Just ask my uncle.” She looked hard at me. “What if someone like us existed before 9/11? Would you have wanted them to quit?”

  Gee, thanks. I really feel slimy now. “No, I guess not.”

  * * *

  After exiting our flight in Atlanta, we proceeded down the narrow gateway funneling us into the customs complex of the United States. We had a connecting flight into Washington but still had to pass through U.S. Immigration to continue. We moved up to the counter together, where I showed my passport. The man behind the counter ran the bar code and stiffened.

  I watched his expression turn to stone. He asked Jennifer, “Are you traveling together?”

  She said yes and handed him her passport. He ran it through the scanner, his face showing no emotion. Turning back from the computer, he became pleasant.

  “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask both of you to follow me. We’re going to need some additional information about your trip.”

  I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Shit. We’ve been flagged because of the dead guys in Charleston.

  Remaining pleasant, I asked, “Questions about what? We were only gone a few days. We can answer them right here.”

  The customs agent remained deadpan, giving me no indication that he was a threat, but also no indication that he was friendly. “Sir, this won’t take but a couple of seconds. We’ve had some trouble with U.S. citizens coming back from Central America. All we want you to do is take a little survey to help us facilitate future travel. I don’t want to hold up the line here to do that. Once you’re done, you’ll be on your way.”

  As we moved down the hallway to the secondary interrogation rooms, I dismissed the Charleston angle, since suspected murderers would have been arrested and handcuffed immediately. We were walking free and clear behind the customs official. I relaxed, thinking that maybe Kurt had set up a method to contact us, since he had left Belize before I could give him a phone number.

  Entering the secondary interrogation area, I stood behind the customs official, listening to him tell the man at the desk who we were and where we were going. I waited while the man typed in the information. I saw a reflection of the computer screen on the windowpane to the man’s right. In it were the passport photos of both Jennifer and me, surrounded by words that were inverted due to the mirror image. I couldn’t make out what the paragraph underneath our pictures said, but did decipher the words above them: “WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ON SUSPECTED TERRORISM ACTIVITIES.” A spurt of adrenaline jolted my body.

  Projecting an outward calm, I asked, “Can we use the bathroom before we do anything else? We haven’t had a chance to go since we landed.”

  The agent said, “This won’t take a minute. Once we give you the surveys, you can do whatever you would like.”

  I nodded, my mind racing. I knew what was about to happen. We would be separated and taken to different interrogation rooms. We would be locked in and questioned for hours. The interrogators would compare notes on the answers that we gave to see if they matched up. Using that information, they would continue the questioning. Since I hadn’t bothered to develop a cover story with Jennifer, it would do me no good to lie. Whatever I said wouldn’t match what Jennifer said. On top of that, Jennifer would more than likely tell the truth, believing that the truth would be the best course of action. Unfortunately, our story was so unbelievable that it would cause the customs agents to become more suspicious, not less.

  I had no idea why we were flagged in the Homeland Security system, but had no doubt that the second Jennifer mentioned two Arab terrorists with a WMD, we would be locked up until we could prove we weren’t associated with them. We could be detained for days, if not weeks.

  We need to break out of here right now, before we meet the interrogators. The fewer people the better.

  To compound matters, I had to do it without harming the agents. This wasn’t their fault. They got paid to intercept terrorists. I’d do the same thing.

  The agent at the desk said, “Good to go. Rooms seven and thirteen. Rob and Kenny are tied up right now, but they’ll be down in ten minutes. They’ll meet you there.”

  The first agent nodded, telling us, “Follow me.” He turned and punched in the code to the cipher lock of the door leading into the interior hallway, and presumably the secondary interrogation facilities. I checked out the man behind the computer, seeing that he had taken off his equipment belt and hung it on the wall behind him. Mistake number one.

  I knew why they were acting so pleasant — it was to prevent a scuffle in front of any passengers or other civilians. What I didn’t understand was why they had used only one agent to do this. They should have a man behind me and a man in front, preventing me from taking out both at the same time. Mistake number two.

  Before the man could open the door, I threw my left arm around his neck and drew the Glock 19 from the holster on the agent’s right hip. I raised my right leg and racked the slide of the Glock on the edge of my boot. I kicked the back of the agent’s leg hard enough to cause him to lean backward, with me supporting his weight. I rotated the agent away from the door, placing the front sight of the Glock on the agent behind the desk. The action happened in a blink of an eye, quick enough to prevent the agent behind the desk from getting to his feet. He held up his hands, a look of terror on his face, convinced he was face-to-face with an insane suicidal maniac.

  I barked out orders quickly, intent on dominating the confrontation. “Don’t fucking move. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Put your hands on top of your head.”

  60

  Jennifer stood dumbfounded by Pike’s actions. Jesus Christ, he’s gone nuts. He’s flashed back to some sort of Rambo scene getting tortured by the Vietcong.

  “What in the hell are you doing! Have you lost your mind? My God! Pike! Put down the gun!”

  Pike bared his teeth at her and said, “Take a look at the computer monitor.”

  The agent Pike was holding tried his hand at negotiation. “Look, we only have a few questions. Nobody’s saying you’re a terrorist. Put the gun down and we can sort this out peacefully.”

  Pike laughed. “I suppose this whole hostage-taking thing would be forgotten, huh? If I give you the gun, we can start over like this never happened? Promise?”

  Jennifer cut in, turning back from the monitor. “What’s this mean? Why are we on the screen as terrorists? What’s going on here?”

  Pike said, “I don’t know. Something’s screwed up, and we don’t have th
e time to sort it out here.”

  He addressed the customs agents. “Both of you listen to me. We aren’t terrorists, and I can’t have you arrest us. I’m going to have each of you take off your clothes. I’m then going to tie you both up. I’m not going to hurt either one of you. Please don’t do anything to escalate this situation. I really, really don’t want to hurt you. Do you understand my instructions?”

  They both nodded. “Okay. You at the desk, take off your clothes. Once you’re done, lie down on your stomach with your ankles crossed.”

  The man at the desk complied, lying down with nothing on but a T- shirt and underwear.

  Pike spoke to Jennifer. “Go outside and wait for me. Alert me if someone’s coming this way.”

  Jennifer started to leave, then paused. He wants me out of the way… He’s going to hurt them… maybe kill them…. Before she could say anything, the agent on the floor became agitated, looking wildly at Pike and Jennifer, apparently making the same mental leap that Jennifer had.

  “Stop what you’re thinking. I’m not going to harm you, but I am going to embarrass you. I’m sending Jennifer outside because I’m about to make you take off your underwear. That’s it. Do you want her to stay? Will that prove I’m not about to cut your throat?”

  The agent thought about it, then shook his head.

  “Okay. Jennifer, please go outside.”

  Jennifer left the room. She thought she’d made a mistake, turned back to reenter, and saw the cipher lock on the door. Damn. He’s going to do something bad. This isn’t right. Stopping the terrorists isn’t worth hurting innocent people.

  A short time later Pike came out, holding the agents’ clothing and equipment belts, looking queasy and sweating. Shit. He hurt them. I’m going to hell.

  “Come on. We’ve got to move. We’re about to have every policeman in the city of Atlanta trying to find us.”

  Jennifer put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

  “What did you do in there?”

  Pike was brought up short by the ferocity on her face.

  “Hey, easy. I just tied them up butt-naked. Nothing else. Made me sick to my stomach doing that to good guys.” He looked up and down the hallway. “We need to go, now.”

  She felt an enormous weight leave her shoulders. Thank God. Then she felt a little shame at what she had thought previously.

  She said, “What do you think’s going on? We’re terrorists now?”

  He started moving at a fast walk back the way they had come, toward the passport area, shoving the agents’ equipment and clothing into the first garbage can he came across.

  “I don’t know, but we need to get the hell out of this airport. The tricky part is going to be getting out of the customs and immigration area. With any luck, we can bluff our way through. Just remember to project an air of calm confidence. Customs agents smell fear like a bloodhound. Walk like you own the place, and we should be good to go.”

  She caught up to him, saying, “ ‘Smell fear like a bloodhound’… that’s just great. It’s exactly what I thought I’d be worried about at this stage in my life. When I said this trek was the right thing to do, I didn’t mean I wanted to wear a prison jumpsuit. There is a limit.”

  He jerked his head around as he fast-walked up the hallway. “What’s that supposed to mean? We’re getting arrested one way or another. I just postponed it a little bit. Hopefully a great bit.”

  “I know… I know. It’s okay. I told you we Cahills do stupid shit too. Of course, I’m pretty sure you’ve just set a record… ”

  Pike cut her off by raising a finger to his lips. They had reached the double doors that led back into the customs area. Pike poked his head out, then said, “This is it. A new flight’s in and the place is buzzing. You ready?”

  Realizing what she was about to do, Jennifer’s bravado left her. “Pike, I don’t know if I can do this. We just broke the law in a big way. We held a gun on federal agents and threatened them with death. I don’t think I’m going to be able to remain calm.”

  “I hate to break this to you, but we don’t have a choice.”

  61

  We slipped into the flow of people headed to the baggage claim.

  “Remain calm. We’re going to walk right to the man over there taking the customs forms. He’ll let us through as long as we don’t look like we’re hiding something.”

  I gave her a reassuring smile. “You ready?”

  She nodded weakly, looking like she’d rather go back to the interrogation room. Don’t worry about that. If this doesn’t work, we’ll be there soon enough.

  We got in line behind a family of four. Acting like I was a newbie tourist, I held up our blue-and-white cards and said, “Do we give these to you?”

  The man nodded, saying, “No luggage?”

  “Yeah, we have luggage. It’s somewhere between here and South America. Don’t get me started.”

  The man smiled and waved us through. We entered the security checkpoint and made it to the far side without any issues, now back into the airport proper inside concourse E.

  “All right, we need to get out of here and get lost in the city. Unfortunately, we’re at the last terminal in this damn airport. We’re going to have to cross all five concourses to get out of here. We need to start moving faster. Sooner or later they’re going to lock this place down.”

  We jogged down the escalator to the underground trains, with one pulling up as we hit bottom. I ignored it, pulling Jennifer to the moving sidewalk in front of me.

  “What are you doing? We get on that and we can be at the entrance in minutes.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s too risky. They pull the trigger on an alarm and that train’s going to stop, with us inside it and no way out. We need to run it to the end.”

  We started walking like we were missing a plane, fast, but not fast enough to cause someone to stare. I noticed that the camera systems here in the tunnel were only clustered around the train entrances and exits.

  Right after passing the escalators to Concourse C the trains ceased running, with an alert flashing that they were having mechanical issues.

  “Good call,” Jennifer said. “Looks like you were right.”

  “Yeah, but if the trains have stopped, we’re out of time. They know we’re loose. They’ll try to camouflage it for a couple of minutes to keep everyone calm, but eventually, this place is going to be covered in cops.”

  As we moved toward Concourse B I saw the trains start to move again. Huh. What’s that about?

  We reached the escalator entrance to the B Concourse just as another train stopped, exploding out with about twenty police officers. Oh, shit.

  Instead of running past Concourse B, I pushed Jennifer to the escalator, going up into the concourse. Glancing back, I saw half of the force coming up with us, apparently not recognizing we were ahead of them. No pictures out yet. We reached the top and went left, away from the direction the police were headed. Unlike the tunnel, in the concourse the cameras looked like something out of a Vegas casino, one little dome sticking out of the ceiling every thirty feet. Shit.

  I hugged the wall, attempting to cross the concourse to the down escalators on the far side, getting back to the tunnel while there was still a gap in the police presence. Before we reached it, a group of police crossed over, headed our way. I turned into an alcove, rotating in front of Jennifer and shielding her face with my body.

  “Tell me when they’ve passed us. If they start walking toward us, the game is up.”

  I saw Jennifer’s face blanch. “Shit,” she said. “One’s moving directly toward us. What do we do? Should we run?”

  “Stay calm. If he’s headed to us, we’re done. Don’t assume that’s what he’s doing, though. We wait until he asks us a question.”

  “He’s still coming. He’s walking right to us.”

  “Okay… okay. Bend down and mess inside your bag. Anything to hide your face. Act like you’re looking for tickets or something.”


  Squatting down, I began to rummage through my carry-on next to her. I could hear Jennifer muttering under her breath.

  “Shit. I’m going to prison…. Mom’s going to love this…. Uncle’s fucking dead…. I’m a terrorist… the only man I know’s a nutcase… All I try to do is the right thing…. Why does this stuff happen to me… Who’d I piss off… ”

  I saw the cop out of the corner of my eye. I waited for the tap on the shoulder. He moved right past me and kept going into the alcove. For the first time, I noticed it was a men’s room. Whew. Too close for comfort. I reached over to get Jennifer’s attention when I caught the tail end of her rambling.

  “… Why don’t you just tie the fucker up butt-naked? Right here… get us out of this the same way you got us into it… ”

  What a crybaby. “You going to bitch all day, or can we get the hell out of here?”

  She snapped out of it, saw we weren’t under arrest, and looked up at me with a sheepish grin. I saw her eyes focus on the sign above my head.

  “Yeah. He went in to take a piss. We should go before he’s done.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean any of that. Just letting off a little steam.”

  I began walking down the concourse toward a restaurant, saying, “Well, you’ll have plenty of time for that, because we’re fucked. We can’t get out without getting to the far end, and I’m pretty sure there’s a platoon of cops at baggage claim by now. We need a way out that normal passengers don’t use.”

  “I know a way.”

  I looked at her face and saw she was serious. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a pilots’ lounge down below Concourse A. Get down there, and we can get on the Delta employee bus. It takes us right out of the airport grounds.”