Full Black

CHAPTER 54

Christie Jacobson wasn’t a big fan of flying. It wasn’t that she was afraid to fly, she just hated all of the hassles.

Her mother had worked as a TWA stewardess back in the glamour days of airline travel in the 1960s. She could still remember how elegant it was. You always got dressed up to fly. You even got dressed up just to go out to the airport to pick people up.

When she was a little girl, all of the stewardesses had looked to her like princesses or fashion models. They wore tiny hats, white gloves, and perfectly tailored uniforms. They even took your picture with a Polaroid camera and gave it to you as a souvenir. That’s how special airline travel was. Things certainly had changed.

Now, airline travel was like bus travel. No one dressed up, the service was lousy, and the entire air of elegance was gone.

Before Christie had changed positions within her company, the experience used to be a bit better. Up until last year, she’d been a very frequent flyer, which meant she was normally upgraded to first class and could check in at the premier counter. She didn’t have to stand in an insufferably long line like the one she was in now.

Glancing at her watch, she wondered if she was going to make her flight. There had to be at least sixty people in line in front of her, and only a handful of agents. Despite the automated check-in kiosks, everyone seemed to be having problems and needing help.

Christie looked behind her and saw that the line stretched past the retracta-belts and stanchions and into the terminal. There had to be several hundred travelers. She didn’t even want to think about what the security line was going to be like. That was the one thing she hated the most about flying. As a breast cancer survivor, she’d had more than enough radiation to last for two lifetimes. She despised the full-body scanners the TSA had introduced and how when she politely opted out of a scan, she had to be subjected to a full-body pat-down. If the scanners wouldn’t have stopped either the shoe bomber or the underwear bomber, she didn’t really see the point.

She liked to joke that the friendly skies would be a lot more friendly if everyone was required to fly naked. It was a cute joke; at least she thought so. During pat-downs, though, she’d been warned that joking wasn’t such a good idea.

She didn’t blame the TSA agents for the security measures. They didn’t make policy. They were there to carry it out, and Christie made it a point to thank them every time for working so hard to keep all travelers safe. Like it or not, life had changed because of 9/11.

Considering what had just happened in all those movie theaters across the country, she figured life was about to change again. Would there be pat-downs and screenings at the local multiplex now? Probably. Something would have to be done to demonstrate that America was serious about never letting such an attack happen again.

Christie had stayed up most of the night watching the news coverage in her hotel room. It was incredibly tragic, but she couldn’t turn it off. The entire nation was grieving. She’d felt very alone in her hotel as she watched and had called her husband. They’d turned to the same cable channel and had watched the coverage together, though they were thousands of miles apart. She was glad to be going home the next day.

She wanted to hug her husband and her children. She wanted to hold on to them for a long, long time. They were big moviegoers. They loved seeing films the weekend they came out, and as far as they were concerned, there was nothing like the experience of the big screen.

Their theater could have easily been targeted by the terrorists. That seemed to be the message of the attacks. No one was safe. Theaters in big towns and small towns alike had been struck.

And before the news had even confirmed it, she knew who had been behind the attacks. She knew it was al Qaeda. They had promised to return and they had. First it was the train stations in Chicago and now movie theaters. What was next? she wondered.

Was she even safe in the airport? She’d noticed the two Middle Eastern businessmen standing several people in front of her. Could they be terrorists? She supposed they could, but it just seemed so far-fetched. What were the odds she’d get into a line with two terrorists?

Christie chastised herself for having those thoughts. She refused to allow herself to look at every Muslim person as a potential terrorist. They were regular people until shown to be otherwise.

She wondered how many others were having the same thoughts she was having. Muslims of good conscience were going to have to stand and denounce the violence. If they did that, Christie Jacobson would be proud to stand with them.

She tried not to look at the two businessmen. Plenty of other people were probably staring at them and she didn’t want to add to their number. In fact, if she were going to look at them at all, it would be with a smile. No matter how many accusatory looks they received today, they’d remember the kind one.

The line shuffled forward and Christie found herself in a position to deliver her encouraging smile. Catching the eyes of one of the men, she smiled and nodded. Immediately, the man’s face darkened and he turned his head away.

His friend, though, saw Christie’s gesture and nodded curtly. He then turned to the other man and began speaking to him quietly. The man didn’t seem to care. He was concentrating on thumbing out a text or an email on his BlackBerry. Christie felt foolish.

She tried to console herself with the notion that maybe it was a cultural difference. Maybe where these men came from, women didn’t directly engage them and smile at them. She decided to leave them alone. They didn’t have to acknowledge her kindness.

To take her mind off the interminably long and slow-moving line, she scanned the other faces in the crowd. She enjoyed people watching. It was fun imagining people’s backgrounds and what their professions might be.

There were plenty who might have been incredibly interesting, but most just kind of looked blah and unkempt. The game was more fun to play with unusual-looking people. Though she’d never confess it to her husband, Christie found the game the most fun with unusually good-looking people, like the man who was standing several steps back from her.

Because of the way the line wrapped around, they were now facing each other. She tried not to stare, but it was hard. He was really good-looking. The man was over six feet with bright blue eyes and one of those taut jawlines that screamed physically fit.

Studying the man, she tried to imagine what his profession might be. He was big enough to have been a professional athlete of some sort. He was probably in his early to mid forties. Bush pilot had a nice ring to it and seemed a good fit.

Not wanting to stare, she had averted her gaze, but as she now risked a glance back at him, she noticed his expression had changed. There was suddenly an intensity to his face that was very unsettling. He was moving away from her. That’s when she saw him draw the gun.

“Show me your hands!” he yelled. “Open palms! Away from your body! Do it now!”

It took Christie a moment to realize that he wasn’t talking to her, but rather the two Middle Eastern men. Half the people standing in line had dropped to the floor, while the other half were quickly backing away, knocking over the retracta-belts and stanchions.

Intuitively sensing she was in the way, Christie dropped to the floor. No sooner had she hit than she heard the earsplitting thunder of the man’s weapon going off.

She looked up to see the head of the man she had smiled at snap backward as a pink mist materialized in the air. All around people were screaming.

She looked at the other Middle Eastern man. His hand looked to be wrapped in a death grip around the handle of his rolling bag.

As the man plunged the handle down, she was reminded of an old-fashioned dynamite detonator box.

If there was any consolation, it was that the explosion was so intense that Christie Jacobson and the others in the terminal never felt any pain.