The Bear

Washington-Dulles International Airport

The Sukhoi SuperJet-100 sat quietly on the tarmac awaiting its passengers. The first of a new generation of Russian built passenger airliners had only been in service for a couple years and almost none had ever visited the United States. They had been used primarily in Europe and the Far East. It was all they needed to hear to put the plan into effect. The CIA officer posing as an FAA official addressed the pilot, who was not taking the news well.

“We have been ordered to have a complete inspection of this aircraft, Captain.”

“But it is a good plane. Nothing is wrong with it!” The pilot was furious, but he knew the Americans would make him wait longer if he continued to protest.

“I understand, but this is not my decision,” he answered with a slight smile. He tossed his hands up in the air for effect. “I’m sorry Captain. It shouldn’t take very long, just an hour or two.”

The pilot huffed but knew he could do nothing about it. It was politics and he was sure the Americans were interfering just because they were Russian. It probably had something to do with the accident over Alaska. He turned and stomped his way back down the gangway and into the cabin where he delivered the news to the passengers, a ballet troupe that had been performing in the states. They would be forced to disembark, and wait. The news was greeted with a collective groan. The troupe was off and lounging around the terminal within ten minutes. The pilot was the last to walk back down the ramp where he was again, promptly greeted by another official.

“Captain? I’m agent Holmes from Homeland Security.”

“What do you want now? I have done nothing.”

“Sir, this isn’t about you.” The agent removed a slip of paper from the breast pocket of his suit and handed it to the captain.

“What is this?”

“Sir, I need to have these people questioned by my department. Can you provide them to us?”

“These are Russian citizens.” His voice peaked, drawing the attention of his passengers. “I will not hand over anyone to you.”

“Then we’ll have to take them, Captain. I know you don’t want it to get ugly.” Four other agents flanked out, cutting off the exit to the rest of the terminal. “I just need them for questioning.”

The captain’s face turned beet-red, the color more noticeable due to his thick, white hair. But he knew he could do nothing. He had little experience with international customs other than baggage claims, and he had no contact information for the Russian embassy. They would be the only ones who could stop this madness. He’d been in the United States several time before and never needed it. He thrust the paper back toward agent Holmes and turned to his co-pilot.

“Drako,” he said in Russian, “show these, gentlemen,” he said with disgust, “who they wish to speak to.” A nod was his only reply. “I assure you Agent Holmes, we will make the strongest protest to our embassy.”

“That is your right, Captain. I’m only the messenger. I’m just doing my job.”

Five members of the troupe were escorted from the terminal, two women and three men, and the others could only watch hoping no one would come back for them. The last of the inspectors disembarked within the hour.

“Captain, she’s all yours,” he said. “I apologize for the delay.”

“Where are my passengers?” he yelled.

“Sir, I only inspect aircraft,” he replied as he began his walk down the long row of windows. “Someone will be back to speak to you.”

The Russian captain was furious, and his passengers were scared. He began pacing. All he could do was wait for whomever was to contact him next, another imbecile, he was sure.

“Captain?” Agent Holmes announced as he walked into the terminal. “Good news,” he smiled. “You’re cleared to take off.”

“What about my other passengers?”

“Unfortunately, they will have to remain with us,” Holmes replied as he closed the distance. “But everyone else is free to go.“ Holmes extended his hand, but the Russian let it hang in the air. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Captain. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

The captain turned abruptly and waved his passengers toward the plane. They flooded toward the gangway, filling the opening with bodies. Agent Holmes could understand nothing as the captain shouted instructions in Russian. The terminal was cleared within minutes as Holmes grinned, pulling his phone from his pocket as he turned.

“Director Thorn? They have re-boarded. Everything went as you hoped.” He slid his finger across the screen, ending the call. Now it was back to the agency to debrief. He heard the engines cycle up as the Sukhoi SuperJet was pushed away from its berth.