Page 6

I felt a hand on my arm—maybe it was my dad’s or maybe it was Slash’s—pulling me backward. But my legs felt heavy, and I stumbled. Christmas music still played in what seemed like delayed time over the loudspeakers.

I’m dreeeeeeeaming of a whiiiiiite Christmaaaaaas…

Santa shouted something at me. I couldn’t make it out, but it didn’t seem friendly. His mouth moved in slow motion, his lips forming words I couldn’t understand.

At some point I realized Santa no longer pointed the gun in the air but was bringing it down inch by inch. I waited for my life to pass before my eyes, but it didn’t. Instead, two things happened simultaneously.

As the position of his gun lowered, Santa took a step backward and promptly tripped over the prone figure of my mom. The scene again unfolded in the delayed time of my vision. His legs flew up in the air, his body twisting as he struggled in a futile effort to stay upright. At the same time, a dark figure flew slowly through the air from behind my left side, his hands stretched out. That figure landed on top of Santa at exactly the moment he hit the floor flat on his back. I caught a glimpse of a black leather jacket.

Slash!

Shots were fired. Something hit me hard from behind, knocking me to the floor and forcing the breath from my lungs. As abruptly as it had started, the time warp I’d been locked in passed. My cheek was pressed to the cold airport floor. My senses were assaulted with real-time screams, a blaring alarm mixed with the Christmas music that wasstillplaying, and the sounds of pounding feet and people shouting.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to get the heavy thing off me, but it wasn’t budging. After what seemed like forever, the weight was lifted, and someone dragged me several feet away.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

I sat up and blinked a couple of times. A policeman dressed in a flak jacket and earpiece, with his gun out, knelt next to me, looking at me with a concerned expression on his face. “I think so.”

“Sorry. I brought you down for your protection. Are you injured?”

I patted my arms, legs, and head. All seemed in order. “I’m fine. But my mom, my dad, and…husband. My husband, he jumped Santa. Where is he?” I twisted and tried to stand on shaky legs to see the spot where we’d been standing in line, but there was such a crowd of people in the area, I couldn’t see them.

We were joined by a man in a dark suit, wearing an earpiece. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll need to come with me.” The policeman stepped back, deferring to the suited man, who flashed a badge.

“Are you the TSA?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am, and you need to come with me right now.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No. Of course not. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

“I’m sorry, but I need to check on my family first.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll bring them to you. We must go now.” He took my arm, pulling me away from the action. We passed a lot of policemen and people huddled into groups protected by security and police. I was honestly amazed at the level of security and how fast they had responded. He led me to a side door and into what looked like a security control room. Dozens of monitors were hanging from the walls, showing what looked like every angle of the airport. Phones were ringing, people were running around the room, and staff was barking orders. The TSA man steered me to a small room off the command center with a desk and a few chairs.

I thought it odd I’d been brought to this location for questioning. I wondered why there were no police present since a crime had obviously been committed. But given we were in the airport, I figured it qualified as a federal offense, hence the TSA involvement.

He closed the door and asked me to sit. I sat gingerly on the edge of the chair. “Can you tell me what happened out there?” he asked.

“Who exactly are you?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Frank Marks, a BDO.” He pulled out a wallet and showed me an ID.

I studied it and then looked up at him. “What’s a BDO?”

“BDO stands for a behavioral detection officer. We observe passengers in the airports, in person and on camera, looking for behaviors that might be suspicious. You know, like a cold, penetrating stare, or excessive sweating, or nervous behaviors of any kind. We already had eyes on Santa when you bumped into him in the baggage line. May I see your identification, please? Where are you headed?”

I’d been wearing my purse across my body, so it was still attached to me. I fished out my passport and handed it to him. “I’m traveling to Italy with my husband and parents. We live in Silver Spring, Maryland, and are headed to a family wedding.”

“All right.” He reviewed my passport and snapped a couple of quick photos of it with his phone. “So, what transpired between you and Santa?”

“Not much. My family and I got in line at the Alitalia counter to check our baggage. Santa was already standing there in front of us. It was crowded, so when I reached into my purse to get my passport, I elbowed him by accident. But instead of a bowl full of jelly, I hit something hard under his red coat.”

“You didn’t wonder what it might be?”

“There was no time. I said ‘ouch,’ because I hit my funny bone. Then, as I rubbed my elbow, I mentioned he had hard ribs.”