Dave Barry - Big trouble

"Why would they want a nuclear bomb?" asked Baker.

"We think they didn't really know what it was," said Greer. "The reason we think this is, far as we been able to trace it, they sold it to some other guys, who sold it to some guy runs a place here called the Jolly Jackal."

"The bar?" said Baker.

"That bar," said Greer, "has more AK-47s than Budweisers."

"Jesus," said Baker. "This town."

"Thing is," said Greer, "we could be wrong about all of this. This could be another suitcase, unrelated. Could be drugs, could be counterfeit money. We also got guys looking in Atlanta, Houston, New Orleans, some other places. But based on the conversation we had earlier this evening with the guy who runs the Jolly Jackal…»

"Who will not be runnin' anywhere in the near future," noted Seitz.

"No, he won't," agreed Greer. "Anyway, based on our conversation with him, we think this is the suitcase we want, and that it is now going to MIA with these local scumbags."

Baker sat back in the seat and looked out the window for a few moments. He leaned forward again and said, "Here's what I don't get."

"Lemme guess," said Greer. "You don't get how come, if we think there's a chance the suitcase is here, we don't tell the cops, make some kind of announcement, evacuate the public outta here. That it?"

"Basically, yeah," said Baker.

"Several reasons," said Greer. "Number one, these assholes don't know it, but we got 'em trapped at the airport."

"What do you mean?" asked Baker.

"I mean," said Greer, "just before we ran into you, I made a phone call." He held up what looked to Baker like a cell phone, except it was on the thick side, and it had a short, fat antenna. "Until we say otherwise, no plane is takin' off from MIA. There won't be any announcements; the planes'll be boarded as usual, but they won't get clearance to push back from the gates."

"You can do that?" asked Baker.

"You'd be surprised," said Greer. "Point is, we got these assholes bottled up."

"Then why don't you evacuate the area around the airport?" asked Baker.

"That's the second reason," said Greer. "Think about it. If word gets out, which it would, there's a nuclear bomb practically in fucking downtown, what do you think would happen to this city? Do you think there would be an orderly evacuation? Women and children first? Cooler heads prevailing? You think that's how the citizenry of Miami would react?"

Baker thought about it.

"What would happen," continued Greer, "is that every idiot in this town who owns a gun, which is basically every idiot in this town, would grab his gun, jump into his car, or somebody else's car, and lay rubber for 1-95. Inside of ten minutes the city is grid-locked, and what happens next makes Iwo Jima look like a maypole dance. This whole town turns into the end of a Stephen King novel."

"Good point," said Baker.

"Number three," said Greer, "if word gets around about what's in the suitcase, it eventually gets to the morons who have the suitcase. Long as they don't know what they got, which apparently they don't, they ain't gonna think about trying to use it, like as a bargaining chip."

"Could they set it off?" asked Baker. "I mean, doesn't it have, like, whaddyacallem, fail-safe things?"

"This thing wasn't built by good guys," Greer said. "It's not like in the movies, where the president has to give the Secret Code and two trusty soldiers have to turn their keys simultaneously. This thing was built by bad guys who wanna be able to set it down in a public place in a crowded city and arm it quickly. We don't know for sure about this suitcase, but the other one? The one they recovered? All you had to do there was open it up and flip three electrical switches, and that starts a forty-five-minute timer."

"Forty-five minutes?" said Baker.

"Forty-five," said Greer. "We think the True Believer was planning to hop a subway, be up in the Bronx, facing north, by the time it blew."

"And now it's here," said Baker, staring out the window.

"Looks like it," said Greer.

"Jesus," said Baker, shaking his head. "I mean, you see this shit in the movies, and you think it's fiction, but I guess it was bound to happen one day."

Seitz snorted.

"What?" asked Baker.

"What makes you think this is the first time?" said Seitz.

"This isn't the first time?" said Baker.

Seitz snorted again.

"Never mind which time this is," said Greer.

"Here's the thing. What I told you here, it's because, like I said, you're a cop, and you got cops involved. But what I'm also telling you is, when we get these scumbags, we take them, and the suitcase, and we leave, and that's the end of this as far as you are concerned, understand?"

"What do you mean?" asked Baker.

"What I mean," said Greer, "is that as far as the federal government is concerned — and I am talking about way, way, way the fuck high up in the federal government — none of this happened. There was no nuclear bomb in Miami. There never have been any nuclear bombs going around loose in suitcases anywhere in this great land of ours. Because if people start thinking there are, we are gonna have panic like you cannot imagine — people leaving for Montana, hoarding food, taking all their money outta the banks, lynching every guy with a beard, you get the picture. The economy goes into the toilet, civilization collapses, end of story. So this did not happen. Understand? Whatever happens, it did not happen."

Baker said, "But I have to report…»

"You don't have to report shit," said Greer. "You repeat any of this, Agent Seitz and I, backed by pretty much the entire federal government, will deny it. You push it, and we will push back on you, hard. Very hard. Nothing personal, because seems to me like you're a good cop, but we can and will fuck your career up so bad you won't be able to get a job policing Porta Potties."

Baker sat back in his seat, staring out the window again. He said, "What you said before, about if you told me what was going on, you might have to kill me…»

Greer turned and looked back at him. "What about it?"

Baker said, "You weren't kidding, were you?"

Greer looked forward again. "Traffic's getting bad," he said.

Even veteran air travelers find Miami International Airport disorienting. It's often crowded, and it seems to have been designed so that every passenger, no matter where he or she is coming from or going to, has to jostle past every other passenger. The main concourse looks like a combination international bazaar and refugee camp. There are big clots of people everywhere — tour groups, school trips, salsa bands, soccer teams, vast extended families — all waiting for planes that will not leave for hours, maybe days. There aren't enough places to sit, so the clots plop down and sprawl on the mungy carpet, surrounded by Appalachian-foothill-sized mounds of luggage, including gigantic suitcases stuffed to bursting, as well as a vast array of consumer goods purchased in South Florida for transport back to Latin America, including TVs, stereos, toys, major appliances, and complete sets of tires. Many of these items have been wrapped in thick cocoons of greenish stretch plastic to deter baggage theft, which is an important airport industry, another one being the constant «improvements» to the airport, which seem to consist mainly of the installation of permanent-looking signs asking the public to excuse the inconvenience while the airport is being improved.

The airport air smells of musty tropical rot, and it's filled with the sounds of various languages — Spanish, predominantly, but also English, Creole, German, French, Italian, and, perhaps most distinct of all, Cruise Ship Passenger. The cruisers just arriving are usually wearing brand-new cruisewear. They follow in groups close behind cruise-line employees holding signs displaying cruise-line names; they tell each other what other cruises they have been on, and they laugh loudly whenever anybody makes a joke — which somebody does every forty-five seconds — about how much they're going to drink, gamble, or buy. The cruisers heading home are more subdued — tired, sunburned, hungover, and bloated from eating eleven times per day, whether they were hungry or not, because… it's all included! Some of the women have had their hair braided and beaded, a style that looks fine on young Caribbean girls, but on most women over sixteen looks comical or outright hideous. Some passengers are clutching badly mass-produced "folk art" — large, unattractive, nonfunctional sticks are popular — and a great many of them are lugging boxes containing the ultimate cruise-ship passenger trophy: discount booze! Never mind that they spent thousands of dollars to take this vacation: They're thrilled to have saved as much as ten dollars a bottle on scotch and brandy and liqueurs that they will never actually drink, but which they lug through miles of airports, on and off various planes, so that when they get back home they can haul it out and display it proudly to visitors in the months and years to come ("We got this for twenty-three-fifty in the Virgin Islands! Guess what it costs here!").