Dave Barry - Big trouble

Justin clung to that thought. Help was coming.

As he ran, Greer was talking into his special phone. Baker was behind him and missed most of what he said. The only word he heard clearly was "fighters."

The security personnel had heard Eliot running down the concourse toward them, shouting for the police. They were looking his way, and as he approached the checkpoint, they recognized him as one of the perpetrators who had violated their scanning procedures a few minutes earlier.

"STOP HIM!" shouted the rotund man, pointing at Eliot.

"STOP HIM!" echoed the X-ray woman, the stern conveyor-belt woman, and the other checkpoint personnel. "STOP HIM!"

As Eliot veered to his right toward the checkpoint exit, three young men, on their way home to Pittsburgh after a week in South Beach, jumped in front of him. All three of them lifted weights regularly, focusing especially on biceps development. All three were wearing tank tops. They always wore tank tops, unless the ambient temperature dropped below forty degrees.

"Out of the way!" shouted Eliot, trying to push past the biceps men. "I need to find a police officer."

"GET HIM!" shouted the rotund security man. One of the biceps men grabbed Eliot by the arm. "Hold it, buddy," he said. "Listen," said Eliot, fighting to sound calm. "I need to find a cop now. There's a man shooting back there." He yanked his arm free.

"HOLD HIM THERE!" shouted the rotund man. The biceps men were inclined to follow orders from the rotund man, because he was wearing an official blazer. All three of them grabbed Eliot.

"NO!" Eliot shouted, struggling. "I HAVE TO GET ooof."

Eliot's breath was knocked out of him as he went down hard onto the carpet, with the three biceps men on top of him. They had been knocked over by Anna, who had hit the struggling huddle running and was now pounding one of the biceps men on the back of the head.

"Let him GO, you idiots!" she shouted. "He's trying to get help!"

"GRAB HER!" shouted the rotund man. "SHE'S ONE OF THEM!"

One of the biceps men threw a hard elbow that caught Anna in the gut and sent her rolling off the pile, moaning. The other two each had one of Eliot's arms and were pressing him hard, face-first, to the floor. Eliot could no longer open his mouth to yell, and his right arm felt as though it were coming out of its socket. Knowing it was hopeless, he gave one last, desperate heave, and…

… and one of the biceps men was gone. And then another one. Eliot rolled to his right and saw the third biceps man flying through the air, hitting the concourse wall, and landing next to the other two.

The thrower was Puggy, who had never lifted a weight in his life, but had always had a knack for picking up heavy objects. He reached down — he did not have to reach far — and raised Eliot easily to his feet. Nina was helping Anna, who was still gasping for air.

"SOMEBODY GRAB THEM!" shouted the rotund man, not making any moves in their direction personally.

"We gotta get outta here," Eliot said to Anna, who nodded I'm OK and waved him forward. The four of them, Eliot in the lead, ran out of the checkpoint area and turned right. A couple of security people trailed behind, still shouting for somebody to stop them. As he ran, Eliot frantically scanned the gawking crowd; where the hell were the cops?

When Greer, Seitz, and Baker reached the Air Impact! counter, it was abandoned; there were no more flights that night, and Sheila had gone home to her sick child.

"Now what?" asked Baker.

Greer was looking at the Air Impact! schedule on the wall behind the counter.

"I'm thinkin' we go to the gate," he said. "Find whoever loaded the plane, find out who was on it."

"This way," said Seitz.

Flight 2038 was crossing Miami Beach now, the vast glowing blob of Dade County behind it, the blackness of the Atlantic ahead, dotted with the lights of a few seemingly motionless northbound freighters out in the Gulf Stream shipping lanes. Justin was feeling very lonely. Next to him, Frank was catatonic with fear. Immediately behind him, the postal-retiree couples were huddled in their seats, both women sobbing, both men staring at the floor. Behind them, the maniac was still standing in the aisle, holding the gun, watching. He had spoken to Justin only once, shouting over the noise of the plane.

"Two things, zitface," he'd said. "You touch that radio, you're dead. This plane don't come down in the fuckin' Bahamas, you're dead."

Justin knew the guy would be crazy to shoot him, because then who would fly the plane? But he also knew that the guy was crazy, because why else would he be doing this?

Adding to Justin's discomfort was a nagging alarm, beeping in his ear, telling him that the rear door was open. The door, and the hanging stairs, were making the plane handle weird. Justin was worried about the landing in Freeport. If they made it to Freeport.

Please, he thought — although he was not sure to whom he was beaming the thought — please send some help.

The two F-16s had used rockets to accelerate their takeoff from Homestead Air Reserve Base in South Dade County. The instant they were airborne, they turned sharply toward the northeast, and in under a minute, they were approaching the speed of sound, closing on the civilian plane over Miami Beach as though it were moving no faster than the freighters out in the Gulf Stream. The fighter pilots' orders were to stay behind and above the civilian plane, out of sight but nearby. They were not to arm their missiles. Yet.

As Greet, Seitz, and Baker trotted through the crowd, they saw a man in shorts and T-shirt running in their direction, looking upset.

"POLICE!" the man shouted.

Greer and Seitz ignored him; whatever this guy's problem was, they weren't interested. But Baker stared at the man's face. He'd seen this guy, but he couldn't remember where. Then he saw the woman running behind the upset man, and it clicked.

"Mrs. Herk!" he shouted. The man and woman both stopped, looked at him.

"I'm Detective Baker," he said, "Miami PD."

"Oh, thank God!" Anna said, grabbing Baker's arm. "You have to…»

"Hold it," said Baker. He shouted ahead to Greer and Seitz, who were disappearing in the crowd ahead, "Agent Greer! Back here!"

Greer turned and trotted back, impatient. "What?" he said.

"This is Mrs. Herk," said Baker. "It was her house. Where the suitcase was."

In an instant, Greer had his hand on Anna's arm.

"Mrs. Greer," he said, "I'm with the FBI. I need you to…»

"My daughter," said Anna. "She's in the plane with that man, and he shot at us, and you have to…»

"Listen, Mrs. Herk," said Greer, now gripping her arms with both his hands. "We're concerned about your daughter, but we have to know, where is that metal suitcase now?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "They had it, they took it when they left the house…»

"Is it on the plane?" asked Greer. "Did they take the metal suitcase on the plane?"

"I don't know," said Anna, starting to cry. "I don't know about the suitcase."

"Mrs. Herk," said Greer, shaking her, "you have to…»

Eliot pulled Anna away and stepped right in front of Greer. Their noses were a half inch apart.

"She says she doesn't know where the goddamn suitcase is, OK?" Eliot said. "She wants her daughter. She doesn't care about your fucking suitcase."

"Who're you?" asked Greer.

"I'm her friend," said Eliot.

"Well, friend," said Greer, "if you want to help her daughter, you better care about the fucking suitcase."