Shaking through Security

“You mean piece of cake.  An easy job.”

“Naw, I think he said ass.”

*  *  *

Walking into Terminal C of Newark Liberty, he headed for the gates, flashed his badge to the TSA guy counting ceiling tiles and hiked down to the passenger lobby at Gate 35.  There was only one international flight for the next six hours.  Canada was the nearest logical getaway destination

Twenty minutes until boarding for the flight to Toronto.  Half the passengers sitting in the lobby were scanning cell phones.  It was characteristic now.  Fear of Missing Out.  Missing out on anything.  Mullally’s eyes swept the crowd again, just so he wouldn’t miss out on anything.

He saw a gimp get out of the wheelchair the red cap had brought him in on.  Gray jacket, brown pants, white socks.  Somebody dressed that badly could only be Russian.  “Security,” he said into his phone and identified himself.  “Gate 35.  Contraband with a guy ready to board the Toronto flight.  Get down here fast.”

He approached the passenger, now standing unsteadily and gripping a cane.  “Excuse me, sir.  May I see some identification?”





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