Monster (9 page)

“If you’re finished, Cold, let’s go sit down in the waiting area. Those soccer allstars should be checking in shortly.”

“Repeating the line from
Cold
Mountain
was not one of my brighter moments.” McDaniels stood up from the table. “I just thought I was so cute.”

“And now you have a great nickname to go along with your smart-ass attitude,” Reskova needled him.

“You have a mean streak, Agent Reskova.”

* * *

Half an hour later, just fifteen minutes before boarding, McDaniels spotted three of the Syrians. A squad of guards, holding M16’s, nonchalantly moved around the gate area. McDaniels alerted Reskova as the rest of the Syrians showed up, all carrying bags to take on with them. They sat in seats dispersed around the gate area, without speaking to one another. No more than two of them sat together. They filed up to the check-in desk at different intervals. Only after half of them had been informed of their seat assignment changes did McDaniels notice they began to whisper urgently to the ones who had not been to the desk.

“This looks interesting,” McDaniels observed, tugging on Reskova’s sleeve. “Come on. Let’s go check-in and I’ll see if I can pick up some conversation.”

McDaniels and Reskova moved up into the line, ending up between five of the Syrian group. Some of the other people waiting for the boarding announcement were visibly uncomfortable as they watched the Syrians check-in. The Syrians, on the other hand all checked out McDaniels’ manner and size appraisingly. The Syrian at the front of the line began arguing heatedly with the woman at the check-in desk.

His tirade had very little effect on her. She simply repeated the instructions for seating and tried to hand him his boarding pass. A man walked behind the desk who also looked of Middle Eastern origin. He smiled at the woman and took over check-in. With a wave of his hand he told the Syrian in Arabic to take the pass and sit down. The Syrian took the pass, rage plain on his face. The appearance of a man who spoke Arabic diffused the situation. The other Syrians checked in without comment. Reskova and McDaniels took their boarding passes and sat down.

“See, now that’s how you take care of a potentially volatile situation,” Reskova pointed out.

“I believe you’re forgetting the young men walking around in uniform carrying M16’s. Granted, the airline guy turned their water off. On the other hand, I didn’t pick up anything useful. Still, it was very satisfying to see. We’ll need to keep our eye on that clown who was told off. He’s the ringleader.”

“How do you know?”

“His body language. The first bunch who were reseated all glanced at him. He immediately jumped up in line at the front of his crew. I hope we’re close to him.”

“So you might pick up some conversation, right?”

“Of course.”

* * *

On board the plane, Reskova again marveled at McDaniels’ agility. He avoided bumping things almost as if his body was radar guided. Three of the Syrians were seated in the middle row as Reskova and McDaniels came abreast of their seating. Although McDaniels pretended not to notice the Syrians at all, Reskova saw them check out McDaniels as they had at check-in. A little blonde haired boy of about three hopped out into the aisle right in front of McDaniels who came to a halt so quickly Reskova bumped into his back. The little boy looked up into McDaniels’ smiling face with a look of awe. The boy waved his right hand at McDaniels.

“Hi,” the little boy said, as a middle-aged man with graying hair came out into the aisle to retrieve the boy.

“Hi there,” McDaniels replied.

“Sorry about that, Sir,” the older man said, grinning at McDaniels. “If I look away for a second, the little bugger gets away from me.”

“No problem at all,” McDaniels crouched all the way down to the boy’s level. He held out his hand to the boy. “My name’s Jeremiah, what’s yours, little man?”

The boy looked up at his companion, who nodded, and then at McDaniels’ huge hand. After a moment, the little boy gripped McDaniels’ hand.

“Tommy. My name’s Tommy and this is my ‘Pa.”

“Glad to meet you, Tommy. My friend and I have the seats right behind you. I guess we better get out of the aisle before we get yelled at, okay?”

Tommy nodded his head. He allowed the older man to draw him out of the aisle. The older man shook hands with McDaniels too.

“Jim Osbourne. I’m Tommy’s Grandfather.”

“Glad to meet you, Sir.” McDaniels shook Osbourne’s hand. He looked at the crew-cut hair and weathered face speculatively. “You do some time in the service, Jim?”

I did a hitch in the Marines back in the late sixties. How about you?”

McDaniels had moved past their seats and waited for Reskova to slide in to the window seat before moving out of the aisle. “Semi-retired army.”

“Not long, by the looks of you. Been in a few scrapes, have you?”

McDaniels chuckled. “Yeah, but I doubt I’ve seen as many as you, Gunny.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Osbourne turned to face McDaniels as other passengers streamed by to their seats. “Been a long time since anyone called me Gunny. I’m taking Tommy back to his Mom and Dad. The place my son-in-law works for transferred him to Detroit. My wife and I’ve been looking out for Tommy while they get settled.”

“Well, if you need a break, send Tommy back with me, Gunny. I’d be glad to watch him for you,” McDaniels offered.

“Thanks,” Osbourne replied. “I appreciate it.”

“Glad to do it.”

Reskova noted how carefully McDaniels sat down in his seat, which barely contained his bulk. Reskova patted the middle seat.

“I bought three so I wouldn’t have you leaning on me the whole trip like you did on the way to LA.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“I see you made some friends and volunteered for babysitting duties. How much experience do you have with children?”

“Not much but they always seem to like me.”

“Kids like giants. How tall are you anyway? I saw you ducking around everywhere we go. You really stick out no matter where you are, Cold.”

“Thanks… six feet seven in my socks. I do a lot of ducking. It’s like second nature now. I… hey, here come the rest of the boys and they don’t look happy.”

Reskova and McDaniels watched the rest of the Syrians in commercial seating join their three companions, but not before giving everyone they passed angry, sullen looks.

“At least the guy you said was the leader is back here with us,” Reskova whispered, leaning closer to McDaniels. “He’s staring right at you.”

Reskova straightened in her seat. The Syrian McDaniels had picked as the leader tried to burn a hole through McDaniel’s head with his stare. Reskova watched the Syrian slow down as he reached McDaniels and lean down slightly. The Syrian’s jet-black hair was well groomed. His short beard was trimmed to about a quarter of an inch. He looked to Reskova to be nearly six feet tall and powerfully built. The Syrian continued to block the aisle, staring at McDaniels, who was ignoring him. A stewardess came up behind the man and gently touched his arm. The Syrian jerked his arm away angrily, not taking his eyes away from McDaniels.

“You look familiar,” the Syrian said in heavily accented English. “Why have you been watching me?”

“Sir, you must take your seat,” the stewardess urged from behind. “Sir?”

McDaniels looked up at the Syrian with a big smile. “Oh, hi, were you talking to me?”

“Yes, I was talking to you, idiot. Why have you been watching me?”

Reskova noted the passengers seated around them had quieted, watching the unfolding drama. McDaniels shrugged apologetically.

“Sorry, it’s just I’ve never seen a camel from the backside before.”

Chapter 7

Dry Run Turns Hot

Reskova gasped. More than a few people within hearing laughed out loud at McDaniels’ insult, including Tommy’s Grandfather. Instead of screaming in rage or attacking McDaniels physically, the Syrian’s face became a mask of deadly menace. He leaned down even closer into McDaniels’ smiling face.

“You will pay for this insult,” the Syrian promised.

“Take your seat, Sir, or I will be forced to call security,” the stewardess warned.

The Syrian stared at McDaniels a moment longer before moving past to his seat on the aisle across from them and one seat beyond. He continued to glare at McDaniels who turned to give him a little wave. More than a few of the Syrian group began cursing McDaniels in Arabic. McDaniels avoided giving any indication he knew what they were saying. He faced the front of the plane as the stewardess began giving the required safety lecture.

“That was smart,” Reskova complained, leaning back in her seat. “Why didn’t you just introduce yourself?”

“Calm down. It would have been more abstract if I had tried to act all innocent. Right now he’s probably thinking I’m just another arrogant American stooge.”

“You left out smart-ass.”

“I wanted to see if you’d fill in the blank. Thanks.”

“I hear a lot in Arabic now. I bet I wouldn’t need an interpreter to figure out the drift of what they’re saying either.”

“If you guessed insulting my ancestry back to the dawn of time, spiced with invitations to do obscene acts with various animals, you’d be pretty close,” McDaniels whispered back.

“Been there, done that,” Reskova said. McDaniels could tell she was remembering her anger after the head incident in the woods. “You have a natural talent for pissing people off.”

“Yeah, but the kids love me.”

“Sorry, Cold, this ain’t Romper Room, so how about reigning in your annoying side for the rest of the trip. Did you see Folley?”

“He’s on the other side of the plane.”

“I bet he loved the way you performed to start this trip, Cold.”

“Your frequent use of what you think of as an insulting nickname falls short of annoying me, Dee-dee.”

“Don’t call me that,” Reskova ordered.

“Ah oh, I’ve pushed another button,” McDaniels said, patting Reskova’s shoulder.

Reskova jerked away from McDaniels’ hand. “Keep that catcher’s mitt off me, Cold. Pay attention to what you’re supposed to be doing.”

McDaniels settled back and closed his eyes, concentrating on the snatches of conversation going on in Arabic next to him. He had already noticed the uneasy looks the large group of Syrians engendered from the other passengers. Finally, the plane began taxiing around into position for takeoff. With the noise from the engines and the beginning motions of takeoff, the Syrians quieted.

The plane left the ground fifteen minutes later after jockeying into the line of flights at the runway. As the seatbelt signs blinked off, half the Syrian group in the center aisle immediately leaped up from their seats. They opened and closed the overhead luggage compartments, rifling through bags, and then returning them to the compartments. There were hushed gasps as passengers watched the Middle Eastern group milling around in the aisles.

The Syrians spoke sharply to one another in Arabic, making gestures with their hands. Some leaned down toward the people in seats near them. The stewardesses came over to try and get the men to sit back down. Instead of following the directives, they lined up at the bathrooms, continuing their playacting.

“What do you think, Cold?”

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now, Dee Dee.” McDaniels exchanged stares with the one he had picked as the leader.

“What are they saying?”

“Just gibberish. They know what they’re doing and what gets the passengers the most upset.”

Three of the Syrians tried to enter first class, but were stopped by two stewardesses. McDaniels saw the dark haired, older woman step forward, while the younger stewardess with red hair took up a position behind her and to the right. The Syrians gestured angrily, yelling in broken English about using the bathroom. Nothing they said, McDaniels noted with some satisfaction, made any impression on the stewardesses. The two women repeated the rules, ignoring their angry tones and gestures of urgency. One of the men decided to push past. The dark haired flight attendant grabbed his arm firmly.

“Go back to your seat, Sir, or get into line for the bathrooms in your section!” The older stewardess ordered in a raised, no nonsense voice. “If I have to speak to you again on this flight, I will have the pilot call ahead to have you detained in Detroit. Is that clear?”

The Syrian tore free of her grip and stepped back. He made a gesture with his finger across his throat before pointing at her. His companions laughed as the three turned around away from the stewardesses. Instead of fear in the dark haired woman’s eyes, McDaniels saw anger. She reached out and grabbed the Syrian’s shirt. When he whipped around the stewardess gestured at him with her hand.

“Come get some,” the stewardess beckoned, while her red haired companion moved up next to her.

Two men in the seats nearest the partition between first class and coach immediately jumped out into the aisle behind the two stewardesses. McDaniels tensed. He heard the leader shout out to the Syrians in Arabic, ordering them to return to their seats. The Syrian who had made the throat slitting sign had to be pulled back by his companions. He again made the gesture at the stewardess before turning around. The three walked up the aisle, his two companions urging the one confronting the stewardess to quiet down. The older stewardess talked heatedly with the other stewardess as the two male passengers listened in.