Day Plus 1

The flight to LAX was uneventful, but my connection to Bogota doesn t leave until this morning. I found a cheap dive of a hotel near the airport that takes cash to stay the night. The documents I have are safe for travel, but there s no sense leaving a trail when I don t have to. Originally I had two possible destinations from LAX arranged, but I ve had to remove Brazil from the candidate list due to the fingerprinting requirement. That s a paper trail I don t need.

I had time to choose a decent restaurant for breakfast . I probably should have tried on the clothes before I bought them; I seem to be down a size or two. The new clothes don t look horrible, though. If I had a little more time, I d try to get my hair trimmed so I don t look as scraggly.

I didn t sleep well last night. I m obviously under a lot of stress. At one point I dreamt that I and all the people that carried out my plans were executed for treason. More than once I woke up in a sweat, and I don t ever remember what all the dreams were about.

I grabbed a cab to the airport. There was about a 20-minute wait in line at check in. The woman at the counter asked for my name , and I supplied the one that matched my new ID. I had spent a small amount of time last night in the hotel practicing my cover identity. She confirmed my e-ticket and checked my passport. Customs is in Bogota, she explained, but they are required to check that all international travelers have their passport with them.

Examining my passport, she glanced at the stamps. Oh, I see you ve been to Bogota before! she said.

I replied, Yes, once before.

She went on, Isn t it nice there? Are you going on vacation?

I said I am going on business. Would you check this bag for me? I think I would rather have the extra leg room.

Sure, she said. Let me just ask you the security questions. Did you pack this bag yourself?

Yes, I did.

Has it been in your possession the entire time?

Yes.

Has anyone unknown to you asked you to carry anything on board?

No.

OK, do you have a seating preference?

Aisle, please .

We have an exit row available, would you like that?

Yes, that would be ideal, thank you.

Here is your boarding pass sir, gate 19, to your left. I ll be working the gate for this flight, I ll probably see you up there.

Wonderful.

Security was just to the left of the counter. There was a long line of people waiting to go through the metal detector. Yes Ms. security guard, I have my boarding pass and identification right here, eager to be checked. I acted like all the other people in line, being perfectly willing to show my papers on request.

I had no bags to run through x-ray. I had no laptop to fumble out of its carrying case. I had no metal to set off the metal detector. I had only to wait on all the other people who had these things, holding up the line. Oh yes, dummy , the cell phone does set off the metal detector, how about that? Yes, you go back through and get another plastic bucket. I ll just wait here, shall I?

After Mr. cell phone is out of my way, I step confidently through the metal detector. I fully expect to board the escalator a few steps ahead momentarily, when a hand appears in front of my chest. My eyes follow the arm up to the face of a short woman, who isn t even looking at me.

I utter, What?

Finally, satisfied that she has signaled whomever her other hand was waving at, she deigns to address me, and says Sir, you ve been flagged for special security screening.

I repeat, What? panic growing.

She continued If you would step over to the side where that man is standing, she gestured, traffic-cop-style, to another blue-jacketed official holding a flat wand, near some chairs.

I glanced furtively around, all eyes on me. There were looks of suspicion from the other passengers. I slowly stepped toward the man, going around the exit ramp of the x-ray machine.

I didn t dare look behind me, that s as clear a signal as you can give that you are thinking about fleeing. I wasn t that far from the airport entrance , and the checkpoints were designed more for keeping people out than in. However, I lacked transport. A cab was unlikely to take a fare with airport personnel in pursuit. I could steal one of the many cars that were loading and unloading, but there were traffic police there with side-arms. Even if I got past that, I wouldn t get far in LA traffic. They also have copies of my current ID, and it wouldn t be hard to narrow down which passenger was now missing. Especially with that gate agent who took a special interest in Bogota.

Sir? said the blue jacket, as I snapped back to attention, and looked up into his face. Please remove your shoes and belt.

He had a radio, silent for the moment. As I took a knee and began to reach for my laces, I glanced to the side. The other blue jackets didn t seem to be paying any attention to me. Good, that means they probably haven t called for backup.

There were two possibilities. One, they mean to detain me immediately. Having a prisoner remove his shoes is a standard tactic to make fleeing look less attractive. A belt can be used as a weapon. The second possibility was that they didn t have enough evidence yet to detain him, and would perform an investigation now, and make the decision following.

Since I don t have anything incriminating on me whatsoever , and there is no backup in sight, I decide to cooperate for the moment. I proceed to untie my shoes, and stand up to undo my belt.

Please place your items on the floor near the chair , stand facing me, with your feet on the footprints in the carpet.

I stand with my feet in the appropriate place, and purposely look toward the escalator, attempting to convey impatience. If I can get past this checkpoint, I will have the option of easily walking out of the airport at another spot, exactly as if I had just gotten off a plane.

Can I have your boarding pass and passport, please? I produce these from my shirt pocket, and hand them to him. They were clearly visible, and he could have grabbed them himself. He is attempting to assert authority and control the situation.

He glances at the boarding pass, and then at the passport. He holds the picture to the side of my face, and looks back and forth between the two. The picture matches, it s a picture of me. He s also checking that the printed details, like eye and hair color , match. He then folds them up, and slides them into his shirt pocket. This is to assert the message I control whether you travel or leave the country.

Please raise your arms to the sides, like this, and puts his arms out as if he s an airplane. With a scowl on my face and a roll of my eyes, I put my arms to the sides. He then takes his handheld scanner, and proceeds to run it up both sides of each of my extremities, and all sides of my torso.

Please lift your shirt over your waist, and turn your pants waist over, he says while pantomiming an imaginary shirt and pants on himself. I comply . When done, I fold my arms over my chest, and tilt my head to the side, lips flat.

Thank you sir, sorry for the extra delay. Here you go, handing me my boarding pass and passport, you can sit there and put your shoes back on, pointing with his wand. His eyes drift back to the metal detectors and x-ray machines.

Sitting, putting my shoes back on, I take a moment to covertly scan in all directions. No one approaching. A few passengers still glance my way, but their eyes now indicate that I ve been found innocent. I stand to rethread my belt, and look specifically at the blue jackets. None look back at me. I have been cleared for departure .

I ride the escalator, and at the top, I head in the direction of my gate. I turn into an airport bar, and take a seat that affords me a view of the direction I just came. The question I need to answer is, do I still take my flight? Yes, I realize that the random extra security check might have been just that, but I don t like to take chances . The problem is, there is risk in not going, too. If my ID doesn t board that flight, then there could possibly be an investigation. Plus, the longer I am in the country, the better the chance that people start looking for me.

What can I get you? It s a bartender.

Coke, please.

Five dollars. I reach in my pocket and produce a small roll. I flip through and extract a five, and hand it to him.

20 minutes later, I m walking toward my gate. My flight boards shortly. I ll be in Bogota in 10 hours. While walking, I stop to glance at the arrivals and departures board. It seems that all flights in and out of South Africa have been cancelled. I smile slightly to myself .

When I land, I ll find a hotel, and a place to buy clothes, and a computer shop. I have some files that need to be retrieved, and some transactions that need to be made. I have another drop in Bogota with another set of ID, to replace the set I currently have. It s not terribly unusual for US visitors to South America to disappear, especially when there is no one back home to demand an investigation.

Attention ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We d like to have your attention for a few moments while the flight crew explains the safety features of this Boeing 737.

I stare anywhere but at the flight attendants doing the seatbelt- oxygen -mask dance . I m startled for a moment when someone touches my shoulder and I hear if you re seated in an exit row , and the attendant sarcastically smiles, and produces the tri-fold diagram from my seat pocket in front of me, and puts it in my hand. Thanks so much, I didn t care it was there.

When I feel the plane start to taxi, I return the pamphlet to the pocket. This time, I am tired . Even before takeoff, I drift in and out. I ve always been a plane sleeper.

I m awakened I think not much later when a drinks cart bumps my arm. Sorry sir. Not long after on the return trip, the flight attendant asks Can I get you anything? Soft drinks are complimentary , beer three dollars, cocktails four dollars, exact change appreciated. I almost refuse , but think twice. I believe it s only an hour into the flight, and I have absolutely nothing to do, no responsibilities.

I reply, Vodka, double, and fish around in my pocket. It s been almost a year.