The two men dressed as TSA officers found Walker with ease. They knew what he looked like because they had seen a photo of him. They knew what he was capable of because they had read a brief summary of his physicality and experience. They had both served in Special Forces units, but their target today had done that too—and then some. They knew it was him because he was six-three and 230 pounds and he moved with the physicality of a pro athlete. He was thirty-nine years old and in his physical prime; statistically, he’d never be faster or stronger than he was now. They knew he had about twenty years’ experience with the military and CIA doing special ops work. Rated beyond excellent in hand-to-hand combat and the use of firearms. Capable. A man not to be underestimated. Which is why they had their weapons ready. Their orders were simple: apprehend and render him to another country.
•
Hands on holstered weapons made it clear to Walker that these guys were not here to chat. They were not sent to relay a message or warning about his mission. They were here to detain him.
And he had a plane to catch.
Walker was in LAX’s terminal six. He had already passed security, so turning back wasn’t an option. And there were cameras everywhere. Locked doors and security up the wazoo. So, running for it was not an option either.
Damn.
But he remained calm, because that was his general disposition and because Buddha once observed that inward calm cannot be maintained unless physical strength is constantly and intelligently replenished. Walker had not read much of Buddha, and his mental image of the deity wasn’t exactly the symbol of physical peak conditioning, but he’d heard that titbit from a member of the Gurkha Regiment, and they were among the toughest soldiers he had ever met. The remark had come after the soldier, serving in the British Army, had disarmed two insurgents trying to gain entry to Baghdad Airport. Neither insurgent survived the encounter, or kept their head. Walker learned never to pick a fight with a Buddhist.
With running ruled out, Walker was left with two choices.
The first was to fight. Put these two guys down and run; hope to get away. But these TSA officers were ready for him, and back-up would be on hand within seconds. LAPD and the TSA’s own heavily armed response units would be minutes away, tops.
He could see the cafe just twenty paces ahead, where he had planned to wait for his boarding call over a couple of strong coffees, and maybe even read the newspaper. The paper could wait, but the caffeine he needed. Long night. Long week. Big days and weeks ahead.
Walker sighed. Relaxed his shoulders. Decision made. No point fighting.
Which left one option.
Give himself up to detention.
So, Walker relaxed and took what was coming. It was inevitable. He watched the two federal officers approach, a few yards apart and coming at him from the side. He put his backpack on the floor by his feet and kept his hands in clear view, his arms loose and hanging by his sides. One of the TSA guys, the one with a hand on a taser, kept approaching while the other, with his hand on the butt of his service-issue Glock, slowed and took a step to Walker’s side.
Five seconds of freedom remained.
Whatever this was, Walker was certain that he would miss his flight, which was boarding in twenty minutes. How often were the flights to Alaska? He had no idea. Every couple of hours, he figured, tops. With oil and gas prices so low, he saw no good reason for workers to be flooding into the state. Lumber and fishing crews would be year-round or seasonal, not some kind of fly-in-fly-out types with any regularity. That left tourism and those visiting family and friends, and there couldn’t be much call for that, especially just as winter had so recently ended.
Walker was confident that he could be out of here within two hours. Three, tops. He would phone a friend, and that friend would place a call, and then more phone calls would be made down the chain until word filtered down to these two front-line guys. The officers would apologize, he’d be issued a new plane ticket and retrieve his papers and backpack and be on his way. He’d board a flight to Alaska, where he had plans to avert a terrorist attack. Call it two to three hours, beginning to end.
But it still didn’t feel right, and he still wanted coffee, and a good fight would wake him up good and proper, that’s for sure.
The TSA officers slowed as they neared, watching Walker with intense curiosity. The one with the hand on the Glock looked around. No one batted an eyelid as they passed, regular people wheeling their carry-on baggage, drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. In their eyes, just another random stop-and-search. Thank 9/11 and the Boston bombing and recent events in New York and St. Louis for that. A couple of wars and the Patriot Act played a part too. Just another day at LAX.
The two uniformed officers stopped just short of arm’s reach from Walker.
“Josiah Walker,” the taser wielder said. “Place your hands on your head. We’re bringing you in.”