Rogue Forces

Inside the plane, one security officer began inspecting the cockpit while the other herded Macomber and the other passengers to their seats and inspected the inside of the plane. The forward part of the Boeing 767 freighter’s interior behind the cockpit had a removable galley and lavatory on one side, and two fiberglass containers marked LIFE RAFTS with reinforced tape seals marked DEPT OF DEFENSE wrapped around them on the other beside the entry door. Behind them was the removable forward-facing passenger seat pallet, with seating for eighteen passengers. Behind them were eight semicircular cargo containers, four on each side of the plane, with narrow aisles between them, and behind them was a pallet with luggage covered by nylon netting and secured with nylon webbing.

The second security officer raised a radio to his lips: “I count eighteen crew and passengers, two life raft containers, galley and lavatory, and eight A1N cargo containers. The life raft inspection seals are secure.”

“Roger,” came the reply. “Passenger count checks. But the manifest only says six A1Ns.” The officer looked at the passengers suspiciously.

“No wonder it took so long to get here—we’re overloaded,” Macomber said. “Who brought the extra containers? Is that all your makeup back there, Charlie?”

“I thought it was your knitting, Whack,” Turlock replied.

“I’m going to pass down the aisle with the K-9,” the security officer said. “Don’t make any sudden movements.”

“Can I go pee first?” Macomber asked.

“After the lavatory has been inspected and the K-9 passes through the cabin,” the officer replied.

“How long will that be?”

“Just cooperate.” The guard began to walk the dog down the aisle, touching the seat pockets and motioning under and between the seats, indicating where he wanted the dog to sniff.

“Nice doggie,” Wayne said when the dog came to him.

“No talking to the K-9,” the officer said. Macomber smiled, then scowled in reply.

“Cockpit is clear,” the first security officer said. He began inspecting the galley and lavatory, finishing a few minutes later.

“C’mon, guy, I’m going to explode over here.”

“No talking,” the second officer said. It took another three minutes for the K-9 to finish. “You may get up and exit the plane,” the second officer announced. “You must proceed directly to the officer outside, who will match you up with your passports and identification papers. Leave all belongings on the plane.”

“Can I use the can first?”

The second security guard looked like he was going to say no, but the first guard waved a hand. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” he said. Macomber rushed to the lavatory while the others filed out. The second officer continued his inspection in the rear of the cabin among the cargo containers.

It was controlled bedlam outside the plane. The security officers were using forklifts to unload containers from the cargo holds underneath the plane, which K-9s sniffed around. The crew could see K-9s sitting before some of the containers; these were marked and brought to a separate area of an adjacent hangar. Another officer checked each passport with its owner, then had each person wait with the others nearby, under the watchful eye of an armed security officer.

Kris Thompson came over a short time later and looked at the group of passengers. “Where’s Macomber?”

“Still in the lavatory,” Charlie Turlock replied. “He’s not a strong flier.”

Thompson looked over to the air stairs. “Chuck? What’s going on up there?”

“A lot of grunting, groaning, and brown clouds,” the first security officer waiting for Macomber replied.

“Hurry him up.” Thompson turned back to Charlie. “Can you help me with the manifest, miss?” he asked. “There are a few discrepancies I’m hoping you can clear up for me.”

“Sure. I’m familiar with all the stuff on board.” She followed Thompson along to the various piles of containers.

Up in the cabin, the first security officer said, “Let’s go, buddy.”

“Almost done.” The officer heard sounds of flushing, then running water, and the lavatory door was unlocked. Even before the door was fully open, the unbearable odors within made the officer gasp for breath. “Jeez, buddy, what in hell were you eating on this—”

Macomber hit him once on the left temple with his right fist, knocking him unconscious without another sound. He quickly dragged the officer forward, put him on the cockpit floor, closed the door, then went back to the cabin and stripped off the security tape around the first life raft container.

Outside the plane, Thompson motioned to different piles of containers. “These are clear and match with the manifest,” he said to Charlie, “but these here don’t match.” He motioned to a large pile of containers across the taxiway in the hangar, now under armed guard. “The dogs alerted to either drugs or explosives in those, and they didn’t match the manifest either. The manifest doesn’t mention you bringing in explosives.”