OF SWORDS AND DRAGONS
413 Words
7
OF SWORDS AND DRAGONS
John F. Kennedy International Airport, Queens, New York
The flight from Madrid’s Barajas International Airport to New York’s Kennedy took just over eight hours. Jana followed the flow of passengers as they departed the plane and looked up only because everything in the terminal was so quiet. The airport was almost vacant. She could see just two ticket agents and a dozen men in business suits.
One approached her and held out a badge and credentials.
“Agent Baker, I’m Special Agent John Zucker, United States Secret Service. This way, please.”
The other hulking men surrounded her on all sides.
“Secret Service? What’s going on?”
“Homeland Security directive, ma’am. As of this moment you are under federal protection.”
“Federal protection? I’m a federal agent. I don’t need protection. You’ve got to be kidding me. Wait a minute, did you clear this entire terminal because of me? You can’t do that. What about all the people that are going to miss their flights? I’m not in any danger. Don’t you people get that? If Waseem Jarrah wanted me dead, believe me, I’d be dead right now. I’m perfectly safe. It’s anyone around me who’s in danger.”
“Orders, ma’am.”
“Yeah, yeah, orders. I know all about orders. All right, but don’t get too comfortable in your new assignment. I’m not going to have a dozen sunglass-wearing linebackers flanking me everywhere I go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the steely-eyed agent said before he spoke into a mic nestled underneath the cuff of his starched white dress shirt. “All units, all units. Sword is on the move.”
“What did you just say? Sword? What is that, your code name for me? What does that mean?”
“Sorry, Agent Baker. We give code names for anyone under our protection.”
“So what do I have to do with a sword?”
Zucker and the other agents surrounded Jana as they speed-walked from the gate. Their eyes darted back and forth so quickly they reminded Jana of coffee-shop baristas who had oversampled their product.
“The sword and the dragon,” he replied.
“What?” Jana said as she struggled to keep pace.
“It goes back to meeting the dragon. If we face death in the line of duty, we consider that to be meeting the dragon. When you meet your dragon, you’ll either cower to save your own skin or ram a sword down its throat.”
“So how does that make me a sword?”
For the first time, he allowed himself to make direct eye contact.
“Two years ago in Kentucky, when you came face-to-face with the barrel of a gun and with a terrorist about to detonate, you didn’t back down. That’s what we call meeting the dragon and shoving a sword down its throat. You are the sword.”
Jana quickened her pace. “Men,” is all she said.
- Writer
