Full Black - Brad Thor [127]
Christie chastised herself for having those thoughts. She refused to allow herself to look at every Muslim person as a potential terrorist. They were regular people until shown to be otherwise.
She wondered how many others were having the same thoughts she was having. Muslims of good conscience were going to have to stand and denounce the violence. If they did that, Christie Jacobson would be proud to stand with them.
She tried not to look at the two businessmen. Plenty of other people were probably staring at them and she didn’t want to add to their number. In fact, if she were going to look at them at all, it would be with a smile. No matter how many accusatory looks they received today, they’d remember the kind one.
The line shuffled forward and Christie found herself in a position to deliver her encouraging smile. Catching the eyes of one of the men, she smiled and nodded. Immediately, the man’s face darkened and he turned his head away.
His friend, though, saw Christie’s gesture and nodded curtly. He then turned to the other man and began speaking to him quietly. The man didn’t seem to care. He was concentrating on thumbing out a text or an email on his BlackBerry. Christie felt foolish.
She tried to console herself with the notion that maybe it was a cultural difference. Maybe where these men came from, women didn’t directly engage them and smile at them. She decided to leave them alone. They didn’t have to acknowledge her kindness.
To take her mind off the interminably long and slow-moving line, she scanned the other faces in the crowd. She enjoyed people watching. It was fun imagining people’s backgrounds and what their professions might be.
There were plenty who might have been incredibly interesting, but most just kind of looked blah and unkempt. The game was more fun to play with unusual-looking people. Though she’d never confess it to her husband, Christie found the game the most fun with unusually good-looking people, like the man who was standing several steps back from her.
Because of the way the line wrapped around, they were now facing each other. She tried not to stare, but it was hard. He was really good-looking. The man was over six feet with bright blue eyes and one of those taut jawlines that screamed physically fit.
Studying the man, she tried to imagine what his profession might be. He was big enough to have been a professional athlete of some sort. He was probably in his early to mid forties. Bush pilot had a nice ring to it and seemed a good fit.
Not wanting to stare, she had averted her gaze, but as she now risked a glance back at him, she noticed his expression had changed. There was suddenly an intensity to his face that was very unsettling. He was moving away from her. That’s when she saw him draw the gun.
“Show me your hands!” he yelled. “Open palms! Away from your body! Do it now!”
It took Christie a moment to realize that he wasn’t talking to her, but rather the two Middle Eastern men. Half the people standing in line had dropped to the floor, while the other half were quickly backing away, knocking over the retracta-belts and stanchions.
Intuitively sensing she was in the way, Christie dropped to the floor. No sooner had she hit than she heard the earsplitting thunder of the man’s weapon going off.
She looked up to see the head of the man she had smiled at snap backward as a pink mist materialized in the air. All around people were screaming.
She looked at the other Middle Eastern man. His hand looked to be wrapped in a death grip around the handle of his rolling bag.
As the man plunged the handle down, she was reminded of an old-fashioned dynamite detonator box.
If there was any consolation, it was that the explosion was so intense that Christie Jacobson and the others in the terminal never felt any pain.
CHAPTER 55