CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Expert looked around the building, marveling at the size of the structure and the efficiency of the security officers pushing passengers through the facility.
Officers stood in several out-of-the-way locations observing the passengers, identifying threats.
The TSA had definitely improved in the years since the Expert last worked with them.
Perhaps if the Great Incompetent had worked for them five years ago, they might have avoided…
But no, the TSA had failed too. They were prettier and shinier, but they were just as prone to failure.
Even now, they were allowing a man with a fake ID and a live bomb to gain entry to their airport.
Well, to be fair, he had no intention of entering the airport.
He wasn’t here to murder civilians, only to exercise judgment on the Great Incompetent.
He approached the security office and noticed one of the observing officers watching him. He ignored them, behaving just like a normal passenger who had every right to approach the security office to ask a question.
Still, the officer approached, hands behind his back, half-lidded eyes zeroed on him, shoulders relaxed but coiled like springs. He reminded the Expert of the Lesser Incompetent, the first one he’d exercised judgment on.
This wasn’t good. If this officer stopped him—
“Excuse me, sir,” the officer said, stepping in front of him to the left, not directly in front lest he make this man anxious but close enough to strike like a snake if he needed to. “Can I help you?”
“No thanks,” the Expert said, “I just need to talk to the security office.”
“Perhaps I can assist you,” the officer insisted calmly.
“That’s all right,” the Expert said. “I just need to talk to the security chief.”
“May I ask what this is about?”
God damn it. The Expert folded his arms across his chest to support the small, book-sized explosive he carried inside of his jacket.
He frowned, putting on the air of an imperious, entitled passenger, someone they might as well just humor to get him out of their hair.
“I’m following up on missing baggage,” he informed them.
“I was told by the TSA that I would receive it within the week.”
“We have a baggage claim center located in the South Pier of the terminal,” the officer informed him. “Those claims are handled by the airlines. The baggage claim center has offices for each airline here at Ronald Reagan.”
He gestured helpfully to the door that would lead to the South Pier of Terminal 2. The Expert frowned. “I want to talk to the security chief.”
“Baggage complaints are handled by the airlines, sir.”
The Expert tapped his feet. “I was told by the TSA that they were handling my claim.”
The officer’s eyes changed, hardened with suspicion. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. “The TSA doesn’t handle baggage claims, sir. Please allow me to escort you to the baggage claim center.”
Where you’ll wait with me. Where you’ll discover that I don’t have an actual complaint.
Where you’ll realize that I’m full of shit and detain me.
Where you’ll discover the bomb and have me arrested.
Where the FBI will very quickly discover who I am and what I’ve been doing.
He glanced at the office beyond. And the Great Incompetent will get away with it. Just like he did last time.
The Expert’s face flushed. No. That wasn’t acceptable.
“Sir, I want to talk to the security chief.”
“No, sir. If you have a valid complaint, representatives from your airline will validate it.”
If he had a valid complaint. If. If.
The Expert chuckled. His fingers tightened on his sleeves. “If I have a valid complaint. Oh, man.”
The officer’s hand fell to a taser clipped to his belt. “Sir, let’s go to the baggage claim center.”
“Yeah, my complaint is pretty fucking valid, buddy.”
The Expert was losing control. That wasn’t good. Self-control was critical.
But really, if? If?
“You know, the Great Incompetent ruined my life.” The Expert chuckled. “He literally ruined my fucking life, did you know that?”
The officer’s brow furrowed. He unclipped the taser. “Sir, we’re going to the baggage claim center. I understand that you’re upset, but we can’t help you here.”
Others in the building looked his way. A couple of other security officers took positions behind him on either side.
Then the door to the security office opened, and the Great Incompetent stepped outside, an imperious frown on his fat, stupid, cowardly, asshole of a face. He looked at the Expert, brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened. He mouthed, Robert?
And the Expert didn’t care about self-control anymore.
“You know what?” he said. “Fuck you. All of you. Fuck you straight to hell.”
The officer in front of him drew his taser. The other two moved forward. “Sir, please put your hands—”
The Expert pulled the bomb out of his vest, holding the explosive in one hand and the detonator in the other. “Back off!” he shrieked. “Back the fuck off, or I’ll take out this entire building!”
They saw his weapon, swore, and backed away. One officer rushed him, thinking maybe that he could knock the detonator from the Expert’s hand. The Expert spun toward him, holding the bomb out like a shield. “Back off! Come any closer, and I’ll blow everyone to Hell!”
The officer cursed and stumbled backwards, fell on his ass, got up and backed further away. The passengers were in pandemonium now, screaming and scrambling for the exits. The Expert let them leave. They weren’t important.
He backed toward the security office. The Great Incompetent, of course, had fled inside and locked the door the instant the Expert pulled the bomb. The coward.
“Listen to me,” he said to the wary officers. “I’m going to talk to the chief of security here. My complaint is with him. Not any of you. Get yourselves and the others out of here.”
“Sir, please put the—”
“Oh, for…” The Expert rolled his eyes. “Has that ever worked? Get out of here.”
He lifted his leg, and the donkey kicked the door to the security office.
The kick landed perfectly and the door flew open, pieces of the latch flying across the office.
The Great Incompetent shrieked and said into his phone, "His name is Robert Stevenson!
Robert Stevenson! He's in my office, and he has a bomb! "
“Damned straight I do,” the Expert said, “and this one is real. So come take a walk with me.”
The Great Incompetent sobbed. “Please—”
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll shove this bomb up your ass before I detonate it!” the Expert growled. “Come with me!”
The Great Incompetent sobbed again and shuffled forward. “Robert—”
“Shut up!”
The Expert grabbed the Great Incompetent’s hand and pushed him through the door. Fresh gasps erupted from the passengers and security officers still inside.
The Expert lifted the detonator and, in full view of everyone, pressed the button. Everyone recoiled, and the Great Incompetent cried out.
“See this?” the Expert shouted. “If I take my thumb off of this button, everyone dies! If you kill me, guess what? Thumb comes off the button. Everyone dies. So make sure your snipers know that.”
The officer who had first approached him lifted his hands placatingly, half-lidded eyes now wide open and bloodshot. “Hey, man. Just calm down, okay? We can talk—”
The Expert rolled his eyes and pushed the Great Incompetent along.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do now.
He realized that he didn’t want to die after all.
He hoped to kill the Great Incompetent from a distance, then enjoy the rest of his life content in the knowledge that he had defeated his enemies.
But now he was trapped. He didn’t know if he could make it out of this alive. He would certainly kill the Great Incompetent, but how could he get out of here alive?
He would take the Great Incompetent with him out of the airport. He would drive him somewhere. Maybe he’d tie the bomb to him and drive away before detonating it. Maybe he’d just stab him with a screwdriver like he did the other two. Maybe—
He stepped through the door, and his jaw went slack.
Police cruisers blocked every possible way out of the airport.
SWAT vans were parked on the curb and snipers waited on the top floor of the parking garage.
Could he convince them to let him leave with the Great Incompetent and the bomb? He thought not.
He was really trapped.
Damn it. God damn it!
“Robert Stevenson,” an officer said over a bullhorn. “Please release—”
The Expert growled and pulled the Great Incompetent back through the door. “Move!”
He pushed the Great Incompetent deeper into the terminal. Tears of frustration and rage rolled down his cheeks. “You assholes,” he whispered. “You assholes!”
“Please,” the Great Incompetent said. “If you let me go—”
“Shut up!”
The Expert wanted to live. He desperately wanted to live.
But not as much as he wanted the Great Incompetent to die. He would find another way to survive, but one way or another, the Great Incompetent was going to die today. He was going to get what he deserved.
And then, finally, things would be made right.