It has been almost a year since I published Looking Over Your Shoulder, and looking over my blog posts, I never did an excerpt of it for Sample Sunday. So without further ado, here it is!
Abe walked back into the terminal, looking around in confusion. The normally quiet rooms were in chaos. There were police and security everywhere. A cop in riot gear, minus the helmet, grabbed Abe by the arm, jabbing him in the ribs with a big, black, ominous looking gun strapped around his neck and body.
“Who are you?” the cop demanded.
Abe looked at him, uncomprehending.
“I’m Abe,” he said.
“What’s your full name? What are you doing here?”
“Aberahama VanRaemdonck.”
“What?” he demanded, looking irritated.
“That’s my name. Aberahama VanRaemdonck.”
“Abraham…”
“Close. Aber-a-hama. Van-RAM-donk.”
“What kind of a name is that?”
“Well, it’s Belgian, actually. What’s going on?”
His question recalled the cop abruptly to his duty.
“What are you doing wandering around here? Where’s your security tag?”
Abe touched his chest, and realized that he must have forgotten to put it back on when he had changed out of his apron.
“I… I guess I must have left it-” he gestured back out at the blacktop. “Do you want me to go get it?”
“No, you’re not going anywhere. Come with me.”
Still holding Abe by the arm with fingers like iron, the gun pressing into Abe’s side, the cop escorted him impatiently through the crowds of police and security and the barely controlled chaos of the airport. Hustling around a corner toward the administration offices, Abe caught sight of the other end of the runway, covered with emergency vehicles of all description, swarming with cops in black SWAT suits, yellow tape, and photographers.
“What happened?” Abe gaped.
The cop looked at him skeptically, shaking his head.
“Don’t try to play games with me,” he advised.
Abe shook his head.
“I’m not playing games. I don’t know what happened. Was there a crash?”
Abe tried to get a better view of what was going on through the window, but the cop continued to hurry him through the airport and back into the administration offices. As they got back to the bull pen, Abe saw Dennis, who was talking with another set of cops and some of the higher-ups. Dennis turned and spotted Abe.
“Abe! Are you okay?” he questioned. “I was worried that you got stuck in the middle of this-”
“What’s going-”
“No talking right now,” the cop hanging onto Abe snapped, pushing him past the bull pen and into a conference room.
“What-?” Dennis started, as he was pushed out of sight, and Abe didn’t catch anything more.
The conference room was quiet. It was full of police, many plain clothed, and some in full tactical gear like the one who had brought Abe in.
“Who’s this?” questioned an older man. He was completely bald. Probably he’d started shaving his head when it had started to thin. His eyes were piercing, an odd shade that hesitated between blue and brown. Dark green?
“Abrahama something,” the cop said. “No security I.D. He was out on the blacktop.”
“One of the missing,” the older cop commented. “Okay, put him in the room across the hall,” he pointed to one of the small meeting rooms. “Handcuffs and a guard at the door.”
“Wait a minute,” Abe protested. “Am I under arrest? What’s going on here?”
“You’re detained for questioning. That’s all you need to know.”
“What’s- I don’t understand what’s going on! What happened? What exactly do you think I did?” he questioned, panicked.
“I’ll come discuss it with you,” the bald cop told him.
“Who are you?” Abe demanded, resisting the pressure of the riot cop trying to push him into the other room.
“Special Agent Baxter Lovett,” the bald cop introduced himself. “Now go along quietly and I will be in to talk to you. If you resist, things will go very badly for you.”
Abe stared at Lovett blankly, trying to understand what was going on.
“Let’s go, Abrahama,” the younger one said, and tugged him across the busy room into the smaller one that Lovett had indicated. He pushed Abe in the door. “Put your hands on the table there,” he ordered. Abe put his hands down uncertainly, and the cop dragged his feet back and out wide, throwing him off balance. “Right there like that. Hold still.”
Abe stood there, frozen, while he was frisked. The cop took his keys, wallet, and everything from his pockets and felt carefully for any weapons. He stood Abe back up, pulling his hands behind him and handcuffing them.
“Have a seat. You’ll probably be waiting a while.”
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