Dino reached down to an ankle holster and handed Stone a snub-nosed .38 revolver; Stone tucked it into his belt. They began walking rapidly up and down the rows of waiting travelers. Stone looked at every male face, looked for short-haired young men, looked for Herbert Mitteldorfer.
Andy Anderson ran up to them, breathless. “Lieutenant,” he said, “there’s a Heinz Müller on the flight two gates down. He’s the only male with those initials on a flight to Germany.”
Dino grabbed Sam Warren and beckoned to Stone. “Let’s go!” he yelled.
63
T HE FOUR MEN RAN DOWN THE HALLWAY, shoving travelers out of the way, and burst into the second departure lounge. It was empty, except for a young woman at the ticket counter.
Warren ran up to her. “How long has the flight been gone?” he demanded, flashing a badge.
She looked at her watch. “Twenty minutes,” she said.
“Oh, no.” Stone groaned.
Warren grabbed a telephone and punched in a number. “Tower? This is Sam Warren, head of security; let me speak to a supervisor.” He waited for a moment. “This is Sam Warren in security; I’m at Gate Eighteen; Flight 104 to Berlin taxied from the Gate Twenty minutes ago. Is it still on the ground?” He waited again. “Great! Have it return to the gate; tell the pilot to announce a mechanical problem that will take only a few minutes to fix; tell the passengers they’ll have to get off the airplane, but they can leave their belongings.” He hung up. “It’s on the way back to the gate,” he said to the group. “I’m going to have all the passengers deplane, and we can check them as they get off.” He turned to the woman at the desk. “I want you to check them off the manifest as they leave the airplane. Don’t let anybody get past you.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
The four men caught their breath while they waited for the airplane to return to the gate. Dino dispatched Andy Anderson to have his other men check the other German flights.
“I hope to God this is the flight,” Dino said, pacing up and down the lounge.
“He’s stuck with his initials so far; why should he change now?” Stone said.
More minutes passed. “Here comes the airplane,” Sam Warren said, pointing out the window.
Anderson came back. “The other German flights are clean,” he said. “If this isn’t the one, then well have to search all the international flights.”
Warren got on his radio. “Base, this is Warren; you can release all the flights to Germany, except 104; we’re checking that now.”
Other cops arrived and took up positions at the gate. Stone and Dino walked down the flexible ramp and were waiting at the aircraft door when it was opened from inside by a flight attendant.
Stone and Dino took up positions on each of the two aisles and searched t
he faces of the passengers making their way toward the exit.
Stone emptied his mind of all the faces except those of young men with very short hair and small middle-aged men. He had the feeling he was very close to Mitteldorfer, and he watched each passenger’s face for signs of tension or recognition. Mostly, he saw fatigue and annoyance; then he locked eyes momentarily with a young man. He was short, stocky, wearing baggy black clothing, and, disappointingly, he had long hair. He looked away from Stone and continued up the aisle.
Stone had shifted his attention to passengers farther down the aisle when he heard a woman scream and a scuffle behind him. He was turning to see what the matter was when he experienced a hard blow to his left shoulder. His initial reaction was surprise at how much pain the blow was causing. He continued turning to find the young man in black with his fist raised above his head. He tried to raise his left arm to ward off the blow and, to his shock, could not. Everything was happening in slow motion.
He saw now that the young man held a small knife in his raised fist, and he was bringing it down toward Stone’s face. As he did, the young man suddenly jerked and fell sideways, as if someone had yanked him. Blood spurted from his neck, and only then did Stone hear the gunshot. He turned to see Dino, his arm outstretched, a pistol in his hand.
Passengers were screaming; some threw themselves to the floor, others rushed past or over them, trying desperately to get off the airplane. Dino fought his way across the cabin, gun in hand, pointed down at the prostrate figure of the young man, who was twitching and grimacing. Beside him, in the aisle, Stone saw a bloody kitchen knife with a four-inch blade.
“Get these people out of here!” Dino shouted to Sam Warren. “I want the airplane cleared, and I want medical assistance here now!” As the last of the passengers rushed past them, Dino finally got to Stone. “Sit down,” he said.
“What?”
“Sit down right here in this seat; you’ve been stabbed. Wait a minute; first get your coat off.”
Stone got out of his jacket and was astonished to find the left sleeve soaked with blood. He’d had no sensation of the knife, just a blow to the shoulder.
“Where’d he get a knife?” Stone asked. “How’d he get it through the metal detectors?”
“From the galley,” Dino said. “I saw him go for it, but I couldn’t get a shot; there were too many people between him and me.”
A flight attendant approached. “We’ve called for assistance,” she said. “I’m sorry about the knife; I was slicing limes in the first-class galley, and…”