11/14/14
I looked out the little window as the jetliner descended toward Orlando International Airport. Below I could see the charred vegetation and plowed up ground from the crash three weeks ago. The effects of the explosion were still visible despite the efforts of local officials to remove the last traces from the view of arriving tourists.
For myself, I wasn’t ready to forget. My younger sister had been on that flight. She was returning to college after spending a week with our parents. Now I was returning from the Middle East on a hardship leave to attend her memorial service.
This would be the first I’d seen my parents since shipping out a year and a half ago. I’d seen my husband when he flew over and met me in Baghdad six months ago while I was on two week furlough. Despite the circumstances I was eager to see them again.
The official results of the investigation wouldn’t be released for months. But preliminary reports were that a terrorist had carried a bomb on board and detonated it during takeoff. No one could figure out how though. The theory gaining most attention was developed after a similar bombing attempt was thwarted at Los Angeles International Airport a week later. Interrogation of the captured suspects yielded chilling news.
A group of extremists was already in the US with cells recruiting at colleges. The failed attempt at LAX had used a student in her mid-twenties to carry explosives concealed inside a child’s toy. She’d been accompanied by an older man posing as her father so he could verify her forged identification if it were questioned before she passed security. With their system now exposed it was a race to find the terrorists and their recruits before they could strike again.
After landing and exiting the plane we caught the monorail to the main terminal. The shuttle was used for both arriving and departing passengers, so we were let out right beside the security check point. Our progress was soon brought to a halt by a loud commotion.
A young lady had been pulled from the screening line and was being questioned by six security guards. Her reactions were enough to make even a civilian suspicious. She was fidgety and talking too loud, and was very nervous about her carry-on bag.
“Just let me get on the flight, please!” she kept insisting. “I really am who I say I am. My name is really Roseanne Long.”
Whoa! Her announcement of her name brought me up short. What a strange coincidence for that wacky girl to have my name. I hoped my name wouldn’t be put on a No-fly List as a result. I edged closer to hear better.
“Your identification says you’re thirty,” said the lead security guard. “But I’d say you’re no more than early twenties.”
“I’m young for my age,” was her reply.
“And you don’t look much like your picture.”
“I’ve changed my hairstyle. That’s all.”
“And how is it you have the same name and address as a passenger on the flight that was bombed here three weeks ago?”
“That was me. I missed that flight. Just lucky, I guess.”
“The manifest shows you checked in.”
“Well, yeah,” she answered. “I went through the screening and went out to the boarding gates. But while I was waiting I had to go to the bathroom, and by the time I came out the plane had left. So I went home and re-booked for this flight.”
Her words were delivered quick and smooth, as if practiced. But they didn’t convince the guard. He just glared at her.
“If you don’t believe me, ask my husband. He’s right over there.” She pointed toward a column on the other side of the checkpoint. “There, the man in the blue jacket almost behind that column.”
Two guards ran and caught him before he got to the exit. As they brought him closer I received the shock of my life. It was my husband!
“Richard, tell them who I am,” the girl shouted to him. “Tell them I’m your wife, Roseanne.”
“Yes. Yes, she is,” he stammered. “Is there a problem?”
But before the guards could say any more I called out.
“Hey! She’s not his wife. I’m Roseanne Long,” I shouted.
In no time they had me by the arms and standing with the other two.
“Let’s take them to the security room,” the lead guard said. “Bring their bags, and call for the dog.”
Once in the security room the lead guard spoke again. “Alright, let’s start with the last one? I’m Sergeant Smith with the Orlando Police, and you are?”
“I’m Lieutenant Roseanne Long with the US Army, 201st Division. I’ve just arrived on a flight from Baghdad, where I’m serving in active duty. Here’s my military identification card and a copy of my furlough orders.”
“And who is he?”
“That’s my husband, Richard Long. But I have no idea why he’s here and why he says that girl is me. I’m as surprised as you are.”
“If you’re Roseanne Long, who is she?” He pointed to the other girl.
“I have no idea,” I said. “I’ve never seen her before now.”
“How come she has this?” he said handing me a card.
“That’s my old drivers license. Actually it’s a duplicate I got when I thought I’d lost the original. I left them both behind when I shipped overseas. I have no idea how she got it.”
While the police sergeant punched my information into his computer I looked at the man I thought I knew. “Richard, what are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer my question, instead he asked, “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in Iraq.”
“I got leave to come home for my sister’s memorial service. Didn’t you know about it?”
“Yeah. Well, I knew she died, and that your parents were having a service for her. But I didn’t know you were coming for it. I’m really sorry about her, by the way. I didn’t know she’d be on that flight.”
“What? What does that mean?”
Again he didn’t answer. He just turned red and looked away.
Just then another guard entered leading a german shepherd. It went straight to the girl’s carry-on bag and scratched at it. Once the guard opened it, the dog pulled out a plush toy. It was a stuffed animal shaped like a whale, the kind that’s popular with tourists.
The guard took it from the dog and ripped it open. Inside he found a square lump of clay-like material with a small electronic device. He quickly rushed out of the room without saying anything, but we all had a pretty good idea what it was.
“So, what do you say now?” the sergeant asked looking at Richard and the girl.
The girl began crying loudly. Up to this point she had stayed quiet, just rocking back and forth and looking pale. But she couldn’t hold herself any longer.
“They told me it would be good for America. They said it was like pulling a bad tooth. It would hurt a little at first, but be better for everyone afterwards. They said I’d be a hero. I tried to change my mind but he wouldn’t let me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just wanna go home. I’ll tell you everything I know, just please let me go back to my mom and dad.”
Once the girl stopped talking the sergeant turned to Richard. “There’s no point hiding now. What do you have to say?”
“I don’t know anything about what she was doing,” he said.
“Oh really? Then how did she get your wife’s drivers license?”
“I don’t know.”
“Uh, huh. And why were you here three weeks ago? Just before that flight was blown out of the air?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Yes you were. Every area in this airport is videotaped, and our face recognition software shows you here that day. You were helping another girl get on a flight. And that girl also identified herself with your wife’s drivers license. Ring a bell yet? No? Well, you’ll soon be meeting people who can help your memory.”
I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Richard! Richard tell me. How could you join with terrorists when I’ve been risking my life to fight against them? How?”
“I didn’t mean for it to involve you,” he said. “I never meant to hurt you. Or your family.”
“But how’d you even get into this?”
“It was when I went over there to visit you. They contacted me and convinced me to help. I was then put with their people here.”
“And my sister?”
“I already said, I didn’t know she’d be on that flight.”
I couldn’t stand to hear any more. I asked the sergeant if I could wait in a different room and he agreed. A few hours later they let me go home.
During my time on leave I told my parents the news and braced them for the coming attention. I attended my sister’s memorial service. Then I packed what I could from what had been my home and turned it back to the rental company.
It was nearly a year later when I heard the outcome of Richard’s trial. He was found guilty of terrorism and mass murder, and was given the death sentence. That news gave me many emotions; more than I could identify. But in retrospect, I guess the strongest one was feeling the sentence couldn’t be carried out quick enough. I needed closure.
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