Chapter 2: Two Mysterious Packages, Two Mysterious Men

Chapter II

"They ought to make this an obstacle course on American Ninja Warrior," Tim Mistle said, panting as he paused to catch his breath in the middle of O'Hare International Airport.

He was halfway to his gate, with only minutes left on the clock before his 737 shoved off and took its place in the long line for take off. Hoisting the duffel on his shoulder, he tightened his moist right hand around the handle of his roll-away suitcase and his kid's Christmas present, and moved out.

Thump-thump-squeak-thump-thump-squeak.

Mistle dodged and weaved through the crowd, his roll-away biting at his heels. 

With only seconds to spare, Mistle thrust his ticket at the gate attendant and dashed down the jetway, glad that, this time, he dodged the fury from his estranged wife over yet another missed Christmas.

Squeezing into his window seat, Mistle tried to avoid the eyes of his fellow passengers—some seeming angry, others silently mocking his new haircut. He thought it made him look more at home on the set of Jersey Shore. 

Mistle couldn't help but notice his seatmate staring at is hair, then turning away with a smirk. His cheeks reddened and his jaw clenched, Mistle cradled his young daughter's Christmas present.

As the plane pushed back from the gate, Mistle noticed his seatmate only had one hand. One sleeve on his jacket was hemmed at what would ordinarily be his elbow. Mistle tore his eyes away, but as the plane inched along the taxiway, he couldn't help but steal glances every few seconds.

Their eyes met, and the man glared. Mistle shifted his glance, when he noticed that his seatmate had what looked like rectangular bulges underneath his shirt. Mistle clutched the armrests of his seat as his mind fixated on one word: bomb.

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FRIDAY: Chapter III