Mortal Danger

wasn’t something anyone expected to encounter in the airport.
    On this Sunday morning in early June, the airport was alive with travelers and airline personnel, and every few minutes or so a huge jet taxied down one of the runways and took off for Portland, Los Angeles, Honolulu, Juneau, Denver, Chicago, Houston, Atlanta, and other hubs of the major airlines.
    At the passenger drop-off area just in front of the revolving doors to the Northwest Airlines ticket counter,Amy’s brother maneuvered carefully into a spot next to the curb. He pulled on his parking brake, grabbed one of Heinz’s bags and his skis, and headed into the airport. Annoyingly, Heinz followed him, snatched his bag back, and took it to the car, placing it just inside the open tailgate window.
    The two sisters had quickly exited the Fiat and remained outside the car. Amy looked beautiful, clad in light slacks, a sheer blouse tied at the midriff, and platform sandals, with her dark chestnut hair flowing over her shoulders. Jill wore a similar outfit. Both young women were nervous but were determined to carry off the good-byes with a minimum of emotion.
    Frustrated by all of Heinz’s delaying tactics, Amy’s brother discovered to his chagrin that he had been successful in making them arrive too late to board his scheduled flight to London.
    The jet’s doors were closed, the steps rolled away, and it was already taxiing out toward the runway. The ticket agent explained firmly that they could not call it back at this point.
    Amy’s brother stepped to another desk to try to get Heinz on one of the next flights that would end up in Switzerland. There would probably be several hours’ wait, and he worried that his determined brother-in-law might leave the airport and make his way back to their home, looking for Amy. He didn’t want that to happen. If need be, he would wait at the airport with Heinz, after sending his sisters someplace safe.
     
    At two minutes after 9:00 a.m., the dispatch switchboard in the Port of Seattle Police headquarters at the airport began to light up. The first call came from a maintenance man who said someone had yelled, “Help! Attempted murder!” The man was so excited that he failed to give a location.
    One minute later, a Northwest Airlines ticket agent called the radio dispatcher to say that there was “a fire” right in front of the building and requested an ambulance.
    The profusion of calls tumbled one after the other—all requesting either an aid team or an ambulance to respond to the area just outside the Northwest Airlines entrance.
    The dispatcher requested that Sergeant L. L. Quein and officers J. E. Baertschiger and D. G. Krows respond to the scene of a “possible fire.” They arrived in two minutes, expecting to find a car fire. There was no smoke visible, or even flames. Instead, they saw two men struggling to pin a third man to the pavement in the middle of the five-lane passenger loading road. One of the men said that the subject on the ground had just “stabbed someone.”
    The tall, bearded man on the ground was still struggling as the officers separated the tangle of arms and legs. He wore a light jacket, soaked with bright red fluid, and they recognized the metallic smell of blood. He did not appear to understand English, and he didn’t stop fighting them until the officers had handcuffed him.
    Officer Krows looked toward the railing near the curb. He gasped as he saw a pretty young woman sitting there, half doubled over, holding her abdomen. Her breasts and midsection were stained crimson. Nearby, a taller woman held tight to her own left hand, which Krows saw was almost cut in two.
    It was difficult to take it all in—they had come to fight afire and instead found two terribly injured young women and a battling foreigner who seemed unable to understand what they said to him.
    The bearded man, whom many bystanders insisted was the attacker, was taken to a holding cell. The officers on the scene were given a large bloodstained Buck knife by Sergeant Quein, which they bagged into evidence.
    There was no time to find out just what had happened; the witnesses assured the officers they would wait in the squad room until the victims had been rushed to the hospital.
    Baertschiger and Krows rode with the ambulance carrying Amy and Jill. Valley General Hospital in nearby Kent had already been alerted that a red-blanket case was coming in, and Jill ignored her own wounds to try to comfort her