1I was racing toward disaster.
The night before, a chartered MD-11 Trijet had blown up after takeoff from Bangor International, killing all four hundred and eight people on board. I was the State Department’s representative on a federal terrorism task force and I had to be on the 6:00 PM Global Airlines flight from Copenhagen to New York. I dodged around less hasty travelers, a blond woman in no-name running shoes loping past Kastrup Airport’s duty-free shops.
Brilliant strips of neon in primary colors slid by me. I saw masses of Nordic furs, Swedish vodka, Georg Jensen pipes. Passed travelers lugging heavy bags from the liquor store. Spotted a plainclothes cop dressed too warmly for a Danish June, scrutinizing the passersby.
Up ahead the readerboard listed the status of departing fligh
