I'm sitting in a window seat, in the last row on a Boeing 767, handcuffed to the man next to me. We aren't supposed to be on this plane because it's a contract plane. Which means it is a commercial airline that the government has contracted to fly military and their families to and from overseas assignments. This flight is nonstop from Frankfurt, Germany to Philadelphia, PA.
My name is Karen Gallagher. For the next ten days, I am a Warrant Officer in the United States Army, assigned to the Criminal Investigation Division. This assignment is sort of a parting gift from my Colonel. I used all of my leave, over the past few months, after my parents were in a car accident. My mother stills needs me, so I made the hardest choice of my life, I resigned from the Army.
This mission is taking me to the states close to my end date. The Colonel gave me the assignment because it will get me home a few days early.
Walt, my partner, mentor, and longtime friend is sitting in the aisle seat. He is also handcuffed to the man in the middle. Master Sergeant Walt Walters is in his forties and well over six-feet tall. The rest of him looks like Mr. T. with an Army haircut.
He volunteered for the assignment. We have partnered several times, beginning with when I was a Private. This is the first time we've worked together since I became a Warrant Officer and out rank Walt. It should be interesting.
The man in the middle is James Edward Blackburn, a convicted murderer. Walt and I are escorting him to the United States Penitentiary at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Blackburn faced a Court Marshall in Heidelberg, Germany where he was found guilty of first degree, premeditated murder. He is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.
We were scheduled to be the only passengers on an Air Force carrier flight from Frankfurt to the Dover Air Station. The plane was grounded for repairs at the last minute. Under the circumstance the powers that be decided we needed to depart on the next plane flying.
Here we are on a contract flight with kids in nearly every row. Instead of landing on a small military installation, we will land at a large international airport.
Walt and I are both nervous about all the civilians on this plane.
Usually, I love the hustle and bustle of the Philly airport, but the idea of getting through the crowds, with a prisoner, is not making me smile.
The sun will be going down when we land. Walt and I will drive our prisoner to Dover, Delaware in a rental car that should be waiting for us when we arrive. Tomorrow morning we will board an Air Force flight, to Scott Air Force Base, Illinois. Military Police from Fort Leavenworth will meet our flight and drive us the final hundred miles to the penitentiary.
Walt has a white pullover sweater laid across the handcuff attaching him to Blackburn. On my side, I have a new burgundy sweater masking my cuff.
Blackburn is staring straight ahead. He's been this way since we took custody of him at Rhine-Maine Air Base this morning.
The flight attendant comes by to get our dinner order. Blackburn doesn't acknowledge her; his eyes are wide open, still staring straight ahead.
Walt moves his index finger between himself and Blackburn as he says, "We'll have the chicken breast with mixed greens."
I lean forward and tell the attendant that I'll have the same.
When our dinners arrive, Walt removes his handcuffs and discreetly slips them down in the seat beside him. This frees up Blackburn's right hand so both he and Walt can eat. Blackburn picks at his food until Walt says, "You got two minutes before I put the cuffs back on. Officer Gallagher can eat."
Blackburn abruptly pulls his hand away from his tray.
Walt finishes eating, then puts the cuffs back on Blackburn. I go through the same procedure, to free up my hand. Blackburn is still staring straight ahead at the back of the chair in front of him.
Once the food is cleared, the movie comes on. It's some new sci-fi. I prefer a good whodunit, so I lay my head against the window and close my eyes. My body is contorted because of my attachment to Blackburn. If I turn in his direction and fall asleep, my head might fall over on his shoulder or worse, his lap.
"Turn around. I'll keep an eye on you," Walt says in a low voice.
After turning in Blackburn's direction, I take a long look at him and wonder what he's thinking behind those staring eyes. How can he keep staring at nothing? He reminds me of the Beefeater Guards I saw in London. People wave their hands in front of their faces and yell, "Are you in there?" Like the guards, Blackburn's eyes are fixed straight ahead. I doubt tickling him would work. A smile crosses my face. If I slowly slid my hand down and unzip his pants, would that make him blink?
I'm sitting in a window seat, in the last row on a Boeing 767, handcuffed to the man next to me. We aren't supposed to be on this plane because it's a contract plane. Which means it is a commercial airline that the government has contracted to fly military and their families to and from overseas assignments. This flight is nonstop from Frankfurt, Germany to Philadelphia, PA.
My name is Karen Gallagher. For the next ten days, I am a Warrant Officer in the United States Army, assigned to the Criminal Investigation Division. This assignment is sort of a parting gift from my Colonel. I used all of my leave, over the past few months, after my parents were in a car accident. My mother stills needs me, so I made the hardest choice of my life, I resigned from the Army.
This mission is taking me to the states close to my end date. The Colonel gave me the assignment because it will get me home a few days early.
Walt, my partner, mentor, and longtime friend is sitting in the aisle seat. He is also handcuffed to the man in the middle. Master Sergeant Walt Walters is in his forties and well over six-feet tall. The rest of him looks like Mr. T. with an Army haircut.
He volunteered for the assignment. We have partnered several times, beginning with when I was a Private. This is the first time we've worked together since I became a Warrant Officer and out rank Walt. It should be interesting.
The man in the middle is James Edward Blackburn, a convicted murderer. Walt and I are escorting him to the United States Penitentiary at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Blackburn faced a Court Marshall in Heidelberg, Germany where he was found guilty of first degree, premeditated murder. He is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.
We were scheduled to be the only passengers on an Air Force carrier flight from Frankfurt to the Dover Air Station. The plane was grounded for repairs at the last minute. Under the circumstance the powers that be decided we needed to depart on the next plane flying.
Here we are on a contract flight with kids in nearly every row. Instead of landing on a small military installation, we will land at a large international airport.
Walt and I are both nervous about all the civilians on this plane.
Usually, I love the hustle and bustle of the Philly airport, but the idea of getting through the crowds, with a prisoner, is not making me smile.
The sun will be going down when we land. Walt and I will drive our prisoner to Dover, Delaware in a rental car that should be waiting for us when we arrive. Tomorrow morning we will board an Air Force flight, to Scott Air Force Base, Illinois. Military Police from Fort Leavenworth will meet our flight and drive us the final hundred miles to the penitentiary.
Walt has a white pullover sweater laid across the handcuff attaching him to Blackburn. On my side, I have a new burgundy sweater masking my cuff.
Blackburn is staring straight ahead. He's been this way since we took custody of him at Rhine-Maine Air Base this morning.
The flight attendant comes by to get our dinner order. Blackburn doesn't acknowledge her; his eyes are wide open, still staring straight ahead.
Walt moves his index finger between himself and Blackburn as he says, "We'll have the chicken breast with mixed greens."
I lean forward and tell the attendant that I'll have the same.
When our dinners arrive, Walt removes his handcuffs and discreetly slips them down in the seat beside him. This frees up Blackburn's right hand so both he and Walt can eat. Blackburn picks at his food until Walt says, "You got two minutes before I put the cuffs back on. Officer Gallagher can eat."
Blackburn abruptly pulls his hand away from his tray.
Walt finishes eating, then puts the cuffs back on Blackburn. I go through the same procedure, to free up my hand. Blackburn is still staring straight ahead at the back of the chair in front of him.
Once the food is cleared, the movie comes on. It's some new sci-fi. I prefer a good whodunit, so I lay my head against the window and close my eyes. My body is contorted because of my attachment to Blackburn. If I turn in his direction and fall asleep, my head might fall over on his shoulder or worse, his lap.
"Turn around. I'll keep an eye on you," Walt says in a low voice.
After turning in Blackburn's direction, I take a long look at him and wonder what he's thinking behind those staring eyes. How can he keep staring at nothing? He reminds me of the Beefeater Guards I saw in London. People wave their hands in front of their faces and yell, "Are you in there?" Like the guards, Blackburn's eyes are fixed straight ahead. I doubt tickling him would work. A smile crosses my face. If I slowly slid my hand down and unzip his pants, would that make him blink?
I'm sitting in a window seat, in the last row on a Boeing 767, handcuffed to the man next to me. We aren't supposed to be on this plane because it's a contract plane. Which means it is a commercial airline that the government has contracted to fly military and their families to and from overseas assignments. This flight is nonstop from Frankfurt, Germany to Philadelphia, PA.
My name is Karen Gallagher. For the next ten days, I am a Warrant Officer in the United States Army, assigned to the Criminal Investigation Division. This assignment is sort of a parting gift from my Colonel. I used all of my leave, over the past few months, after my parents were in a car accident. My mother stills needs me, so I made the hardest choice of my life, I resigned from the Army.
This mission is taking me to the states close to my end date. The Colonel gave me the assignment because it will get me home a few days early.
Walt, my partner, mentor, and longtime friend is sitting in the aisle seat. He is also handcuffed to the man in the middle. Master Sergeant Walt Walters is in his forties and well over six-feet tall. The rest of him looks like Mr. T. with an Army haircut.
He volunteered for the assignment. We have partnered several times, beginning with when I was a Private. This is the first time we've worked together since I became a Warrant Officer and out rank Walt. It should be interesting.
The man in the middle is James Edward Blackburn, a convicted murderer. Walt and I are escorting him to the United States Penitentiary at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Blackburn faced a Court Marshall in Heidelberg, Germany where he was found guilty of first degree, premeditated murder. He is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.
We were scheduled to be the only passengers on an Air Force carrier flight from Frankfurt to the Dover Air Station. The plane was grounded for repairs at the last minute. Under the circumstance the powers that be decided we needed to depart on the next plane flying.
Here we are on a contract flight with kids in nearly every row. Instead of landing on a small military installation, we will land at a large international airport.
Walt and I are both nervous about all the civilians on this plane.
Usually, I love the hustle and bustle of the Philly airport, but the idea of getting through the crowds, with a prisoner, is not making me smile.
The sun will be going down when we land. Walt and I will drive our prisoner to Dover, Delaware in a rental car that should be waiting for us when we arrive. Tomorrow morning we will board an Air Force flight, to Scott Air Force Base, Illinois. Military Police from Fort Leavenworth will meet our flight and drive us the final hundred miles to the penitentiary.
Walt has a white pullover sweater laid across the handcuff attaching him to Blackburn. On my side, I have a new burgundy sweater masking my cuff.
Blackburn is staring straight ahead. He's been this way since we took custody of him at Rhine-Maine Air Base this morning.
The flight attendant comes by to get our dinner order. Blackburn doesn't acknowledge her; his eyes are wide open, still staring straight ahead.
Walt moves his index finger between himself and Blackburn as he says, "We'll have the chicken breast with mixed greens."
I lean forward and tell the attendant that I'll have the same.
When our dinners arrive, Walt removes his handcuffs and discreetly slips them down in the seat beside him. This frees up Blackburn's right hand so both he and Walt can eat. Blackburn picks at his food until Walt says, "You got two minutes before I put the cuffs back on. Officer Gallagher can eat."
Blackburn abruptly pulls his hand away from his tray.
Walt finishes eating, then puts the cuffs back on Blackburn. I go through the same procedure, to free up my hand. Blackburn is still staring straight ahead at the back of the chair in front of him.
Once the food is cleared, the movie comes on. It's some new sci-fi. I prefer a good whodunit, so I lay my head against the window and close my eyes. My body is contorted because of my attachment to Blackburn. If I turn in his direction and fall asleep, my head might fall over on his shoulder or worse, his lap.
"Turn around. I'll keep an eye on you," Walt says in a low voice.
After turning in Blackburn's direction, I take a long look at him and wonder what he's thinking behind those staring eyes. How can he keep staring at nothing? He reminds me of the Beefeater Guards I saw in London. People wave their hands in front of their faces and yell, "Are you in there?" Like the guards, Blackburn's eyes are fixed straight ahead. I doubt tickling him would work. A smile crosses my face. If I slowly slid my hand down and unzip his pants, would that make him blink?
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