He pointed toward a nearby TSA employee.
“Get Supervisor Chen over here. We've got an uncooperative passenger.”
The younger officer hesitated.
“He's been cooperating, sir.”
Morrison turned sharply.
“Did I ask for your opinion?”
The younger officer lowered her eyes and reached for her radio.
I remembered her name from my observation notes.
Officer Alicia Ruiz.
During the previous hour, she had twice attempted to calm passengers after Morrison had shouted at them.
Now she looked deeply uncomfortable.
A few minutes later, a woman in a dark blue supervisory uniform approached.
Her name tag read MAYA CHEN.
She looked from Morrison to me.
“What's the problem?”
Morrison answered immediately.
“This passenger is refusing inspection and acting suspicious.”
I spoke before he could continue.
“Supervisor, I have complied with every screening instruction. I requested your presence before my briefcase was opened.”
Chen studied me.
“Have you refused to submit your bag for screening?”
“No, ma'am.”
She turned toward Morrison.
“Then why did you tell me he was refusing?”
Morrison shrugged.
“He's being difficult.”
“Difficult how?”
“He keeps questioning me.”
I held up my empty hands.
“May I retrieve an identification document from the outer compartment of my briefcase while you observe?”
Chen nodded.
“Slowly, please.”
I opened the designated compartment.
Inside was my federal identification, an official inspection assignment document, and a sealed evidence envelope.
I placed the identification on the counter.
Chen picked it up.
Her eyes narrowed.
She looked at the photograph.
Then she looked at me.
“Mr. Washington?”
“Yes.”
She examined the agency name.
Federal Aviation Administration.
Then she read the assignment document.
The color drained from her face.
“Just a moment.”
Morrison leaned over her shoulder.
“What is it?”
Chen moved the documents away from him.
“Officer Morrison, please step back.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Step back.”
She picked up her radio.
“I need the duty manager and the Federal Security Director's office contacted. We have a federal oversight matter at Checkpoint 3.”
Morrison stared at her.
“Federal oversight?”
Chen didn't answer him.
Instead, she looked at me.
“Mr. Washington, I'm going to verify these credentials through the appropriate agency contact.”
“Of course.”
I waited while she made the call.
The credentials were genuine, but a badge alone could establish only my identity and assignment.