Who's the Bad Guy?

The Captain has announced a “code silver”. Somebody on the aircraft is armed with a dangerous item but they aren't revealing the identity of the offender yet. We are to proceed as normal and await further instruction. I freeze, then freeze a smile on my face and launch myself down the aisle, gripping the lunch trolley. A soft, caramelly voice replies “Yes please” when I offer coffee. I look into the face and a knife twists in my gut. It’s him. It’s got to be. He looks just like that terrible man on the tv, the one that gloats via video every time innocent, civilised people are killed and injured in random explosions. A broad mouthful of teeth that are as white as my knuckles begin to disappear into a square mile of black beard, and the deep brown eyes turn from friendly to quizzical. He knows I don’t buy the “smiling assassin” act. The man lifts his turbaned head slowly to look past my shoulder and the eyes shift to hawklike mode. There is the rattle of china as I begin to fumble and spill things. Panicked voices fade to mute and everything morphs into slo-mo, as he rises from his seat and I think, I’m going to die…I register the strength of his large hands as he shoves me aside into safety... From the floor I watch the clean-shaven bandit in the grey suit lunge for the bearded, white-robed man with a gleaming pen-knife. Two undercover FBI agents seize the moment to apprehend the terrorist from behind as people scream and others gather around to assist me and the injured man in white.