THE FLIGHT WATCHMEN

ÒDo we want to put out a page?Ó Bruce asks. A notification page alerts TSA officials.

ÒNo. You could start a war 'cause you're reading it on your BlackBerry and get only half of it -- 'radar anomaly,' Ó Kent says. ÒA lot of times, it's a flock of birds.Ó

Kent is the iceman of the Watch Floor. As the special agent in charge, his blood pumps slower, and chillier, than the shift workers he oversees. ÒThe folks on watch are on and off. I am never off, so I have a higher threshold,Ó Kent says, confident. ÒI'm supposed to be that person, a step back from the action.Ó

Stepped back, and yet Kent is always there. At home on a recent Saturday, he was on an emergency conference call for so many hours that he switched to speakerphone and painted his teenage daughter's bedroom. When the phone rang on Christmas Eve, he recalls with a laugh, Òmy wife said, 'If you answer that, I'll divorce you.' Ó He answered.

Kent is a former Secret Service agent who drove Amy Carter to school, jogged with George H.W. Bush (ÒThat man was as cool as a cucumber; he could shower and stop sweating and be dressed in five minutes. He always beat us.Ó), and trailed Ronald Reagan horseback riding (ÒIn Santa Barbara, he wanted male company. He said, 'Nancy's talking to Patti, and I can't get a word in edgewise.' Ó). At 52, Kent looks like a paunchier version, with reading glasses, of one of his Secret Service nicknames: Ken Doll.

ÒI've been 'doing' bad guys for 34 years,Ó says Kent, who can still drive -- hands free -- with his left knee, though he is no longer limber enough to make turns. When his daughter calls him at work, he answers, ÒHi, I'm saving the world!Ó On this Tuesday morning, Kent strides tall, tight and precise out of his office, toward the Watch Floor.

ÒBad guys want to launch multiple attacks,Ó Kent says, while walking. ÒI'm looking for a second or third incident, to tie it together, to link things.Ó Kent looks up at a huge electronic map of the United States. ÒWhat are we tracking Delta 39 for?Ó

Three white flight lines cut across the map. One blip marked ÒAF2,Ó is Air Force Two, the vice president's aircraft. Another digital white line indicates the path of Òsuspicious selectees,Ó members of a swim team flying to Las Vegas. The airplane in question is ÒDL39.Ó

Has the pilot Ògone Nordo,Ó short for no radio contact? A common occurrence, and yet each time -- keeping in mind 9/11 -- the watchmen rip though a checklist: Cockpit secure? VIPs on board? Air marshals? Hazardous cargo? Size and weight of the plane? Screening anomalies at airport of origin?

ÒDelta 39 --Ó says the command duty officer. ÒDrunk passenger, making passes at flight attendants.Ó

ÒOh, geez,Ó Kent says, noting the flight path over the Atlantic. ÒFrom England?Ó

ÒHamburg, Germany.Ó

The bawdy traveler, in Watch Floor parlance, is a Òdisruptive passenger.Ó On this day, another disruptive passenger, a man with leg cramps in an aisle seat flying to Philadelphia, threatens the crew. An all-time favorite disruption: a young woman on her way to a party in Fort Lauderdale who burst out of the lavatory naked and ran down the aisle.

ÒYou always think the disruptive passenger is a diversion, 'cause you don't know how many bad guys he's traveling with,Ó says Paul Ross, a former USAirways pilot, who works on the Watch Floor. The man flying to Tucson who refuses to lower the volume on his laptop? He is possibly, in the eyes of the watchmen, a mass-murdering terrorist.

Passengers creating diversions to hijack an airplane is one scenario that Chan plays out in his head as he gets ready for work. Chan likes to test himself, a mental exercise he calls Òthe pregame warmup.Ó

ÒWe cannot be wrong. We have to be right,Ó is Chan's grave cheer.

At Kathy's house, Chan towels off and walks into her closet where for five months now, he has been keeping his things, and where he hopes, against the odds, they are here to stay. Chan hadn't dated for 14 years. And Kathy has, as she puts it, Òtrust issues . . . a hard exteriorÓ from a marriage to a high school sweetheart, by whom she felt betrayed.

Along came Chan, who ran out of gas on their first date, who wore a visor and burned his scalp on their second date, who tried to propose at a recent dinner at Olives in Washington but got so nervous that he dropped his keys, his fork, his water glass and his money clip, sending him crawling and groping under another table.

ÒYou're a mess,Ó Kathy had said.

ÒAll along, I'm thinking, 'I'm going to mess this up,' Ó Chan recalls. ÒThis is my second chance. Actually, my only chance, at love.Ó

In Kathy's closet, Chan passes her clothes on the way to his. They comfort him. Kathy's gray business suits, her tennis dress, the rust-orange blouse she wears with his favorite brown slacks. He buries his face in her blouse and inhales. He smells coconut lotion, and Kathy.

Chan knots his tie, gets into his car. Hypothetical threats unfold in his mind as he drives. He checks his BlackBerry: A firearm is confiscated in Birmingham; a suspicious man with no travel documents in Minneapolis says he is Òhanging around the airport . . . wanted to leave the country, but was unable to decide where.Ó A background check reveals that the man is wanted for assault in Chicago.

We cannot be wrong. We have to be right.

Scenarios, real and imagined, diverge, veer off and circle back to the same shaky place:

What would I do in a crisis?

1425 Hours: Suspicious Passenger at Charlotte (CLT) . . . 1442 Hours: Passenger Arrested After Travel Document Checker Referral at Miami (MIA)

At the Freedom Center, Chan rolls past a guard, the concrete abutments and a black metal fence, trimmed with three rows of barbed wire. Inside, he buzzes himself beyond the ÒSECRETÓ sign. Kathy works in another room, but Chan isn't thinking about love just now. His eyes tighten. The Watch Floor hums, windowless and dim, high-ceilinged and air-conditioned in a haze of radiant heat. Along one wall, digital clocks glow red, ticking in 10 time zones.

Kent's deputy, Andrew Hosey, sums up the day: ÒVanilla.Ó

Chan knocks wood.

The law enforcement databases keep logging off, idle. The air smells of microwaved popcorn. Kent teases Chan's partner, command duty officer Chuck Phucas, who is scanning CNN.com: ÒHey, Chuck, what's the matter, nothing going on?Ó

ÒNothing,Ó says Chuck, a retired Marine. Chuck has 26 guns in his basement, forearms as thick as thighs and a 105-pound Rottweiler he loves because ÒI don't want a rug rat that's good for 30 yards, if you kick 'em right.Ó Every night, as Chuck leaves work, he calls his wife because Òwho knows who's watching the building?Ó They have a code word, Òin case there's trouble. If I use 'cupcake,' she calls the police.Ó

Chuck had served as a master sergeant in counterintelligence. ÒWe're still fighting the same fight,Ó says Chuck, who is about to turn 50. ÒWe stand in the breach.Ó No one will hurt Americans, Ònot on my watch, not while I'm standing here.Ó

Chuck is sitting in a polo shirt in front of seven phones with speed-dial buttons to every commercial airline, the White House Situation Room, the Coast Guard Operations Center and the National Military Command Center at the Pentagon.

Chan settles in beside Chuck at the head of the pod. Chan runs the research and law enforcement side. Chuck receives incoming reports and speaks for the Watch Floor on the Domestic Events Network, an interagency, perpetual conference call with the FAA.

It is quiet. ÒToo quiet,Ó says their boss, Kent, hovering behind them.

Then, a call comes in from USAirways, area code 704. A passenger on Flight 1736, Charlotte to Indianapolis, said he saw a weapon on another passenger.

ÒI checked him,Ó says Mike Jimenez, hurrying over to Chan with a notepad. Mike, an investigator with the fastest fingers on the Watch Floor, says he often has two minutes -- no more -- to determine if a person is an immediate threat. ÒHe's on a watch list for terrorists. Short, 55, 170 pounds, possibly Muslim.Ó

The profile fits a potential threat, except for one thing. The man on the watch list, Mike says, is, Òthe man who said he saw the weapon.Ó

Chan stands up. Chuck does, too.

ÒWhat kind of weapon?Ó Kent says. ÒHand grenade? Knife? Gun?Ó

ÒThe butt of a gun,Ó says Chuck, who is getting details from a watch officer. ÒIn a passenger's pocket.Ó

The air traffic controllers had released the plane for takeoff. ÒThey let the bird go,Ó says Chuck. He tells an officer: ÒPut it up on the tracking board.Ó

USAirways 1736 blips white across the computerized U.S. map. A systems search reveals that the pilot is armed. Ground agents in Charlotte had screened the two passengers, but, even so, Chan's officer calls the FBI's Joint Terrorism Task Force to meet the plane at the gate when it lands in Indianapolis. Mike, Chan's investigator, gulps water from a Deer Park gallon bottle, as he scours government, law enforcement and commercial databases for clues.

Then, a call comes in from a TSA official, area code 305. ÒA man ran away at a checkpoint,Ó Chuck says, relaying the notes from the officer who took the call.

ÒWhere?Ó says Kent.

ÒMiami.Ó

ÒProbably an illegal immigrant,Ó says Kent.

ÒHe bolted.Ó

ÒThat doesn't excite me,Ó says Kent. ÒWe've had people bolt away cause they can't take their $40 lip gloss. My daughter said, 'Dad can't you do anything about the lip-gloss rule?' Ó

ÒHe was tackled by law enforcement,Ó says Chuck.

ÒOh, they tackled him?Ó Kent grimaces and smiles. ÒThat's hard on the knees.Ó

ÒHe was Lebanese.Ó

ÒWhat?Ó says Kent.

ÒLebanese! Lebanese!Ó Chuck cracks his knuckles.

ÒHow do you know?Ó Kent says, stepping back. A recent intelligence brief had highlighted the Lebanese group Hezbollah, noting: ÒTactics include hijacking commercial aircraft and in-transit ambushes.Ó

In Miami, the Lebanese man had presented a fake U.S. passport with a Hispanic name. The guard was suspicious and referred him to secondary screening. When the secondary screener reached for the man's bag, the suspect snatched his passport and ran.

ÒCreate a file, mark it 'hot,' Ó Chuck says.

ÒWe have two things now,Ó Kent says, ever cool: a passenger in Charlotte who says he sees a gun; a passenger in Miami who flees. Are they related?

ÒStart a white board,Ó says Chuck.

An officer named Lee starts typing, black letters crawling across a large white screen at the front of the room: ÒMIAMI SUSPICIOUS LEBANESE PASSENGER, CHECKPOINT/SECONDARY SCREENING. HE DISAPPEARED --Ó

ÒHey, Lee!Ó Chuck barks. ÒHe didn't 'disappear.' They tackled him! He left behind a bag.Ó

As partners, Chuck and Chan know each other's tension ticks. Chuck gets loud; Chan gets quiet. Chuck slashes the air with his powerful arms, pointing. Chan paces like he's Òon a dog run.Ó

The two men are starting to slash and pace.

Chan's investigator, Mike, pulls up a picture of the 42-year-old suspect online, along with his real passport from Lebanon. He discovers in a commercial database that the suspect had bought his American Airlines ticket as well as tickets for two other men. Like him, the two men were flying from Miami to Los Angeles that afternoon, though, notably, on a different airplane.

Chan's agent pulls up a diagram of the Miami airport. Something about the police chase bothers Chan. The Lebanese man had fled the terminal, dashed outside. As the Miami-Dade County Police approached him, the man jumped from a second-story parking ramp. He hit the pavement and shattered his arm. Yet even with a broken limb, the suspect continued to struggle.

ÒWhy jump?Ó Chan wonders. ÒWhy so extreme?Ó He'd seen a lot before, but Òwe never have people running away.Ó Abandon a bag? Leap off a ramp?

Chan says to an agent, ÒSend out an alert notification page.Ó

The agent begins to type: MIA suspicious male pax ran from ckpt . . .

The text message blasts out to all American airports, federal air marshals, TSA employees and federal security directors, in case -- though very unlikely -- something similar is happening, somewhere.

1510 Hours : Passenger Arrested After Behavior Detection Officer Referral at Los Angeles (LAX)

ÒThe exact situation just happened in L.A.,Ó says Andrew, Kent's deputy, pulling Kent aside. ÒA passenger took off.Ó

Fifteen minutes had passed since the Lebanese man in Miami had fled. Now, a man in Los Angeles had been referred to secondary screening for suspicious behavior. The man dropped his bag on the X-ray conveyor belt and ran.

The tiniest of frown lines pinches Kent's brow. ÒWas he Lebanese?

ÒJeanne Meserve is going to go live on CNN about it.Ó

ÒWas he Lebanese?Ó Kent's frown line deepens.

On the white board at the front of the room, the incident unscrolls: LOS ANGELES LAX SUSPICIOUS PASSENGER IN TERMINAL 1 CHECKPOINT . . .

ÒWas he Lebanese or not?Ó Kent asks.

ÒI don't know,Ó says Andrew. ÒSee if he has grape leaves.Ó

Chan orders another blast notification page, this time about L.A. In his mind, he is Òbleeding between Code Orange and Red.Ó Security directors from Newark, Connecticut and airports across the East Coast bombard the Freedom Center with questions. At La Guardia Airport in New York City, TSA employee Robert DeFrancesco, fires off an e-mail:

What about Miami, is there a connection???????

Kent, whose motto is Òconnect the dots,Ó contemplates this: ÒMajor airports on either coast, large aircraft like 9/11. Is it a probe, or is this an actual attack?Ó

ÒGet back on the phone with L.A.,Ó Chuck orders the officer who took the L.A. report. Chuck's tremendous hands are flying. He stuffs them into his pockets so he doesn't accidentally whack someone. ÒDon't let them off the phone till I say so. Tell L.A. we want to compare facts: If he's a hundred-year-old Chinaman or a 12-year-old Mexican, we can take a step back.Ó

Chan's investigator, Mike, clatters away at nine systems on five screens, racing to link the men in Miami and L.A.: Warrants? Border crossings? Did they share a PO box? Rent an apartment together? Mike's face turns warm. Then it gets hot. The Miami man has a fake California driver's license. Mike presses his cold Deer Park bottle to his burning cheek and forehead.

Kent's supervisor, Don Zimmerman, is called, who in turn -- Òa few hairs up on the back of my neckÓ -- calls his supervisor at TSA headquarters in Arlington. Deputy administrator Gale Rossides looks at her caller ID: ÒURGENT-DonZ.Ó

She steps out of a meeting.

ÒWe have a situation here,Ó Don tells her. ÒActually, it's two situations.Ó

On the Watch Floor, the usual murmur is gone. Chan has stopped pacing; he has to take a breath. With Òtwo, simultaneous, 9/11-like activitiesÓ going on, he needs a few seconds to focus. ÒDon't overreact. Don't underreact,Ó Chan tells himself. He doesn't want his agents to see him scared.

But when Chan looks up at the electronic U.S. map, at the Charlotte-to-Indianapolis flight pulsing across state lines, he thinks that armed terrorists might be on board, that the checkpoint running might be a diversion, that the terrorists have companions on other flights, and that any minute the entire map could light up with tiny, white planes.

It's like that dream Chan sometimes has: ÒI've been at work. It's faded and foggy. It's like you're a cop and in a foot chase. You never catch the guy. You're making all the right calls. Despite all your efforts, it's the realization that something bad is going to happen. And it drops off, like you're falling off the bed.Ó

As Chan stands on the Watch Floor, he feels that same sinking in his stomach. The words flash through his mind, ÒHere we go again.Ó The terrorist attack he expected. Then another flash: his past shortcomings and failures.

But seared in deep, beneath those fears, behind his own history, burn the faces of the 19 hijackers. He can see them, their eyes, their gaze, mental sketches of the men of 9/11: Òthree rows of five, and one row of four people. The steadfast, committed-to-their-mission look. Stoic, deliberate and tuned into their job.Ó

Chan has seen that look before, that look of dedication -- in American police officers in uniform. And in him.

If there is going to be another strike, a second chance, ÒI hope it's me that gets to deal with it.Ó

Chan takes a breath and tells one of his agents, Denny Spencer, in a calm, authoritative voice: ÒAlert all federal marshals transiting Miami and L.A.Ó

Chan's next step would be to broadcast an emergency message to all air marshals in the United States and overseas; Chuck would dial into DOD's classified red-switch network to contact the U.S. Northern Command (Northcom) and NORAD.

ÒI'm on it,Ó says Denny, catching the unwavering look in Chan's eyes. He flashes Chan a thumbs up.

1516 Hours: Secure ID Violation at Dallas-Forth Worth (DFW). . . 1556 Hours: Explosive Detection Alarms at Los Angeles (LAX). . . 1653 Hours: Suspicious Individual at Newark (EWR) . . . 1727 Hours: Suspicious Checked Baggage at John Wayne (SNA) . . . 1924 Hours: Disruptive Passenger Atlanta (ATL) . . . 2115 Hours: Passenger Arrested at Las Vegas (LAS)

ÒThe guy in L.A. is a doper!Ó a voice calls from the Watch Floor.

ÒWhere?Ó Chan says, turning to Denny. ÒWho are you talking to?Ó

ÒLos Angeles. The guy was nervous about flying, so he smoked pot,Ó says Denny. ÒNo apparent nexus to terrorism.Ó

ÒStand down!Ó Chan tells his officers.

The L.A. passenger was a 21-year-old African American. He had been smoking marijuana. It evidently made him paranoid.

Chan orders a text page: CLOSE OUT LAX; suspicious male pax arrested on charges of Public Intoxication and Fleeing a Checkpoint.

Chan takes another deep breath. So do his agents. The events in Miami and Los Angeles are not related.

As the afternoon dims into evening, Chan eats soup from a vending machine at his desk and calls Kathy at home. ÒWe thought we had something today,Ó he tells her. ÒHow's Jamie?Ó

Chan's shift winds down with minor incidents in Dallas, Los Angeles, Newark, Santa Ana, Atlanta and Las Vegas. Earlier incidents close out. The Charlotte-Indianapolis passenger was not on a terrorist watch list after all. There had been an error in spelling his common Muslim name. He did, however, appear on a visitors list for a radical prisoner.

It took hours to resolve the case of the Lebanese man in Miami, who had leapt from the parking ramp and broken his arm. ÒThat guy made me almost mess my pants today,Ó Chuck says. ÒI'd throw him off the parking ramp myself.Ó

Law enforcement officials pulled the Lebanese man's two companions off their flight and found 10 credit cards and three cashier's checks totaling more than $1 million. The carry-on bag the Lebanese man had abandoned contained cocaine.

He told police he fled because he was Òhaving a bad day, and was nervous that he would miss his flight.Ó

2336 Hours: Suspicious Individual in Custody at Santa Clara County (RHV)

Chan is listening to jazz instrumentals as he drives home in the dark. After eight hours of monitoring terrorism traffic, he doesn't want to hear any words. He reviews his day: ÒDid I call the right people? Get the right agents involved?Ó

It is 10:40 p.m. Up in the woods on Bull Run Mountain, in a small house on a gravel road, Chan's floor partner, Chuck, is already asleep, wearing his Marine medallion. Chuck will be on the Watch Floor again by sunrise. Before sinking into his dreams, Chuck cuddled with his Rottweiler and his wife, who share a king-size bed.

ÒGood night, Mom,Ó Chuck said, to his wife.

ÒGood night, baby,Ó Chuck said to the dog, who sleeps between them. Chuck pampers his pet even more since she's been diagnosed with lymphoma.

In the basement, hang Chuck's Marine uniforms: the dress blues, the green service alphas, the camouflage utilities. The closet is left open. Chuck tells people that being a Watch Floor command duty officer is like being a Marine, Òsame fight, different uniform.Ó He tells himself, or tries to, that the work is satisfying: ÒIsn't that sad to say, at 50 you're washed up? Fortunately, we find a place we feel useful.Ó

But then at night, when the truth seeps like vapors under his door, Chuck dreams that there's a national emergency. The Marines call him back into active duty, into real combat. He has the dream once a week; he's sorry to wake up.

ÒWhat's the dream?Ó Chuck says later. ÒThat somebody needs you.Ó Then Chuck stops talking, because he starts to cry. When he cries, sometimes, the Rottweiler licks his tears.

At 11 p.m., Chan's boss, Kent, is still awake, taking calls from the Watch Floor. Sitting in his family room, in his easy chair, feet up, all he wants to do is watch ÒDancing With the StarsÓ and crash. But Kent answers the phone again and again, summoning his brisk, work voice: ÒJefferies.Ó It might be a call about the pilot who accidentally fired off a round in the cockpit. Or the three men on USAirways, kicking one another over a seat assignment. Or maybe it's the passenger who strapped a baby alligator to his leg and was caught when the screener saw his pants wiggle. (Kent: ÒIt begs the question, which way was the alligator's head facing?Ó)

Kent's response to the watchmen is always cool, but more than anyone, he absorbs the Floor's considerable heat. ÒEveryone wants to be the big boss, but it's not so great,Ó Kent says. ÒBack in the day, I used to run with the president. I used to do a lot of things. I used to make fun of people like me.Ó Now Kent has no time to exercise. Every quarter, he takes a government physical and a doctor checks his blood pressure, Òto make sure I'm not going to croak.Ó

During a break in the calls, Kent goes to bed. His dental night guard, he notices, is worn out. Since he's come to TSA, he has started clenching his jaws. He sometimes pulls back his lips, and examines the flat, black crack where his upper and lower bite meet. The iceman's teeth are ground even.

At 11:20 p.m., Chan drives up to Kathy's house. Inside, he checks on Jamie, who is sleeping on her back, holding her raggedy yellow blanky to her cheek.

ÒShe has no idea,Ó Chan thinks, looking at the little girl, Òhow drastic the world is.Ó He closes Jamie's door carefully, trying not to disturb her.

When Chan opens Kathy's bedroom door, he is happy to see that she isn't asleep. Her red hair is spread out on her pillowcase. Her eyes are half-closed. She is wearing his aunt's antique diamond engagement ring.

ÒAre you serious?Ó Kathy had said last week, when Chan finally found the courage to propose.

Kathy had married young, been hurt hard and, after that, closed up. But an elderly man at the Freedom Center told her, ÒYou deserve to have a nice guy to treat you right.Ó After years of watching Chan bumble past, it occurred to her -- maybe the nice guy was Chan.

Now they would be married: Chan Browne and Kathy White. ÒWe'll change our name to Tan,Ó she joked.

ÒThere actually is love,Ó Chan said to her. ÒI'd stopped looking.Ó

ÒI'd stopped looking,Ó Kathy replied.

At 11:30 p.m., Chan lies down next to Kathy. He kisses her. He looks at her. He looks back at his day -- ÒDid I do everything right?Ó -- one last time. Then he falls asleep, at peace. Five minutes later, the BlackBerry on his bedside table vibrates.

A Secret Service agent in Santa Clara reports: A man in custody for theft and check fraud with possible Òmental disabilitiesÓ said that in 2005, he took a flight from San Francisco to Dulles. He had planned to hijack the plane, and crash it into the White House.

Laura Blumenfeld is a Magazine staff writer. She can be reached at blumenfeldl@washpost.com. She will be fielding questions and comments about this article Monday at noon at washingtonpost.com/liveonline.