Tapping a number 2 pencil against her lower lip, she reviewed the evidence. One flammable clown suit doused in turpentine. That’s not funny. One fruitcake packed with C4 explosive. Who eats fruitcake? One iron maiden with hydraulic door. Ridiculous overkill. She’d become jaded. Even the pocket inhalers filled with mustard gas failed to hit a nerve. But what about the Twitter handles of prominent terrorists tattooed on the dead man’s thighs and abdomen? Could these be useful? Without warning, the director of airport security decides to pre-board families with children and those requiring special assistance.