When a disturbed Home Depot paint salesman snapped aboard an American Airlines jet at Miami International Airport in early December, two casually-dressed men leapt from their seats and into the fray. In those frenzied moments before Rigoberto Alpizar was shot and killed, he may, in his confused state, never have realized that those men who were pointing guns at him, ordering him to get down and stop moving, were undercover federal air marshals.

The air marshals, by design, are a shadowy force, and until this incident they had been an increasingly neglected one. With the urgency in the wake of 9/11 long past, efforts to expand their ranks were shelved as too costly; they�ve been plagued by management problems and poor morale; and within Homeland Security, their agency is treated as a stepchild.

And the shooting of Rigoberto Alpizar, justified or not, did nothing to answer very real questions about how air marshals would perform face-to-face with the deadly threat they�re trained to thwart. A real terrorist, after all, would never claim he had a bomb. He�d just use it.
On a heavy travel Sunday last year, I roamed Newark Liberty International Airport and watched for the many ways an air marshal�s most valuable asset � anonymity � can be compromised:

� These plainclothes members of the Federal Air Marshal Service (FAMS) are not allowed to use most e-ticket kiosks, instead having to go to the ticket counter and show their conspicuously large badges.

� Because they�re armed with a handgun, air marshals bypass metal detectors by going up the exit lane at the security checkpoint, in full view of passengers waiting on the entrance lines.

� Marshals have to present their IDs a third time at the gate counter.

� At least one marshal in a team boards even before first-class and �passengers with small children or those needing assistance� � to meet the pilot and crew and inspect the plane for suspicious items. This could take place in the presence of airplane cleaners and food vendors.

� By the time everyone else boards, the marshals are already in their seats.

At Newark that day, I sat near enough to one counter to lip-read a man say, �I�m an air marshal,� as he pulled out his wallet and displayed his ID. He was in his mid-30s (as are about 60 percent of marshals; only 4 percent are women), with moderately short hair; he was wearing light khakis and a short black coat and carrying only a small over-the-shoulder bag. He boarded a minute before everyone else.

One air marshal I spoke to, on the condition that his identity not be revealed (with top-secret clearances, air marshals are forbidden to talk to the press), expressed anxiety about his cover being blown. Putting himself into the mind of a hijacker, he laid out this scenario:

�I get on a plane, let�s say an L.A.-to-J.F.K. flight, six hours, and I already know where [the marshals] are sitting. I know what they look like. I watched them in the airport � they got paraded by the passengers. . . Eventually, one of them has got to go to the bathroom, right? So the partner goes into the bathroom, and I come up on the guy � one good, swift punch into the carotid artery will render him unconscious. Then I take his gun and wait for his partner to get out of the lav and shoot him. Now I�ve got two weapons.�

He added, �When that plane�s up in the air, we can�t even hear people walking up the aisles, because of the ambient noise. We�re sitting ducks.�

Said another marshal, �I�m not saying that none of us could successfully handle the situation, because there�s a chance [the terrorists] could make a mistake. But if they trained properly and were prepared, they could � I have no doubt in my mind � overtake air marshals and take their guns. I have no doubt I could put a team together and do it myself.�

A pilot for a major airline said the question that needs to be asked is: �Are we really safer with them or without them?�

http://www.nbpc.net/news/headlines/vanity_fair.htm