It must have been pretty surreal for Glinner. Imagine being three bites into your factory-made tuna sandwich. You've got your grab bag of walkers C&O balanced on your leg. Bite of sandwich, couple crisps. It's not a great sandwich and it did cost £13.95, but you're warm and dry and you have food. Life is OK.
You're just ruminating while you're masticating, and a shadow that is both long and broad looms over you. You look up and see a wall of tactical gear and guns blocking out the fluorescents of Gate 15B. "Graham Liney-hang" one of them says.
"Mts mmnhan amctully" you say, before managing to swallow. "Hem hem, it's Linehan actually, but yes. How can I help you, err, officers"
"Could you come with us please sir?"
It's not a question. You can barely focus on the speaker's face. You keep getting distracted by the array of weaponry and tactical gear. Shiny sub-machine guns, sidearms, spare mags, tasers, pepper spray, enough cuffs to put Copperfield out of commission and there's five of them. The muscles you can see bulging round their armour and gear are huge, and they wear massive steel-toecap boots you wouldn't want kicking you up the arse.
"Oh OK can I bring my sandwich?"
"Now, sir. Please"
They didn't say you couldn't, so you fold over the top of the crisps and put the half-eaten bit of sandwich back in the cardboard packaging. You pick up your bag and are led away to a part of the airport it is never good news to be in.