Bomb Squad Member Ready to Give His Life

Det. Paul Robi got the tattoo just days after the terrorist attacks: a large American flag that covers one thick biceps.

“I’m prepared to give my life for people I don’t know,” the bomb squad member and father of four declares matter-of-factly.

The LAPD opened a new office for the squad at Los Angeles International Airport two weeks before the Sept. 11 attacks.

On Sept. 13, Robi and his colleagues worked frantically to search all 180 planes on the tarmac so federal officials could make good on their promise to reopen the nation’s airports.

They hurried about with the airport’s bomb-sniffing dogs and their handlers, lifting seat cushions, peering under lavatory sinks and combing overhead bins in dozens of stifling, musty planes. Sweat-soaked in a black fire-retardant uniform, Robi boarded 747s and commuter jets. He didn’t have a meal for 12 hours at a stretch.

“That was the most searches the bomb squad has ever done,” he says.

Weeks used to go by without a bomb call at the world’s third-busiest airport. In the last half of September, the bomb squad averaged four calls a day there. Since mid-October, the calls have slowed, but there is still nearly one every other day.

Many suspected bombs turn out to be abandoned shaving kits or duffel bags. Explosives have not been found at the airport since the terrorist attacks. But anyone who doubts the threat need only recall the time of the millennium, when a terrorist linked to Osama bin Laden was captured at the Canadian border with a load of explosive materials. Later, Ahmed Ressam would admit he was part of a plot to bomb a terminal at LAX.

Robi has worked bank robberies and homicides during his 17 years with the LAPD. Two years ago he lost 60 pounds to earn a spot on the bomb squad. Now, at 40, he says he wants to work with explosives until he retires.

“All police work is dangerous,” he says, driving a department-issue Chevrolet Suburban and describing the job of disarming grenades and clearing out methamphetamine labs. A wooden cross hangs from the sun visor. “But this is about as dangerous as you can get.”

In late September, there is another security order: The bomb squad and bomb-sniffing dogs must search hundreds of lockers throughout the airport. Robi responds to a call about a suspicious bag. He jumps into his Suburban and rushes to Terminal 4.

Passengers and employees, evacuated minutes earlier, mill outside. Robi and his partner, wearing fire-retardant suits, screen the bag and determine it is safe.

An American flag flutters nearby, as the police officer and his partner exit the terminal. And the crowd is cheering.