Heh. Many moons ago, I heard an FBI agent relate the story of how he'd been liaison with with the LAPD human trafficking division and  - as part of that gig - had gone with an LAPD lieutenant to visit Interpol. And how the LAPD guy had grown increasingly nervous as they approached the TSA checkpoint.

- "You have, y'know - paperwork for this, right?"
- "You just need your passport and boarding pass."
- "But - you know..." <gestures toward left armpit>
- "Huh?... Wait. You did not! Please tell me you did not."
- "I thought you guys had some sort of procedure..."

A this point, people's ears were perking up.

- "Riiiight. I suddenly need to use the bathroom."

In the bathroom, it transpired that yes, Mr. LAPD was packing his firearm, assuming that traveling with an FBI agent was a get-out-of-everything circumstance. And with the clock ticking, the race began to call someone reliable who didn't mind going to LAX at the double to pick up a certain item that could not be discussed openly. One of the wives agreed, on the condition of getting an absurdly expensive gift from Europe as a thank-you for services rendered. Gun was wrapped to look like totally-not-a-gun, exasperated wife was met with, promises of European chocolates and handbags and Hermes scarves made, and they made their flight with 30 seconds to spare. Then couldn't discuss events for the 11-hour flight..