She remembered clearly the voice of the young man from seat 18D, the other pilot. If he was the hijacker, she had to know.
Annette moved quietly to the cockpit door and put her ear against the surface as Ken began speaking once more.
“Sorry for the delay. I’m trying to relay exactly what I’ve been requested to relay. He says that he’ll tell us what he’s demanding a little later, but in the meantime, he’s ordering me to fly us to Salt Lake City, and that’s where we’re headed right now. He also says—hold … hold on.”
Annette listened for the hijacker’s voice as Ken began listening again to instructions. She could hear him saying “right” and “okay” every few seconds, but even with her eyes closed to help sort out the sounds, she couldn’t make out the second voice.
“Okay, I got it. All right, folks, the word is that he’s demanding certain actions by various governments, including the U.S. government, in trying to right a terrible wrong. He says he knows what he’s doing is a capital crime, but the crime he’s trying to address is far worse. I’ll tell you more when I’m permitted to. In the meantime, stay very calm, and again, do NOT try to be a hero. It could get us all killed.”
The P.A. clicked off, but no additional sounds came from within the cockpit. Annette pulled back from the door and slid over to her jumpseat as a flight attendant call chime rang from the passenger cabin. She wondered why the hijacker was speaking so quietly. Obviously, whoever he was, his vocal range was being masked by the sound of the engines and the slipstream in flight. Listening through the door was going to shed no light on who—or what—they were facing.
The call chime had been ringing repeatedly for the last thirty seconds. A distinguished-looking silver-haired woman in row nine was jabbing the overhead call button as if she were trying to kill it, and as Bev approached, she could see the alarmed passenger was none other than the leader of the fear-of-flying group.
Bev knelt beside her in the aisle, trying to keep her voice down.
“Mrs. Gates, are you okay?”
The woman turned to the right, startled to see Bev. Her eyebrows were flaring, and with a flick of her right hand, she pulled her reading glasses free, allowing them to drop on the cord around her neck as she took a quick breath, her voice coming in cultured intensity.
“Certainly not! Good heavens! I told these people this would be a calm flight, and then I led them into the middle of a nighmare.”
“I’m awfully sorry—”
“I’m sure you are, but the fact remains, I’ve spent the past three months calming down twenty-two people who have just been returned to the status of emotional basket cases.”
As Bev tried to respond, an older gentleman in the seat behind leaned forward and grabbed Mrs. Gates’s elbow, his voice calm and gravelly.
“Elvira, my wife and I may be having a small coronary episode back here, but I take exception to being referred to as a basket case.”
Elvira Gates turned and flashed the man a wide-eyed look, before a small smile spread across her face.
“Very well, then I’m the basket case!”
“We’re all doing quite well back here, Elvira,” he added.
“How could you be?”
“You told us even hijackings almost always end peacefully. Don’t they?”
“I said that?”
“You did.”
Mrs. Gates suddenly nodded. “Of course they do, Jack. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
The man patted her elbow and sat back as Elvira Gates leaned toward Bev, her voice a whisper.
“When we get out of this, I may have to take my own course.”
Salt Lake City. 11:27 A.M.
Trapped by the third interminable stoplight in a row, Kat Bronsky pounded the dashboard of her aging Volvo in disgust, and remembered she’d promised to call headquarters on the way. The traffic light turned green just as she pulled out her flip-phone, and she punched in the Beltway phone number with one finger of her right hand as she let out the clutch, steered with her knee, and shifted to second with her left hand.
A horn blared on her left as she drifted into the adjacent lane.
“Okay, your horn works. Now try the lights!” she yelled the words to the windshield, being careful not to actually look at the alarmed driver as she grabbed the wheel and swung back in her lane, holding the phone against her chin and shoulder.
“Not enough hands, that’s the problem,” she muttered.
“Hello? I didn’t understand that,” a voice on the other end replied in a puzzled tone.
She hadn’t expected Washington to answer so fast.
“Ah, sorry. Kat Bronsky here. I’m en route to the airport.”
“Okay, Kat. How long?”
“Ten, eleven minutes. You say we’re set up in the airport cop shop?”
“That’s right. You have the location?”
“Yes. Been there, done that.”
“What?”
“I said I’ve been there.”
“A lot of static on this line, Kat. I heard you then.”
“What’s the latest? Do we have anything yet on the subject?”
The agent filled her in on the demands relayed by Albuquerque Center, as well as the strange buzzing of Monument Valley and the copilot’s abandonment in Durango.
Kat glanced at the receiver with raised eyebrows. “He left the copilot?”
“That’s our information. And the hijacker apparently kicked a private pilot off, too.”
“That’s worrisome. Maybe the hijacker is also a pilot and didn’t want company.”
“We don’t know, Kat. We’re trying to talk to the copilot right now. Everything’s secondhand.”
“Can you have the copilot and the passenger standing by to talk to me the second I get to the command post?”
“Should be able to do that.”
“And, of course, it’s critical that I get an ID and a profile on this suspect the instant you get one.”
“You understand, Kat, that right now we don’t have a clue. The hijacker hasn’t even been described by the captain, except that he’s apparently a male.”
“No threats yet?”
“A gun in the cockpit. That’s all we have from the FAA.”
A huge semi was slowing in front of her on a four-lane road with too much traffic on the left to go around. Kat hit her brake hard and balanced the phone on her shoulder again as she downshifted and tried to scan the side mirror to clear the left lane.
“Dammit. Hold on.”
A final car shot past on the left and she accelerated into the clear lane and regained speed before grabbing the phone again.
“Okay. What I was saying … see if you can find what military air assets I have to work with. Are there any fighters in the area that could shadow him if we need them? I assume you’re letting me call the shots on this?”
Another driver decided to slow in front of her and Kat shot to the right lane and swerved back to the left, deftly passing the slug.
“I’m the agent in charge, Kat,” the voice in Washington said. “You know the negotiator’s role. We’ll do this in complete accordance with standard procedures, and you’ll have me and the rest of the bureau standing by to help.”
And standing by to take over in a heartbeat if they think the broad is going to screw it up, she thought.
“Okay. Have someone hold a receiver out to me as I come in the door at the command post. I’ll talk to you then. In the meantime, it’s the night of the driving dead out here.”
“I didn’t catch that. What about tonight?”
“No, I said it’s—there’s heavy traffic out here.”
“Okay. Talk to you in a few minutes.”
Aboard AirBridge Flight 90. 11:29 A.M.
The sight of the lead flight attendant shooting down the aisle headed to the rear of the cabin alarmed every passenger who glanced up. Her eyes were wide with obvious fear, her eyebrows betraying shock and urgency, her demeanor leaving no doubt she wasn
’t going to stop to answer questions.
Annette reached Kevin and Bev and fairly yanked them into the aft galley for a quick conference.
“Ken is all we’ve got, and I can’t make out the hijacker’s voice, so I have no idea who we’re dealing with, but I suspect it’s the young man who responded in Durango when Ken asked for pilots to come forward. His name is Johnny Beck. His wife’s name is Nancy Beck. She’s in Eighteen-E.”
Bev’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”
Annette shook her head.
Bev glanced up the aisle. “I helped get their bags in the overhead, Annette. He couldn’t have been sweeter, to his wife or to me.”
“Could have been an act. Besides, where is he?”
“Could we have left him behind in Durango?” Kevin asked.
“How?” Annette countered. “He never got off as far as I know.”
Bev raised an index finger. “But his wife was frantic, remember? She thought he had. That’s when I called you. She freaked a minute ago at the hijacking announcement, and I don’t know what to tell her. She’s scared to death her husband’s up there and in danger.”
All three of them looked forward toward the seat that held Nancy Beck. Bev was shaking her head. “Either he’s still up there and being held at gunpoint too—”
“I asked, Bev,” Annette said, “and Ken told me he was up front. Then when I asked if he was the hijacker, he disconnected. It has to be him.”
Kevin’s teeth were grinding. “If so, I can take the bastard if we can get the door open fast enough.”
“That’s not our job!” Annette snapped, regretting her tone instantly. “I’m sorry, Kev. It’s just … you know, we’re not supposed to play Rambo up here.”
“Annette, did you see how close we came to the Mittens?” Kevin asked.
Annette nodded as Bev chimed in. “It was far too close, Annette. If he’s forcing Ken to fly crazy, he’ll kill us if we don’t overpower him.”
The three of them stood in silence for nearly a minute before Annette took a deep breath and spoke. “Okay. If Beck—that pilot—is on this aircraft, then he’s the hijacker. If he was left behind, the company should know it by now, and someone else slipped aboard.”
“Had to,” Kevin added. “I did a seat count. No one else is missing. It was either him, or someone from the ground in Durango.”
“What do we do, Annette?” Bev asked.
“We go to the ET maneuver and phone home. You two please hold the fort back here. I’ll get on one of the seat phones and call the company.”
Kevin was nodding. “Ken Wolfe’s experienced. He’ll keep us safe.”
Annette hesitated and Kevin noticed.
“What, Annette?”
She shook her head as if clearing cobwebs. “Oh, nothing.”
“Come on, what? Something crossed your mind then that really had an impact.”
She looked up at Kevin and studied his eyes for a moment, then glanced at Bev. “Just … just something that happened back in the Springs I don’t understand.” She told them about the captain’s reaction to Rudy Bostich, and his apparent recovery before departure.
“That’s why we were late?” Bev asked.
Annette nodded. “Whatever his upset with Bostich, I’m sure it has no connection to being hijacked, but it was really, really strange. A few minutes ago when Ken asked about the misbehaving S.O.B. in Six-C, he slipped and used Bostich’s name.”
Annette hurried back up the aisle, feeling her heart pounding every step of the way as her peripheral vision took in her traumatized passengers, some glancing over their shoulders at her, some sitting with their eyes straight ahead, and several using the seat phones.
She turned to a well-dressed young man in a window seat with one of the phones to his ear. He looked startled, and she heard him say “Just a minute” to someone on the other end.
“The phones are still working, right?”
Chris Billings nodded cautiously, holding the receiver as if he expected her to yank it away.
“My, ah, family,” he said, gesturing with his eyes to the phone.
“Tell them you’ll be fine,” Annette replied as she turned and resumed the trek to the first class cabin.
The rows of first class seats on the right side just forward of the bulkhead were unoccupied and she eyed them carefully as she returned to the forward galley looking for her purse. Her American Express card was hard to find as usual, but she fished it from the depths of the purse finally and dropped it in the pocket of her uniform skirt, then moved back down the aisle to slip into one of the unoccupied seats.
A large man in a pullover shirt and jeans had been watching her from the left side of the same row, and she smiled thinly at him now as she held a finger to her lips and pointed to the phone.
He nodded. He understood.
The process seemed to take forever. She swiped the card and waited for the direct number to crew scheduling to ring as she glanced anxiously toward the cockpit, trying not to think about the implications.
“Crew Scheduling.”
Annette changed ears and glanced around, keeping her voice as low as possible.
“Can you hear me?”
“Hello. Crew Scheduling.” She could hear the usual beeps warning that the call was being recorded.
“Can you hear me? This is Annette Baxter aboard Flight Ninety—”
“Last chance. This is Crew Scheduling. Anyone there?”
“Damn!” Annette punched off the call and went through the process again. Once more the number rang and a voice answered.
“Crew Scheduling.”
“Can you hear me now?”
“Sure can. Who’s this?”
She rattled off the basics.
“You’re calling from Flight Ninety? Jeez, Annette, hold on. I’ll get the DFC. Don’t go away.”
There was nothing but line noise for what seemed like minutes as she pressed the receiver to her ear, trying to keep her voice low as she muttered into the unresponsive handset.
“Come on, dammit! Hurry!”
The sound of the P.A. system clicking on reached her ears, and she glanced up instinctively at the ceiling speakers as Ken Wolfe’s voice filled the cabin.
“Folks, this is the captain, again. Our hijacker has issued an order I’m required to communicate to you.”
There was a voice on the line again.
“Hello? Is this Flight Ninety?”
Annette took a quick breath. “Yes. This is Annette, the lead flight attendant.”
“This is the DFC, Annette. Judy Smith. What’s going on up there?”
“So, folks, it’s unfortunate if this causes you any grief or inconvenience …”
“Judy, please listen! We’ve been hijacked out of Durango. Someone forced the captain to take off without the copilot, and—”
“We know, Annette. Tell me what’s going on up there at the moment.”
“… but now I’m going to have to reach over and pull a specific circuit breaker that will …”
“I will in a second, but I need to find out something. Did we leave a passenger behind in Durango? If we didn’t, then I know who the hijacker is. Otherwise it was someone on the ground. Do you know?”
“… cut off the telephones for now.”
Annette pressed the handset tightly to her ear, listening for an answer.
“Hello? Judy, did you get that?”
The captain’s words had been slow to penetrate, but suddenly the fact that he’d cut off her call in midsentence penetrated her consciousness and she felt her heart sink as she slowly dropped the handset to her lap.
A cockpit call chime echoed through the cabin, and Annette jumped from the seat and moved to the forward entry door to lift the intercom handset.
“Yes, Ken?”
“Where were you, Annette? I’ve been ringing for you.”
She could imagine the hijacker listening to every word. Her phrasing would have to be very nonthreatenin
g. “I’ve still got passengers to take care of, Ken, and they’re scared to death.”
“Collect all the portable cellular phones on board, Annette. Now.”
“What?”
“Portable cellular phones. All of them. That’s what he’s ordering.”
“It’ll take a while, Ken.”
“Just do it. He’s irritated enough as it is. When you have them, call me. And Annette. He’s got a little pen-like thing up here that vibrates if anyone is using a cellular, so caution everyone not to try holding back. If anyone keeps a cell phone and tries to use it, he’ll know it immediately.”
SEVEN
CNN Headquarters, Atlanta. 11:30 A.M. MDT, 1:30 P.M. EDT.
The secretary to the vice president of news programming left her desk and opened the door to her boss’s office.
“Julie? I apologize for breaking in, but could I talk to you for just a second? It’s urgent.”
Julie McNair nodded and excused herself from an immaculately groomed young man sitting in front of her desk, then followed her secretary to the outer office, pulling the door closed behind her.
“This better be good.”
“It is,” the secretary began, “and I hate to interrupt a job interview, but you remember the applicant from Phoenix two days ago?”
Julie thought for a second. “Chris someone, right?”
“Chris Billings. He’s on line three insisting that I get you on the phone instantly because—”
“That won’t make him any points.”
The secretary raised her hand. “Wait. He says he’s in the middle of a major breaking story. He’s on an airplane.”
Julie pointed to the phone. “I’ll take it.”
The secretary punched up the line and handed it over her desk.
“Okay, Mr. Billings, what’s up?”
“I’m hijacked.”
“Say again?”
“I’m in a commercial aircraft, and we’ve been hijacked. The flight is AirBridge Ninety.” He filled her in on the basics and Julie McNair’s eyes widened as she leaned over the desk, grabbed a pen, and scribbled a note on the back of an envelope: Get the control booth—tell them stand by to go live this line.
The Last Hostage Page 6
