by Wolf Wootan
“Where do you get your information? I know nothing of this news chopper. But assuming you’re right, how can this help the situation, for God’s sake? It sounds to me as if it might complicate things,” blurted the President with irritation in his voice.
“You must trust me, Mr. President!” said Hatch. “Do you want this problem solved? Or do you want the problem back in your lap?”
“No! No! I’m just so tense over this, and I really don’t know who I’m trusting to handle the situation. However, you seem to have good information—and I have no good options. How can I help? Tell me what I can do.”
“Call—or have the appropriate people call—and convince the Cuban government to let that news chopper go hover over the area and take pictures, report the event. This must be done quickly, or the highjackers may takeoff for parts unknown. My only chance to help you in this situation is right now!”
“Very well. I may have to give them something in exchange,” grumbled the President.
“If you want to save that plane-load of people, and your document, make it work, sir!” snapped Hatch with sarcasm.
Hatch disconnected, not a happy man. He hated politicians who were afraid to make a decision!
“Carlos, keep listening to that channel with the chopper. Keep me informed if anything changes,” said Hatch.
“Wilco, Hatch.”
Syd monitored the position of the chopper on her search radar screen. It had moved a few miles closer, and then had become stationary again. All of a sudden, it started moving toward their position at a speed of 250 miles per hour.
“Hatch,” announced Carlos, “you’re not going to believe this, but the Cubans are letting that news chopper come in and cover this fiasco.”
“They’re heading this way, Hatch,” confirmed Syd. “They’ll be here any minute. Also, my infrared sweep shows heat on the runway. They’re starting the engines on the 757!”
Syd looked up from her screen and swiveled her chair so she could see Bruno and Shirley buckled into the chairs at the rear of the aircraft. They were dressed in light gray, specially-designed HASMAT suits. They had silenced pistols on their right hips. Their helmets sat at their feet next to the backpacks that contained the oxygen they would breathe once they were in the highjacked aircraft.
Hatch’s voice came over the intercom, “Suit up, people, it’s a go! We’re going down to take a look. With that chopper hovering over the Cuban soldiers, and the 757's engines running, we’ll never get a better shot. We have to get them before them takeoff!”
Syd unbuckled and stood up, as did Shirley and Bruno. Syd helped them put on their backpacks. Then she fitted their helmets on, connected the hoses to the backpacks, and checked the seals. They tested their communication systems and declared themselves ready. They sat back down, as did Syd.
“Five hundred feet,” announced Smitty. “Nobody is pointing guns at us, so get the hatch open, Carlos.”
Hatch and Carlos had a schematic of the 757 on their screens with the appropriate spots marked. Hatch guided Smitty to the first location, the drill point, and Smitty slowly settled Shadow-5 over the airliner. Carlos stood next to the trap door he had opened and could see the 757 slowly approaching. His laser equipment was strapped to the floor next to the opening in the floor. He found the spot where he was supposed to drill the hole for the television snake.
“This is Carlos. Hold it right here! Take her down five more feet. There! Hold it!”
“Make it short and sweet, Carlos! Someone might see a flash of light when you turn on the laser,” warned Hatch.
“No problem. I’ll drop the soft collar—block the light,” replied Carlos.
He unfolded the soft, black cloth collar that was attached around the perimeter of the hatch. This shield was designed to block the light of the laser in situations like this. Carlos then took his pistol-gripped laser and burned a hole 7/16 inches in diameter in the skin of the 757, then a second hole in the ceiling of the passenger cabin. He quickly ran a flexible tubular device into the holes and into the cabin. The interior of the plane appeared on Hatch’s and Carlos’ screens, and on Syd’s rightmost screen. As Carlos carefully positioned the camera on the end of the snake and slowly rotated it 360 degrees, they could see that the curtain was open between tourist and first class. It was possible to see one of the highjackers near the front of the plane, and another in the middle of the tourist class cabin. Both held machine pistols, but no explosives or hand grenades were visible. Neither seemed to be holding a deadman’s switch.
“There’s probably at least one more in the cockpit with the pilots,” said Hatch.
Bruno and Shirley were behind Syd watching the slowly panning image.
“I say go for it, Hatch,” opined Bruno.
“I agree. Gas ’em, Carlos,” agreed Hatch.
Carlos removed his TV snake and ran a flexible tube into the hole. The tube was connected to a pump that was attached to a canister of CX3 gas. He turned on the pump and started counting backwards from twenty. Smitty held the chopper steady, breathing shallowly. When Carlos finished his count, he turned off the pump and withdrew the tube. He reinserted the TV snake for a quick look. Everyone whom they could see seemed to be unconscious. Syd discovered that she had been holding her breath and had to gulp for air.
“OK, seal the hole, Carlos!” said Hatch.
Carlos withdrew the snake, pushed a wad of putty-like material into the hole and zapped it with his laser welder.
“Done! We have 10 to 15 minutes max,” said Carlos.
“OK, we’re moving back to the entry point. Stand by,” said Hatch.
Smitty moved Shadow-5 slowly back down the fuselage of the 757 until he reached the designated area. At that moment, Shadow-5 lurched upward about five feet.
“Shit!” muttered Smitty. “I got an updraft! Where the fuck did that come from!”
“That news chopper is moving toward us!” yelled Syd. “They’re going to fuck up everything!”
“Carlos, get that chopper on the horn and pretend to be a Cuban authority. Tell them to back off or be shot down!” ordered Hatch.
Smitty pulled Shadow-5 up about ten feet, fighting the turbulence, so he would not hit the 757. Carlos was talking rapidly in Spanish to the chopper.
“We’re running out of time here! We’ve got a plane-load of unconscious people down there, and if those highjackers wake up, they’ll probably start killing people!” yelled Hatch.
“The news chopper is moving away, Hatch!” announced Syd.
“Good work, Carlos! Now, let’s get it done before they figure out something is wrong!” said Hatch.
Smitty settled back down over the entry spot until the cloth collar was nearly touching the 757. Carlos put a suction device on the area where he was going to cut out the entry hole. The suction cup was connected to a thin, strong cable that ran up and over a pulley in the ceiling. Using his laser gun, he quickly cut a circle with a diameter of about two and a half feet. When he finished the cut, he motioned to Bruno and Shirley to approach the hatch opening. He slipped on a device which looked like a gas mask and stood up and threw a switch. The wench motor whirred and lifted the round piece out of the 757's fuselage and into the chopper. He pushed the dangling piece aside and dropped a knotted rope into the hole. The rope was threaded over a second pulley in Shadow’s roof. Bruno grabbed the rope and lowered himself quickly into the hole. Shirley followed a few seconds later. Carlos then threw in a canvas duffel bag with “New York Yankees” stenciled on it as he retrieved the knotted rope.
“OK, close it up,” said Bruno on his comm channel. “We’re in control.”
Syd watched as Carlos replaced the round piece and quickly began welding it back into place with his weird putty and laser gun. She had her middle screen focused on the Cuban soldiers and the milling crowd. The soldiers all of sudden snapped to attention. An officer marched to the side of the formation, all the while watching the 757.
“I’m watching the soldiers and
something is happening,” announced Syd. “The skin is in the green, so I don’t know what’s spooking them. Hurry it up, Carlos!”
Carlos finished his job and closed the hatch, locking it in place.
“The hatch is closed and locked,” he reported. “Get us out of here, Smitty!”
“Tell Bruno and Shirley to shake a leg, Hatch! Those soldiers have gone to port arms,” said Syd.
Syd switched her left screen to Offensive Weapons and selected the gun, then set it to automatic.
I hope this friggin’ thing works! It’s never been tested! Plus, I’ve never used it! I hope I’m doing this right!
“I’ve selected the gun! I may have to hose those soldiers if they point those rifles at the plane! I will not let them shoot at it as long as Bruno and Shirley are in there!” she yelled.
“The Cubans are trying to talk to the pilot and no one is answering,” said Carlos, back to his monitoring of the tower channel. “They must be getting spooked! They know something is wrong, just not what.”
Syd felt Shadow-5 start to climb, and felt a wave of relief. At least Shadow-5 was getting out of the line of fire! She switched to the channel assigned to Bruno and Shirley in time to hear Bruno say they were all right, and were working as fast as they could. They had tied up and gagged three highjackers and were at the door to the cockpit area.
Over the intercom she heard Smitty drawl, “Three thousand feet and holding. We should be safe here for the moment.”
Then they heard Bruno say, “Cover me, Shirley. I’m going to open the cockpit door.”
“Right behind you, Bruno!” replied Shirley.
There was ten seconds of silence on the channel.
“We’re in the cockpit. One more highjacker secured. Shirley is injecting the pilots with the antidote. Then she’ll go on back to vent the gas,” reported Bruno.
Syd was still watching the Cuban soldiers, wondering what they were going to do next. If she had to use the gun, things would get very tense—if it worked! She could screw up the entire mission! Get them all killed! Suddenly, she had a flash of an idea!
“What nationality are those highjackers, Bruno?” asked Syd.
“I would say they are some brand of towel head. Muslim extremists of some sort, maybe,” replied Bruno.
“The Cuban in the tower is about to lose it. They may start shooting if someone doesn’t tell them something,” interjected Carlos.
Shirley had made her way to the A/C controls and changed the valve settings, starting the venting process. She took out her gas meter and watched the needle gradually move to the normal position. She reset the valves and began getting out of her HASMAT suit. She stored it in the duffel bag and went back to the cockpit, taking the duffel bag with her.
“Gas clear,” she announced over the comm channel.
“The copilot is starting to come around,” said Bruno as he removed his own HASMAT suit.
“We’re running out of time!” said Syd with urgency. “Shit! Those soldiers in the front rank are kneeling! They’re getting ready to do something very foolish! I’m going to talk to the guy in the tower—try and defuse them! Otherwise, this may turn into a shooting thing. Like I said, I won’t let them shoot at that 757!”
Hatch was also tense. He was searching for some solution other than revealing their presence by shooting at the Cubans. He did not want any unnecessary bloodshed, but he agreed with Syd: They couldn’t let the Cubans shoot at the airliner.
Syd switched to the tower channel and started talking in Farsi in an excited voice, saying that the highjackers would blow up the plane if the Cubans did not remain calm. She was certain no one was able to understand her, but she thought the sound of a hysterical Arab might cause them to hold up for a minute. She said the word “bomb” several times in English, but with a heavy accent. It seemed to be working—the soldiers stood back up at attention. Their officer was talking into a handheld radio and looking confused.
In the 757, Shirley held her pistol in her hand and kept surveying the unconscious passengers, looking for a ringer—another highjacker among the passengers with a bomb. The highjackers’ weapons were stacked outside the cockpit door. Bruno pulled his highjacker out of the cockpit, then put his HASMAT suit in the duffel bag with Shirley’s. Shirley joined him.
“I haven’t spotted a ringer, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Shirley said.
The copilot came awake with a start.
“What happened?” asked the copilot.
“You have your plane back,” said Shirley, who was, of course, in street clothes now.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Your guardian angel. Get this plane rolling, we’re out of time,” she said.
The pilot awoke then, confused, shaking his head.
“What’s going on now? Are you another one?” he asked.
“No, I’m a white hat. We took care of the highjackers. Head this thing to Miami! Now!”
The pilots ran through a quick check list and ran the engines up to full power. The pilot released the brakes and the aircraft began its takeoff roll. There was a sharp snap as the APU cable jerked loose from the aircraft.
“So far so good. They’re taking off,” said an elated Hatch. “Follow that plane, Smitty!”
The crowd on the ground was running around in confusion. The news chopper followed the 757 down the runway, filming its departure for the early morning news.
Syd let out a long sigh of relief and slumped back in her chair. Carlos looked at her and she gave him a thumbs up while silently mouthing, “Nice job!”
He nodded and returned the salute.
Hatch announced, “Great mission, people! You’ll see a bonus in your next paychecks!”
• • •
Aboard the 757, Bruno briefed the pilots not to meet with the press under any circumstances. They were to talk only to the FBI. The passengers and flight attendants were awake now and conversations were humming. No one knew how the highjackers had been overpowered. Shirley and Bruno had stowed their own guns in the duffel bag and sat in two seats in the first class cabin.
The head stewardess looked at them with a question on her face, not recognizing them. Shirley put an index finger to her lips.
“Don’t ask, ma’am. Just keep the passengers calm. We’ll be in Miami soon. It’s over,” she said, pointing to the gagged and bound highjackers.
“Thank you, whoever you are!” she answered, then went to look after her passengers.
The highjackers were awake, and had wide, panicked eyes. Shirley reached for the chain around her neck and pulled up the spray vial which Sara had used on the Iranians. She held her breath and gave each highjacker a spray up the nostrils.
“That should hold them for the FBI!” she told Bruno.
• • •
Aboard Shadow-5, Hatch was talking to the President on his Blue Phone.
“Yes, sir. The plane should land in Miami in a few minutes. May I suggest that the press be kept away, and only the FBI be allowed access to the deplaning process? How this was done must be kept secret!”
“How in the hell did you do it?” exclaimed the President. “You’re a miracle man! I’m sorry I ever doubted you! Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Just keep this between you and me. One more thing, Mr. President. There will be a man and a woman deplaning carrying a duffel bag with New York Yankees stenciled on it. They will also be wearing New York Yankee baseball caps. I want them and their bag to be escorted—without questions of any kind—to the American Airlines north exit. A car will be waiting for them. The car is not to be followed. No pictures of them are to be taken at any time. Understood?”
“I will give those instructions to the FBI personally! They won’t like it, or understand it, but I’ll handle it somehow. Call me if there is ever anything I can do for you! Thank you again!”
Hatch disconnected and put his phone away. He unbuckled and went back and sat in the Offensive Weapons Station next
to Syd. She took off her headset and put it on the hook provided. Their eyes met and they both smiled. He put his left hand inside her thigh, up against her crotch. She squeezed her thighs together, trapping his hand there. She put her left hand on his trapped hand and put her right hand inside his thigh, as he had done with her. She felt him begin to harden against her hand.
While still looking into his eyes, she said, “Well, that couldn’t have gone much better, considering we’re all safe—and apparently undetected.”
“No it couldn’t. It was tense there a couple of times, though. That was quick thinking on your part to confuse them with Arabic babble.”
“That wasn’t babble. It was perfectly spoken Farsi! It was all I could think of to do at the time. I’m glad it worked!”
She looked at the time that was displayed on her console.
“There still should be some night left when we get back,” she whispered. “Are you still going to take me home?”
“Right after I make sure Shirley and Bruno are safely on their way home. Then, I’m taking tomorrow off. We have the rest of tonight—today, actually—and all of tomorrow to be together,” he whispered back.
“I can hardly wait!” she said as she gave him a squeeze.
• • •
At 3:37 A.M. the President of the United States was in a meeting in the library in the West Wing of the White House. Sitting around the table were some of his most trusted advisors: Fred Williams, Director of the FBI; T. James Washborn, Secretary of State; Elton Crenshaw, retired Air Force General, now National Security Advisor; Francis Finley, Director of Central Intelligence; Carole Layton, the Attorney General; Ben Garand, Chief of Staff; and Admiral Thomas Cranberry, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
The President said, “Do we have the document?”
