by John Schou
mind, I might get home an hour later but with a much more comfortable travel than squeezed down in a monkey-class seat. It was worth waiting for.
The take-off was further delayed but when you travel much, such occurrences were not exceptional. I was enjoying the prospect of returning home today, so it was not important whether it would be an hour later. I was only feeling a bit bad that I had not called my family but I decided it was too early to wake them up. Besides, once travelling business-class, I planned to invest 2½ $ for an air-phone call once we approached Chicago. I was living with my parents and could expect them to pick me up in the airport.
We were indeed a small company for a big airplane as we were finally asked to board the plane. While walking up the boarding ramp, I overheard how a few of my fellow passengers discussed how they had also been scheduled for the early plane. I considered asking if there were indeed anybody who was primarily intending to take this one but then I thought, ‘none of my business,’ and slowly proceeded with the rank.
It seemed that they had seated nearly all the passengers in the first and business-class sections. There was a general satisfaction in the plane, not crudely expressed but people were talking nicely to another without stress from the late departure.
“United Airlines welcomes you on board UA93,” one of the stewardesses began in the usual mechanical tune as stewardesses always use by the stereotypical messages and security instructions. Here in America, they always speak English, but I have noticed that abroad, they end their speeches with the same tune, regardless if it is with thank you, merci, gracias or danke.
The weather was perfect for flying – among many other things the weather was perfect for. Not a single cloud separated us in 32,000 feet altitude from the working people at the earth-surface. It would, of course, be a great comfort to see them stroll for work in the daily traffic congestion, then later sweat during hard work while I was sitting up here and doing nothing. I knew what happened down there every morning and I knew what I was doing, or not doing, up here and my imagination was the only link between the two scenes. However, that did not make the comparison worse in my favour. Had I only been stuck in the traffic jam that morning, but that was a later recognition.
The stewardess who gave me my breakfast was blond (the favourite hair colour among stewardesses) and she would have been a beauty with any other colour. She smiled at me and I figured how many men she would smile to during one month and how many of these men afterwards recalled the smile of this sole woman. Maybe that was what she was paid for. Her salary may not be enormous but it covers this enchanting smile.
Another man of approximately 40 years age asked for the stewardess’ attention and thereby attracted also mine, possibly in addition to other men whom she had enchained with the witchcraft of her smile. This intruder was sitting in the last row of the first class and dressed in the invariable uniform of a businessman, which sole variation was the colour of the tie – his was light blue, a bit lighter than common among CEOs but he was, of course, too young for the highest rank. He handed a note to the stewardess and I could hear the word ‘captain’ in their short conversation. Then she hurried up towards the cockpit and returned immediately to continue her job – not that there was any urgency here, never had so few passengers been dealt with by a full cabin’s staff, but I figured that she preferred to be near me rather than in the same surrounding as pilots with dubious reputation. I was torn out of my dreams a few minutes later as indeed the pilot came out and asked the passenger for his identity.
“Of course you may see it,” he said loudly and opened a small wallet that he had taken from his jacket’s inner pocket.
The captain loudly murmured “FBI anti-hijacking team” to which the agent signalised him not to discuss anything openly. He was then invited to join the remaining pilot in the front. All passengers had followed this meeting with undisclosed curiosity.
‘A plain-cloth agent travelling first-class?’ I wondered. Soon he came back, however, and the plane continued its route undisturbed – at first. But suddenly it sounded:
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Due to circumstances beyond our control, we have been forced to interrupt our travel. We have been ordered to land in Cleveland. I shall give you further information when I receive it myself. There is nothing wrong with our plane, it is inconveniency for all of us but there is no danger.”
A murmur of groans and complaints were heard in the cabin, also I was slowly getting angry. I got up early in Washington, was then booked for a later plane than the one I had planned to take. The second plane was delayed and now we were going to make an unforeseen stopover. Should I not slowly get upset? On the other hand, what to do about it? Force majeure, as the French say.
“We are now starting our descent towards Cleveland,” the captain informed. “Please fasten your seatbelts.”
Indeed, there was nothing particular about the landing, but afterwards there was an exceptionally long taxiing. From the window, I noticed that we were bypassing the main terminal. “That’s a great pilot,” I said loudly. “He has giving up flying and now tries to reach California by driving there.” The nearest passengers were laughing, even the dark-haired James Bond, who might have caused the trouble, turned around and smiled. Calm and smiling passengers were what were needed now.
The plane finally stopped in front of some strange buildings, not looking as I had ever seen in any airport. Somewhat comforting, three other planes were already parked in front of it, another from United and two from American Airlines. Immediately, the captain explained:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to NASA Research Center in Cleveland. We have received a bomb warning and the plane must be evacuated immediately, starting in the front. Do not take any personal belongings with you and do not use any cell-phone as that may precipitate the explosives on-board. A bomb search team will enter as soon as you have left and you should not endanger their work, therefore I repeat: do not make any cell-phone calls.”
While he spoke, the stewardesses had opened the door. I had hoped now to experience an emergency evacuation down the inflated tubes but no, a gangway had already been attached and there was nothing dramatically about our departure from the plane itself. Down there, an unusual reception committee was searching us and confiscating all the cell phones they could find, including – I am sorry to say – mine. Simultaneously, we were asked to identify ourselves and give a telephone number for our relatives and whoever might expect us in the scheduled airport.
When all the passengers had left, two persons in company with a small fox terrier entered the plane. I had imagined something bigger for a bomb sniffing dog, but now my attention was made by another occurrence: our luggage was immediately emptied and part of it reloaded on a small white military jet. I recognized my own suitcase among the ones going into the new plane while there was no room for other part of the luggage. What was the idea of this splitting? It was only obvious that they were in a hurry, because I even saw the white jet take off before we forcibly were pushed into a large hangar, which had been furnished with benches and chairs where aeroplanes were else being checked and repaired. The passengers and crews of three other planes had already been gathered together here. The crew’s section was farthest away from the entrance but not directly separated from the passenger’s – it was simply so that the four crews had placed themselves along the wall. The big gate had been closed.
A man, dressed like the FBI-agent of our plane but with brown curled hair, stood up and spoke to us: “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I ask your attention. This day has seen dramatic events in our nation. An unknown number of planes have been hijacked. Because of these occurrences, we have been forced to take unusual precautions. I know that you are here subjected to various inconveniences but you can praise yourself happy not to be onboard any of the hijacked planes. All planes over the entire nation have been grounded. As soon as possible, perhaps this very evening, we shall try to bring you all to California, f
rom where you may reach your final destination on the ground. Your relatives shall be informed according to the information you gave before entering this building.”
Just after he finished, about a dozen young men with skin colours assuming an Arab origin entered the building. Including the crew, we were now about enough people to fill a Boeing 767, if it should be offered later – as the agent’s speech seemed to indicate. People spoke to each other, expressing understanding for the precautious efforts. To me, it was strange that my recently bought and rather expensive cell-phone had been taken away, that my suitcase had left and the hangar had been furnished in advance. Moreover, my confidence in the authorities was different to the people expressing gratitude to their excellent planning. I did not know what was being played here but soon decided that I did not want to participate.
That decision alone did not suffice. I wanted to go out of the building but there were two men standing in front of the door.
“What are you attempting?” one of them asked brusquely.
“I just want some fresh air,” I replied friendly.
“You ain’t going nowhere,” the other said and clopped on the chest where he was definitely hiding a handgun.
The first one found that this was perhaps too rough. “Please understand that this is a landing field, not a stroll-around for wanderers.”
I understood that any argument about being ‘a free citizen of the United States’ would not meet much understanding by these two guys and decided to express understanding for their arguments. Instead, the incident had further hardened my suspicion that we were held prisoners in some malicious game.
Hundreds of people and only two toilets in the building. There was already a row of a dozen people in front of them, and with me, there was now one more. Not that I really needed it but I decided that it was better to recognize the possibilities – and empty the bladder simultaneously, now I was there. When my turn came, I found a small window from which a desperate prisoner might escape, but certainly not unnoticed – the row behind him would soon pose demands towards the closed door but worse, heavily armed guards on the backside of the building confirmed that this was now to be considered a prison.
I went back into the hangar and reconsidered my strategy. If possible, I decided to try to escape, but how? It was obvious that there was no chance of leaving the building, so how about staying there when the others left? I still did not know where, and then another question emerged: when to hide, if I found a suitable place? I tried to answer this question first. If our guards would abduct all, for what purpose ever, they would probably do so after darkness. If I had hidden already 10 hours or more, I might be anything but fit for the strain demanded by the search. So I had better use the time for some rest. Besides, our guards would also be tired after some hours, but possibly they would be replaced at the end of the day. I decided that 7.30 p.m. was the ideal time, so it was only the question, where to hide. That question should be answered before my rest.
There was the big hall, the small corridor and a lot of people everywhere. In front of all exits of the building, brusquely looking guards were standing. They were probably armed with handguns but at least for now, they did not affect the general mood by showing them. I was confined with a lot of people who did not realize it.
Then there was kind of an open floor in the big hangar, opposite the gate and above the offices and toilets. It was worth a glance. The problem was that there was
