Hijacking of Flight 100: Terror at 600 miles per hour

by C. J. Stott

  The Supervisor shook her head as the agent continued, “When I finally found his damn flight in the computer and told him the flight went to JFK, he said ‘he was just checking for a friend.’“

  She paused and then continued, “We really get ‘em. Don’t we?” Her supervisor absently nodded an affirmation. She went on, “I don’t know why, but I asked him for his name.”

  She snorted. “Get this. He says, ‘Guerrero. No, I mean Garcia. Yeah that’s it. Garcia.’“ Her supervisor continued to ignore most of the conversation about the call.

  Anticipation and jitters made it impossible for Juan to be at work today.

  Even though he had called in sick and taken the day off from work, he was dressed in his dark-blue Eastern Airlines ramp uniform. Earlier in the day, he had called his supervisor with a claim he had hurt his back the previous day. Juan knew he would have to be very careful so as to not be seen by his supervisor.

  Juan and Bill had planned on the hijacked 747’s arrival in Miami by late afternoon or early evening after the unplanned side-trip to Havana. Juan’s role was to supervise the off-loading of the six suitcases that contained the illicit cocaine while the airplane sat on the ramp.

  Juan thought most hijacked flights usually came back to Miami from Havana. Miami had become the airport of choice of the airlines whose aircraft had been hijacked. Miami was a convenient location for the FBI, ATF, Department of Transportation and the FAA. These agencies had plenty of facilities to share during and after a hijacking or other diversion. They could easily question the passengers and crew regarding each hijacking.

  Most passengers on hijacked flights were happy to get off in Miami; either to connect on other flights, or to rest from their recent ordeal. Or, in some cases, they just wanted off the aircraft that had just taken then to Havana and then back to Miami. Collective fear caused many passengers to react in ways that were not consistent with their normal behaviors.

  He thought of himself as a master crime planner. Juan Guerrero included his inflated self-assessments and considerations as a foundation in his aerial piracy scheme.

  All that had to be done now was wait for a public address announcement about Flight 100 being on the way to Havana. Guerrero didn’t know that when a flight made an unscheduled stop in Havana, or any other airport, public address announcements were seldom, if ever, made. Returning hijacked aircraft were not scheduled to land in Miami, so there would be no expected or waiting family or friends. Likewise, there would be no scheduled departing passengers because that flight never operates out of Miami.

  What was unknown to Guerrero was that when a flight diverted to Havana and then subsequently arrived in Miami, the aircraft was routinely searched for contraband. The inbound flights were closely inspected by US Customs and Immigration Service, who looked for additional passengers who were trying to escape from Cuba.

  After a hijacking had ended and a fresh cockpit crew was located, the aircraft were usually ferried empty, as positioning flights back into the airline’s route system.

  Juan wandered through the main terminal and listened for any mention of a hijacking. Twice, he went to Employees’ parking lot to listen to the Cuban news radio station in Miami. He heard nothing on Radio Marti or any Miami radio station about any hijacked flights. As a last resort, he turned the dial to Radio Mambí 710 AM. Usually, the Spanish language station would have news directly from their reporters in Cuba. Today, there were no news reports about a hijacked 747. He was also deeply troubled because he had not heard from Bill before he got on board Flight 100 in San Francisco.

  To Juan Guerrero, no news was good news. He had learned from his call to the airline that Flight 100 was airborne. He figured, “Things should start to happen soon.”

  Juan needed to conceal his being on the airport while he was off-duty with work-related injury. He attempted this by skirting the outer edges of the space between the employees’ lot and the main terminal buildings.

  The main Miami International Airport terminal wall clock said almost 4 o’clock. His shift would be over in less than twenty minutes. He knew his supervisor had already left for the day.

  Feeling better about having not been discovered, Juan wandered over to the baggage area. Once there, if discovered, he would explain he had traded to work someone else’s afternoon “twilight” shift.

  He wished there were some way he could call Bill or listen to the pilots on the radio. Then he would know exactly what was happening. For now, he continued to know nothing, and not knowing bothered him.

  He decided that at 5 o’clock he would return to his car and again listen to the Cuban news on Radio Mambí for any news bulletins.

  Chapter 41

  16:05 Eastern Standard Time

  West of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  Carlton finished cleaning his galley quickly. Even to a casual observer, he would have appeared to have been possessed. He charged through his routine. He typically was quite dedicated, having a deserved reputation for being fastidious. That was not the case today. He wanted only to be with his latest potential conquest, Bill Guerrero.

  He threw everything into any storage cubby he could find. He shoveled half-empty soda cans into the trash and threw passenger trash into craft paper bags marked “LINEN ONLY.” Finally, he took one last look around the galley. This would have to be good enough. The cabin cleaners would sort it all out when they got to JFK.

  Boeing Commercial Airplane Company and Norskog Industries had thoughtfully provided a small polished stainless steel mirror for Flight Attendant use and attached it to each galley bulkhead.

  Habitually, Carlton looked at himself every time he passed the mirror. Based on what he saw, he continually worried about how he looked. With a large measure of insecurity and discontent, Carlton turned away from the galley mirror and purposefully and quickly walked 15 feet up the right side aisle toward the nose of the airplane.

  Bill had taken advantage of Carlton’s absence and thought about his Nike carryon bag. Frustrated, Bill knew why he had disassembled the plastic firearm; so he could make it through security. He needed to find a place to put it back together where no one could see him or the gun. The only place Bill thought of was one of the lavatories on the plane. Just as he started to pull the bag onto his lap, Carlton slithered into the seat next to him, a little breathless.

  Bill again thought, “This fairy princess is going to screw up my plan.” He glared at Carlton, in the hope his threatening look would make Carlton leave. Carlton only looked at Bill and smiled.

  Bill then had a “muy grande” idea – almost an inspiration. He looked directly at Carlton and said, “I have to go to the bathroom and get cleaned up.” He paused for a few seconds, shuddered, boosted his courage and said, “Wanna come with me?”

  To Carlton, the interior of the cabin spun. He felt light-headed. For a moment he thought he was going to faint. Quickly, he took two or three very deep breaths to stabilize his emotional ups and downs and then sensuously looked at Bill. He tried to be demure, even bordering on coy as he said, “Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.”

  “Well, here’s how we’ll do it. You go back to the bathrooms and find one that’s open. You, like guard it, and I’ll come back in a couple of minutes.” Bill’s voice sounded odd to him. It was crystalline and metallic with no intonation. He could not recognize his own voice. The words tumbled out of his mouth, but he didn’t believe he was saying them. It was like he was reading a script. It wasn’t him saying these things, it was some other voice.

  Carlton half-jumped and half-slid out of the seat next to Bill. Quickly, almost running, he headed to the five lavatories in the rear of the airplane. He hoped none of his passengers, or another flight attendant, would see them in one of the lavatories together.

  He stepped around the curtains by the lavatories and looked over his shoulder. Bill was ten feet behind him, closing the gap quickly. Rushing, Carlton tried the first lavatory door. It was locked. The second was locked, too. Relief
replaced the aching anticipation when Carlton found the center lavatory unoccupied and unlocked.

  He fully opened the door just as Bill turned the corner behind him. He rushed toward Carlton, carrying his little black bag. Now they were suddenly face-to-face. Just as quickly as he had appeared, Bill brushed past Carlton and disappeared in the lavatory.

  The door to Carlton’s tryst unceremoniously closed in his face. Bill firmly slid the lock, so the door sign said, “OCCUPIED.” His muffled voice weakly came through the door, “Give me a couple of minutes and wait out there on guard. I’ll unlock the door when I’m ready.” Bill quickly opened the Nike bag and pulled the parts of the gun out and laid them on the countertop. He checked the bag for anything he had missed and shoved the bag in the trash container under the sink.

  Carlton felt emotionally naked as he stood in the cross-ship aisle and waited for Bill to open the door for him. He would be mortified and positively die if one of his passengers saw them. He puzzled, “What would happen to him if they wrote a letter to the company?” Carlton’s puzzle was abruptly broken when Bill unlocked the door and it opened a few inches.

  Slowly, Carlton reached for the knob and pulled the door fully open. He peered into the small, darkened lavatory. Carlton could see Bill. Slowly Carlton started to lower his gaze. He felt an incredible rush of anticipation as he looked at Bill. His visual perusal was cut short by a charcoal gray, grease-colored, short-barreled pistol that Bill held firmly in his right hand.

  Carlton started to say something, but Bill reached with his left hand and grabbed Carlton’s shirt, tie and vest. With an intimidating yank, he pulled Carlton into the lavatory. Carlton staggered as he was pulled tight against Bill. He whimpered loudly when he felt the gun barrel dig sharply into his rib cage. Bill released his grip, freeing his left hand, with which he tried to close the lavatory door.

  Bill whispered to Carlton, “Listen to me, you God damned fag. Reach behind you and close the fuckin’ door.”

  Carlton’s right hand waved in circles as he tried to find the doorknob or latch. However, the door was partially blocked by a passenger that had been seated near Bill.

  The businessman only needed to see Carlton pressed against Bill. In abject disgust, he put the palm of his hand against Carlton’s back and shoved him all the way into the lavatory, “You two make me sick. You and your boyfriend are disgusting. If you worked for my company, I’d fire the whole lot of you. You’re a bunch of sickos.”

  With a triumphant snort, he left the aft lavatory bay and slammed the center lavatory door closed.

  Bill was caught off guard. Carlton’s additional weight forced him to sit on the toilet seat with Carlton leaning over him at a sharp angle. He attempted to push Carlton off, but at the same time, did not want Carlton to try and escape. Bill roughly slammed the short, hard end of the gun barrel into Carlton’s soft belly. He pushed and twisted the muzzle again until he heard a soft whimper from Carlton.

  “If you make one sound or try to get away, I’ll shoot your fuckin’ dick off. No tricks Maricón. You understand?”

  Carlton made mixed sounds of whimpers and then cried, “Yes. Yes, for God’s sake.” He blinked, rolled his eyes and in a very high, frightened voice, he cried, “Are you crazy?”

  Carlton was alone with Bill, but not under the circumstances he had anticipated or imagined, “I like you and thought we were going to have a fun time together. Now look at you. You’re hurting me and talking all crazy.”

  Bill did not relent. The pressure from the gun dug deeper into his belly. Carlton continued, “I’ve never done anything to hurt you.” The forward sight on the barrel had rubbed a sore spot on Carlton’s ribs and he cried out, “My God, why are you doing this to me? Fearfully, he added, “Treating me like this.”

  Bill used his left hand and pushed Carlton against the closed lavatory door and Carlton’s head bounced with a dull thump. Carlton was so dizzy he was certain he was going to pass out.

  He could not believe what had happened to him in the past few minutes. Grinding sexual anticipation had suddenly been transformed into unbridled ‘wet your pants’ fear. Carlton had been so certain this Mexican was going to be an easy mark for him. How could he have been so wrong? Why was he being treated so roughly? Why did Bill want to hurt him? Carlton some times liked rough sex, but this was not what had expected.

  “Carlton, you don’t know it. But you and me are gonna be part of history. I’m gonna be rich.” Carlton couldn’t understand. “You, you little fag, are going to help me hijack this fuckin’ airplane.”

  Carlton, his eyes wide, gasped, “Oh, No. No. Not that.” He squirmed and said, “Are you crazy?”

  “No. But you are if you don’t help me.”

  Carlton tried to back up or turn away. Without any conviction, he said, “They’ll catch you. They always do.”

  Guerrero ignored his advice, “You cooperate with me, and maybe you’ll be like ok.” He jabbed the gun harder into Carlton’s midsection. “And maybe I won’t hurt you.” Carlton could only whimper that he understood.

  Bill continued, “But you try to trick me and I’ll kill you.” For added emphasis Bill harshly jabbed the snubbed barrel just under Carlton’s diaphragm.

  Finally it began to sink in. They were going to be hijacked! This Mexican had taken him prisoner. Carlton tried a different attitude. “This is outrageous. You can’t do this to me and my pass...”

  His comment was cut short when Bill grabbed Carlton’s shirt and tie and savagely slammed the back of his head against the closed lavatory door. Once again, he pushed Carlton’s hard enough that he bounced off the door like a boxer’s glove coming off the bag.

  Carlton couldn’t think. He could barely stand up. He said nothing. He tried to concentrate on his airline terrorist training. He hadn’t been to security training for almost a year. Now it seemed like a long time ago. He knew he was supposed to do certain things, but now could not think of anything other than his own personal survival. He tried not to panic. He thought maybe he was supposed to only offer resistance but not cooperate. He sort of recalled his objective was to slow the hijacker down with various delaying tactics.

  Right now, he was failing that assignment on every level. He could not think of a single thing to do or say. Here he was, a prisoner with an armed hijacker, locked in a lavatory.

  Bill again pushed the gun under Carlton’s rib cage with a angry twisting motion, “Hey Paloma. The little Maricón. I’m talking to you. You hear what I’m sayin’?” Carlton blanched as Bill said, “We. You ‘n me. We’re going to hijack this fucker.”

  Mentally, Carlton went around the bend and broke down. He looked directly at Bill and sobbed, “I’ll do whatever you say. Just don’t hurt me any more.”

  Sobbing, he added, “All I wanted was to be your friend and now...” Great tears ran down his face and dripped on Bill’s arm.

  Carlton sobbed and cried out, “Oh, sweet Jesus. I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused.”

  Bill interjected, “Shut the fuck up, Maricón.”

  He continued to sob. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know why you are doing this. I don’t even know what I want. Except, I know I don’t want you to hurt me.”

  “You little pussy. You are, like, completely useless.”

  Carlton’s long eyelashes were matted from his tears. Confusion and fear immobilized him. He wanted to get away, but could not motivate his body to move.

  Bill spoke and Carlton’s role was suddenly clarified, “We are going to walk out of here. Just you ‘n me. You in front of me. And then we’re going right to the Captain. I’ll be behind you. If you say anything to anyone, I’ll shoot you.”

  With that, Bill twisted and yanked the pistol from under Carlton’s rib cage and viciously struck him above his left eye. Carlton loudly cried out and thought he was going to wet his pants.

  “Just take me to the Captain and maybe I won’t hurt you. Any more. Maybe, you’ll live through this.”

 
With a marked change in voice and attitude, Bill added, “If you try to get away, I’ll shoot you. Do you understand me?”

  Carlton continued to cry silently. Great rivulets cascaded down both cheeks. Through his sniffles and sobs, Carlton looked at Bill and said, “I told you. I’ll do what you say. Just tell me what it is you want.” He sucked in a deep breath, “And, I’ll do it. I’ll do it for you.”

  Chapter 42

  16:15 Eastern Standard Time

  West of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  “First, straighten yourself up. Stop you’re fuckin’ crying, you God-damned pussy.” The enormity of what was about to happen shocked Bill as much as it frightened Carlton. It was as though someone had turned off the ignition in a racecar just as the green flag dropped. Bill took a deep breath and forced himself to say, “Turn around and start walking to the front of the airplane. To the pilot. Remember, I’m right behind you.”

  Carlton pulled down at the bottom of his vest and without thinking, looked at himself in the mirror. The bleeding over his eye had slowed. Some of his blood had dried in his eyebrow. Quickly, he straightened his tie and placed his hand on the doorknob, slid the latch and turned toward the cabin.

  Propelled by fear, he opened it.

  He turned to his right and took three steps and heard the lavatory door close behind him. He continued up the right aisle, a frightful solitary walk toward the front of the airplane with the hijacker right behind him. Though he didn’t look back, he could sense and even smell Bill’s scent. His former potential lover stayed only two or three steps behind him.

  As they passed seats in the aft cabin, several passengers looked up. Few paid any attention. Those who did look up only noticed a tall thin Flight Attendant walking briskly through the cabin toward the front of the plane. Few noticed he was being tightly followed by an equally tall dark Mexican.

  To some, the dirty blond Cabin Attendant looked like he was trying to get away from the Mexican and the Mexican looked as though he were bound to keep the flight attendant within his sight and grasp. Without comment, they both walked quickly into the next zone of the aircraft.