by Chris Ryan
Ben wasn't so sure that that was true. He kept his mouth shut, though: it was clearly a sore point for Angelo. Instead he settled back in his seat and felt his eyes becoming heavy. He had slept badly the night before, and it had already been an eventful day. After a few moments he nodded off to sleep.
The temperature was dropping in the hold, and fast. The man's body was bruised and sore from the way he had been thrown around during the bumpy takeoff, but he put all thoughts of that from his mind. He clambered his way to the front of the plane, climbing over the pallets of luggage as he went. Before long he came to a metal panel sealed along the side with a number of tightly wound screws.
Quickly he opened his rucksack and pulled out an electric screwdriver. It was difficult to keep his grip true down here, but the screws unwound quickly enough. In a couple of minutes he was able to pull the metal panel away. He clambered into the small chamber that he could tell, from the rounded shape of the plane's nose, was just below the cockpit.
It was freezing now, but the aircraft was still climbing. He looked above and saw the trap door that led into the cockpit. He would not break through it yet. Not just yet. He would wait a little longer. Wait until the cold became unbearable. By that time, he hoped, the aircraft would be fully on course.
Only then, he decided, would it begin.
It was the sudden, clunky juddering that woke Ben up — a juddering that felt as if someone had taken the plane in their hands and given it a good shake. It felt like they had done the same to Ben's stomach too. And then there were the screams — the screams and the horrible sensation of the aircraft going into freefall.
'What's happening?' he shouted as, terrified, he gripped on firmly to the arms of his seat. 'What's happening?'
The cabin crew had been hurled to the floor at the back by the sudden change in the plane's movement. Ben thought that one of the screams came from an air stewardess — never a good sign. He looked out of the window, half expecting to see the bubbling skies of the hurricane they were escaping. But he didn't. All he saw was clear blue.
When your plane is going down, time has no meaning. It couldn't have been more than about twenty seconds that they stayed like that, but it seemed like half a lifetime. Half a lifetime of cold, blind terror. Suddenly, though, Ben felt the plane straighten up, and the popping in his ears told him that they were gaining height again. He exhaled deeply with relief, and he could sense Angelo doing the same.
'What's going on?' he breathed. 'What was that?'
Angelo shook his head, but he still seemed too scared to speak. The bodyguard, on the other hand, immediately got to his feet. He said something to Angelo in curt Italian. Angelo nodded.
'What happened?' Ben demanded, not at all sure that the bodyguard spoke any English.
'I don't know,' the burly man replied in a perfect American accent that slightly surprised Ben.
'Something to do with the hurricane?'
'Looks bright and sunny outside to me,' the bodyguard growled. 'Stay where you are. I'll go and find out.' He stepped out into the aisle and walked down to the crew.
Ben and Angelo watched them intently, but from this distance it was impossible to tell what they were saying or what was happening. After a while, Ben couldn't hack it any more. They should have heard something from the captain by now. His silence was worrying. With a determined look on his face Ben unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed past Angelo. 'I'm going to find out what's happening,' he said, before walking down to the rear, ignoring the stares of the other passengers, who obviously wanted to do the same thing but were too scared to unbuckle themselves.
'What's going on?' he demanded of the worried-looking cabin crew.
One of the air stewards — a tall man with perfectly groomed dark hair and a cheesy smile — answered. 'Nothing to worry about, son,' he said. 'Take your seat, please.'
But Ben didn't take his seat. He wasn't going to be fobbed off like that. He turned to the bodyguard. 'Have you found out what's happening?' he demanded.
For a moment the bodyguard hesitated, as if he was in two minds whether to tell Ben or not. When he finally spoke, he was tense and serious. 'There is an intercom between the cabin and the cockpit,' he said quietly. 'They've been trying to buzz through to the pilot to find out what went on up there, but there's no reply.'
Ben's brow furrowed. 'Can't we just open the door?'
The air steward shook his head. 'Can't be done,' he said. 'Since 9/11, no aircraft cockpits can be entered from the cabin.'
'How many pilots are there?' Ben asked.
'Two.'
'And neither of them are replying?'
The air steward shook his head again.
'What are we going to do?'
The man gave Ben a patronizing smile. 'We,' he said emphatically, 'are not going to do anything. You are going to take your seat and keep quiet about all this. The last thing we need is any more panic in the cabin, OK.'
Ben glanced over his shoulder back at the terrified passengers. 'I think that might be asking a bit much,' he murmured. As he spoke, the air steward took him by the shoulders, turned him round and gave him a little shove back towards his seat.
But Ben never got there, because just as he started up the aisle, the loudspeaker crackled into life.
'Ladies and gentleman,' an unfamiliar voice announced in an accent Ben did not recognize. 'I advise you all to remain very calm. This plane has been hijacked and is under my control. I will be giving you instructions very soon. In the meantime, be assured that if anyone tries to enter the cockpit or tamper with its door, they will immediately be shot.'
With that, the loudspeaker went dead.
There was a brief moment of silence, and then the sound of panicked screams filled the aircraft.
Chapter Three
It was only fair, the hijacker thought to himself, that the passengers should know why they were going to die before it happened.
Beside him, the two pilots lay dead. They had shouted in surprise as the hijacker emerged through the trap door, but two silent, accurate shots from his suppressed weapon — a Beretta 92FS that he had stashed in his rucksack — had floored them before they could raise the alarm. It had been a nasty surprise when the plane had veered out of control — he had expected there to be an autopilot, but clearly they had been flying manually. Only with difficulty had he managed to take the pilot's seat and steady the plane. Now his eyes were scanning over the bewildering array of instruments before him. It took a couple of minutes for him to work out what was what — he had only ever flown much simpler aircraft than this before — but eventually he felt comfortable with it. He breathed deeply and calmly as his body warmed up.
Looking out over the sea and sky that stretched before him, he felt a sense of peace, as though the whole world was his. He was lucky to have got this far, and now there was really nothing that could stop him from doing what he had to do. Even if he didn't hit his target, he would be able to ensure a successful outcome. He would be able to make sure the plane went down. But for now he could just sit here. The aircraft was on course and he didn't need to do anything. Not yet. Let the passengers calm down first, and then he would tell them what the future held.
Yes, he thought to himself once more. It was only fair that they should know why they were going to die before it happened.
The moment the hijacker had made his announcement, the whole cabin had dissolved into chaos.
All the passengers were standing up now, and some of them had rushed into the aisle. Ben's ears were filled with shouting and crying — the sound of panic and distress. The cabin staff were shouting too, trying to get everyone to sit down, to remain calm. But they didn't seem to be having any effect.
Ben felt the big hand of the bodyguard on his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was quietly reassuring, but firm. 'You need to go and sit with Angelo. Try and keep calm.'
Ben didn't move. There were too many unanswered questions in his mind. 'If the cockpit door is locked,' he as
ked, 'how did anyone get in there?'
'I don't know,' replied the bodyguard. He looked just as confused as Ben.
'You think it's one of the pilots?'
They were interrupted by the air steward. 'It's not a pilot,' he said breathlessly. 'I know them both well. I'd recognize the voice.'
'This plane's going to Miami. What will the Americans do?' Ben asked. 'If they realize we've been hijacked, I mean.'
The bodyguard and the air steward gave each other a meaningful glance, but they didn't answer. 'Go and sit down, son,' Ben was told. 'Leave this to us.'
Ben thought of arguing, but in the end he did as he was told. As he worked his way back up to his seat, he noticed that most of the passengers had also sat down, but there was still the noise of terrified voices in the air. Ben wondered how long it would be before the panic gripped them again. Not very, probably.
Angelo was ashen-faced. 'Do you think this is because of me?' he asked immediately as Ben pushed past him to take his seat.
'How can it be?' Ben replied. 'You weren't even meant to be on this plane.'
Angelo furrowed his brow and nodded. 'I suppose so,' he muttered, but something in his voice suggested he wasn't convinced. 'Do you think we're going to die?'
Ben glanced out of the window. It was a question he'd been asking himself. For a moment he didn't answer; he just stared into the blue of the sea thousands of feet below. He took a deep, determined breath, then looked back at Angelo. 'No,' he said firmly. 'Trust me. I've been in risky situations before. We're not going to die. We're probably just going to be used for ransom and—'
'I think we are going to die,' Angelo interrupted. He was breathing nervously, in short gasps. 'Think about it, Ben. As soon as the Americans know the plane has been hijacked, they will blow us from the sky. They won't want another 9/11 on their hands.'
Ben blinked. He remembered how the bodyguard and air steward had avoided answering his question. Now he knew why. He tried to think of an argument against Angelo's nightmare scenario, but he couldn't.
'I don't think we've gone off course yet,' he said. 'No one will know anything's wrong unless they try to make radio contact with the pilot. But even then, the hijacker might be able to bluff it.' He took a deep breath. 'We have to do something before this guy changes direction.'
As Ben spoke, the bodyguard approached. His face was grim as he knelt down in the aisle. 'I'm going to try something,' he said. 'Now listen to me, you two. No heroics, OK?'
'What are you going to do?' Angelo asked.
The bodyguard's eyes flickered towards the cockpit, then back to the two of them. 'I'm wearing a bulletproof vest,' he said. 'It'll absorb most rounds at close range. I'm going to call his bluff, try and knock the door in. Maybe he really does have a gun, maybe not. But if he opens it, I reckon I should be good to overpower him. If not' — he tapped on his chest — 'I came well dressed for the job of taking a bullet.'
'But what if he—' Ben started to say, but the bodyguard interrupted him.
'Trust me,' he said. 'I'm trained for this.' He smiled at both of them. 'You OK?'
Ben and Angelo nodded. 'Aren't you going to let everyone else know?' Ben asked.
The bodyguard shook his head. 'Too risky,' he said.
'What do you mean? Why?'
The man glanced down the aisle. 'We don't know for sure that the guy in the cockpit's the only one. It would be unusual for a hijacker to act alone.'
'You mean—' Ben and Angelo looked at each other.
'You mean, someone in the cabin could be working with them?'
The bodyguard shrugged. 'It's possible. There's even a chance one of the cabin crew is involved. We need to be careful, guys. Very careful. Don't trust anyone, not unless they prove themselves to be trustworthy. OK?'
'OK,' Ben and Angelo said in unison.
The bodyguard nodded, then stood up and walked the few rows up towards the front.
'You think he's up to it?' Ben asked Angelo in a low whisper, keeping his voice quiet so that nobody else would hear them talking.
Angelo nodded seriously. 'Brad used to be in Delta Force. He doesn't talk about it much, but from what I can tell he's been all over the world with them. Antiterrorism mostly.' He looked a bit rueful. 'I always thought that looking after spoiled rich kids like me was a bit of a come-down for him. Guess I was wrong. Still, if anyone can sort this situation out, I think it is him.' He smiled nervously. 'I asked him once how many men he had killed.'
'What did he say?'
'He said, "How do you know they were all men?" I think he was joking, though.'
Ben found it hard to laugh. His mouth had gone dry, he realized, and his body felt weak. He was cold, but he was still sweating. Ben Tracey knew what fear felt like, and he was feeling it now. Brad might be highly trained, but his plan didn't sound that great to him. Not that Ben could think of anything better. They just had to hope that the bodyguard's special forces training hadn't deserted him.
Ben craned his neck to look over the seat in front. At the front of the aisle he could see Brad preparing himself. All around the plane the buzz of panicked voices was rising again. He could hear people trying to make calls on their mobile phones, but there was no signal this high up and they were left shouting pointlessly into their handsets. Ben didn't get the sense that any of them were paying much attention to Brad.
All that was about to change though.
When the bodyguard hurled his heavy shoulder against the door, it made a dull thud but didn't seem to make much difference to the entrance. A few people around him fell quiet. Brad stepped back and then made another run. By the time he hit the door for a second time, everyone in the plane seemed to know what he was doing.
'What's going on?' one man at the back shouted. 'Don't be an idiot!'
But Brad ignored him. He stepped back again, set his shoulders and then started running towards the door for a third time.
And it was only then that the plane nosedived yet again…
In the cockpit, the first bump on the door had made the hijacker jump.
The man spun round. His eyes were narrow and his fist gripped the gun firmly.
There was a pause, and then a second bump. The door shook slightly, but it held fast. He eyed the locking mechanism — a big red handle at the twelve o'clock position with an arrow pointing downwards. To open the door, all he needed to do was pull it down.
He checked the gun. It was loaded and ready. He would have to be fast. Fast and accurate. When he let go of the controls, the plane would dive. But that would be OK, just as long as he was expecting it. He took a deep breath and let go of the controls. Immediately the plane tilted downwards and he had to hurl himself towards the door. With one hand he held the gun out straight; with the other he brought down the locking handle and pulled the door open.
The hijacker only had a split second to take everything in. Barely a metre away from him there was a large, thick-set man, and he was coming towards him at some speed.
Their eyes locked. The hijacker aimed the gun straight at his head.
He fired.
The force of the bullet knocked the man backwards.
There was no way the hijacker's target would have survived the headshot, but the man fired once more for good measure. This time the bullet hit the bodyguard in the chest.
The hijacker slammed the door shut and forced the locking lever up again. Sweat was trickling down the side of his face now, but he remained calm as he carefully edged himself towards his seat again, grabbed the controls and steadied the plane.
Three people dead. But that didn't matter. It was only a matter of time before it happened to all of them.
Chapter Four
It sounded like everyone started screaming at the same time. The plane had nosedived and it was that which was scaring everyone, rather than the silent bullets. As he gripped fearfully onto his seat, Ben wondered how many people had even noticed that the bodyguard had been shot.
One person had, thoug
h. Angelo.
'Brad!' The Italian boy's yell filled Ben's ears. As the plane suddenly pulled out of its dive and started rising again, Angelo rushed into the aisle and up to the body lying on the floor. Ben followed immediately.
'Stay away, you two!' one of the cabin crew shouted, but he was quickly rebuked by Angelo.
'Stai zitto!' the Italian said between gritted teeth. 'Shut up! Brad was here because of me, all right?' But when he came up close to the corpse, Ben noticed that his friend took a step back.
The bodyguard was a mess. His face was bloodied and unrecognizable, and half of his head had been shot away. It was a gruesome sight.
As he stared at the bodyguard's corpse, the noise of frightened people all around him seemed to disappear into nothing. Ben had seen enough dead bodies in his time, but it wasn't something he'd got used to. The sight of Brad, dead and cold, sent a shiver down his spine and made him feel sick.
It was only the sound of the intercom crackling into life again that snapped him out of it. Everyone else in the cabin fell silent too as the hijacker's voice filled the air.
'Ladies and gentlemen.' His foreign voice sounded almost polite. 'I advise you all to take your seats and remain calm.'
Ben felt as if everyone in the cabin was holding their breath. All he could hear was the sound of the plane's engines.
'If anybody else tries to do anything foolish,' the hijacker continued, 'they can expect to die, like the man I have just shot.'
There were some shocked whispers from the back of the plane — clearly not everybody had been aware that Brad had been shot.
'It seems fair to me,' the hijacker continued, 'that you understand what is going to happen to you before it happens. And why.'
A pause. A deathly silence.
'I come from a small island many thousands of miles from here. I do not believe any of you will have heard of it. You are all too caught up in the importance of your own affairs to worry about people like us. Not long ago, men from the West invaded our island. They were not an army, and no doubt news of the invasion did not reach your ears; but to my people their arrival was a terrible event. They raped our land in their search for oil; and because of their greed, our children have started to die.'
