Monster (10 page)

* * *

In the meantime, Reskova had moved over next to McDaniels. She grabbed hold of McDaniels’ arm as the three Syrians approached their seat, with the one Syrian still raging to his comrades. McDaniels turned to Reskova with a look so chilling she released his arm immediately.

“Don’t grab me,” McDaniels warned.

The Syrian, who had just gestured at the stewardess, stopped next to the seats in front of McDaniels. The little boy, Tommy, was standing on his seat, trying to see what was going on, while McDaniels could hear the boy’s Grandfather urging him to sit down. The Syrian reached for the little boy, a smile of malice on his face. Tommy cowered back. His Grandfather engulfed the Syrian’s hand in one gnarled fist. The Syrian dropped to his knees in pain.

“Don’t know what you think you’re doin’,” Osbourne said, gesturing at the two other Syrians to stay put, “but you reach for my Grandson again I’ll break this off and shove it up your ass.”

That said, Osbourne released the Syrian with a little push as he shielded Tommy. Reskova saw the Syrian jump back to his feet. Something slid down from under the sleeve of his jacket. What happened next seemed a blur to Reskova. In one fluid motion McDaniels shot up from his seat and smashed the thumb side of his right hand into the Syrian’s throat. The blow propelled the Syrian into the seats of his companions. McDaniels caught both of the man’s companions up by the throats, propelling them like rag-dolls headfirst into the upper bulkhead. He released their bodies, allowing them to collapse unconscious to the floor. McDaniels reached for the first Syrian while the rest of his group sat stunned at the speed McDaniels attacked.

Reskova reached for the 9mm Glock inside her jacket, trying to see around McDaniels. She heard a sickening crack as McDaniels broke the first Syrian’s right arm at the wrist, grabbing the sharpened wooden shaft formed like a knife. The man, still gagging for breath from McDaniels’ last blow, collapsed to the floor in a ball, rocking in agony as he tried to breathe and hold his injured arm. Reskova saw the Syrian McDaniels had pegged as the leader start out of his seat just as McDaniels’ right fist smashed into the Syrian’s face. The force of McDaniels’ blow pitched the man into the other aisle, blood shooting out of his broken nose.

Three air marshals in coach jumped to their feet during the melee, identifying themselves, weapons drawn. The other Syrians, standing in line at the bathrooms, and in their seats, were covered quickly. The marshals ordered them to the floor of the plane, hands behind their heads, face down. As McDaniels turned his attention to the Syrians still seated, one of them began to stand up, only to be pulled forcefully back down by his companion sitting next to him.

Reskova moved around McDaniels, with her weapon pointed at the Syrians. “That went well.”

Folley looked at McDaniels quizzically as the passengers sat in shocked silence, some hugging each other fearfully, while others seemed poised to join into the battle. Both men, who had backed the stewardess, along with Tommy’s Grandfather, moved near McDaniels, watching the Syrians in anticipation.

McDaniels held up the wooden knife for Folley to see. “The one on the floor over here was getting ready to use this. I imagine he isn’t the only one who has one. What would you like to do?”

“What do you suggest?” Folley asked in return.

“You don’t want to know,” McDaniels said, evoking some strained laughter from the passengers within hearing. “The one over by you is the ringleader.”

Folley looked down at the groaning Syrian. He reached down to feel the man’s sleeves, provoking cries of pain. Standing back up with another of the wooden knives, Folley held it up for McDaniels to see.

“My man up front has the other two at gunpoint.”

McDaniels glanced down at the Syrians who were looking around wildly at the hostile looks. “Since we don’t know what these guys have, why not head back to LA and get some troops on board?”

“Already on our way,” Folley confirmed. “Agent Reskova, would you please go forward, and back my man’s play up there?”

“Sure.” Reskova moved past Osbourne and the two other men from the front coach section. The stewardesses had already began quieting the passengers, calmly letting them know the plane would be heading back to Los Angeles. There was shared laughter at suggestions of throwing the Syrians into space and proceeding to Detroit.

* * *

“Do you have enough restraints for all these clowns?” McDaniels asked Folley as the Syrians began shifting uneasily in their seats.

“Yep. Go ahead and help my guys with the ones in the aisle. We’ll do these guys in the seats last, one at a time.”

By the time they finished restraining the Syrians, two of the ones McDaniels had fought died. One expired with a severe skull fracture from McDaniels launching him into the plane’s roof. The second one, who had started the whole incident, gasped the last of his life out, still trying to get air through his ruined throat. Shifting some of the passengers, the air marshals gathered all the Syrians together, while they took seats from which they could easily watch the group.

“Cold.” Folley attracted McDaniels’ attention. “Would you go up front and help my man with the restraints.”

“On my way.” McDaniels turned to walk up the aisle. Tommy’s Grandfather, holding his Grandson tightly, blocked McDaniels’ way, sticking out his free hand.

“Thank you,” Osbourne said.

“It was a pleasure, Sir,” McDaniels answered, winking at Tommy.

Osbourne looked down at the bodies still in the aisle and then back up at McDaniels. “It does look like you had a real good time. I hope you don’t get into any trouble over this. If you do, I’ll testify for you anytime, anywhere.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Gunny. I might need to take you up on your offer.”

McDaniels stopped to shake hands with the two men at the front of their compartment, who also wanted to thank him and introduce themselves. They had recognized McDaniels from the Hughes’ affair. McDaniels moved by them into first class, where the other air marshal and Reskova were holding the two Syrians at gunpoint. The ten other passengers in first class had been reseated in the rearmost seats. McDaniels took the restraints from the air marshal. When McDaniels moved toward the first Syrian, the man spoke angrily.

“You will not put those on me,” the man stated in English. He spat between him and McDaniels.

“I will be putting these on you and your friend here,” McDaniels said in Arabic, “or I will be twisting your head off. Which would you prefer?”

“Do not provoke this man,” the other Syrian warned his friend after the momentary surprise of hearing McDaniels speak their language. “I recognize him from the newspapers. He is the one who cut a man’s head off. The newspapers called him Cold Mountain.”

McDaniels confiscated the wooden knives each of the Syrians carried, before fastening the plastic restraints roughly around their wrists. When he looked up from his task, he noticed the other first class passengers watching him with fearful stares. Even the stewardess who was serving them free drinks had stopped to stare at him. Reskova nudged him.

“I heard your new nickname amongst the Arabic. What did he say?”

McDaniels pointed at the Syrian who had warned his companion not to resist. “That one has read my press clippings.”

“That’s where I’ve seen you before,” the air marshal exclaimed as McDaniels handed him the wooden knives. “I knew you looked familiar. I like the nickname.”

“Cold… Cold Mountain,” one of the women in the back of first class called out. “You’re the one the newspapers call Cold Mountain. You’re the guy who cut off that baby killer’s head, aren’t you?”

McDaniels looked pointedly at Reskova who was enjoying McDaniels’ discomfort. “Thanks, Dee Dee.”

“Anytime, Cold.”

McDaniels turned to face the passengers. He waved slightly at them. “Sorry for the mess folks.”

“Better than being dead,” the same woman replied, as her fellow passengers in first class murmured their agreement.

“Ken has the bulk of the bad guys in coach,” the air marshal remarked. “Maybe you better stay with them, if Agent Reskova doesn’t mind hanging around with me.”

“Sounds good,” McDaniels agreed. “How did the passengers back here find out I had anything to do with this before I even walked up here, Dee Dee.”

Reskova shrugged with a smile on her face as she watched the Syrians. “I explained to Marshal Brennan here what happened. The others must have heard me.”

“Two of them have cashed out since you left. I’ll probably end up in stoney lonesome again.”

“You should be executed for this outrage!” The Syrian who had warned him before screamed at McDaniels.

McDaniels reached for the Syrian with his hand outstretched. Reskova moved between them as the other passengers shouted encouragement to McDaniels.

“Calm down, Cold. This guy’s restrained already. You will go to prison if you touch him.”

As McDaniels backed away, Reskova pointed a warning finger at the Syrian.

“One more word out of you and I’ll gag you for the trip back.”

“I guess I’ll see you both on the ground.”

“You better start thinking about movie lines you want to use, Cold,” Reskova needled him. “The press will be meeting us for sure.”

McDaniels came to a dead halt for a moment. Resisting the impulse to turn around, he gave Reskova a wave off over his shoulder. Both Reskova and the air marshal laughed.

All the passengers in first class insisted on shaking McDaniels’ hand, including the stewardess from first class. He accepted their thanks, apologizing again for the inconvenience. In coach, McDaniels walked over next to Folley, who had the Syrian group leader lying in the aisle, holding a towel to his face with shaking hands. The passengers in coach began applauding wildly. McDaniels, clearly stunned, smiled and gestured them to silence.

“I hope you all feel the same about me when we end up put through the meat grinder for the rest of the day.”

His remark received the laughter he had hoped for.

“Sit down, Cold,” Folley said, gesturing to the seat next to him.

McDaniels sat down in the window seat, stepping over the prone Syrian, and around Folley.

“I hate window seats,” McDaniels griped. He gestured at the Syrian. “Did soccer boy say anything?”

“Nope. He’s been too busy trying to get his face to stop bleeding. I had to leave him on the floor. We should be landing soon. I’ll put him in a seat then. I talked to Brennan up front. He says they’re all set.”

“What do you have, some kind of mini-com?” McDaniels asked, looking over Folley closely.

Folley pointed at his lapel and turned so McDaniels could see the small ear insert. “Good thing too. I wouldn’t have been able to warn my man without it. Observation is not your strong suit, I see, Cold.”

“What did you want me to observe, that prick sticking the guy and his grandson over there?”

“You really think he was going to do it?”

“He released it and the wood blade was dropping into position. He sure wasn’t going to wave it around,” McDaniels reasoned.

“I guess not. You’re going to take some heat for this, but we’ll back you up. It looks like your fan club will help too.”

McDaniels chuckled. “The public helped get me out of jail over that Hughes’ thing.”

“That was one mean piece of work there, Cold, right in line with your nickname.”

“No, really? Hughes had a little girl he was going to carve up. Don’t give me any of your touchy-feely bullshit.”

“Hey, I meant it as a compliment,” Folley said quickly. “I’m not sure how this one-man show will play out though. Now, if you were a serial killer, you’d be a cult hero, like the old uni-bomber. Killing bad guys without five years of trials and twenty years of appeals will get you locked up eventually. You probably need to take your act overseas again.”

“It’s just getting interesting. I have this neat new gig with the FBI. I want to see how it goes. If they want to use me as a lightning rod, it’s okay with me.”

McDaniels leaned in closer to his friend. “I only wish I could tell you how satisfying it was catching up with that pussbag Hughes.”

Folley nodded his understanding. “That kind of stuff can get habit forming.”

“Oh man, you don’t know the half of it.”

Chapter 8

Rasheed

After the Syrians both alive and dead were taken off the plane by security forces, the passengers were escorted to a VIP room to wait out the questioning in comfort. Folley and his Air Marshal contingent accompanied McDaniels and Reskova to a conference room where they were to be debriefed by FBI and Homeland Security. Customs and Immigration were on hand to go over passports, visas, and all identification taken from the Syrian group.

The law enforcement officers were interrogated separately, but with Supervisors from the Air Marshal’s division. McDaniels and Reskova went with an FBI agent who led them to a separate conference room. Assistant Director Dreyer and a top-level cabinet member with Homeland Security were waiting.

“Christ, Colonel,” Dreyer began angrily. “What part of observe didn’t you understand?”