Authors: John J. Nance
She could feel the muscles in her diaphragm shaking un-controllably;.
"Stay off the interphone for one thing, Annette. No distractions, no trying to open the door. You might startle him, and if he lets go of that switch for any reason, we're dead."
Salt Lake City. 11:10 A.M.
Kat Bronsky pulled the damp towel from her head and dabbed at the few remaining drops of water on her body as she examined herself in the full-length mirror. Twenty-five minutes in a hot shower had probably been too much of an indulgence, but it felt wonderful, especially after being jolted awake by a grating alarm clock she hadn't meant to set before 10:30 A.M.
"Not bad, young lady. Not bad," she said at last as she tried to flatten her slightly over-fed belly with her right hand. She arched her back and squared her shoulders. "This is how I'm going to look in two more months, fellows. At thirty-two, a sex goddess at last," Kat chuckled to herself. "Yeah, right!"
She was pleased the diet was working, but she wasn't exercising enough, and she resolved to work out sometime during the next week.
Maybe.
She turned sideways, carefully examining her profile, satisfied with the unruly cascade of chestnut-brown hair brushing her shoulders and the outline of her breasts.
The previous night's research marathon at the FBI's Salt Lake City field office had given her a morning off, and she wasn't due in before noon, but there was plenty of paperwork waiting for the office's newest agent and she was still enthused enough to look forward to it.
Kat began opening a new package of bikini panties as she glanced at the clock.
"Jeez, it's after eleven!
She pulled on the panties more hurriedly than she'd planned and adjusted the elastic, then examined her reflection again, determined to ignore the fact that she still wasn't quite ready to wear something so skimpy.
Her new nationwide beeper sat on the counter, paid for by the FBI.
Its presence thrilled her-an affirmation of her position as an FBI agent. She grinned as she picked it up and clipped it to the waistband of the bikini bottoms, then turned to the mirror with her arms over her head.
The perfect undercover ensemble! About as subtle as a SWAT team. A loud alarm pulsed from the beeper at the same moment and Kat jumped slightly in reaction, feeling vaguely embarrassed, as if whoever had sent the message had also been watching her semi-nude self- appraisal.
The screen showed an urgent message from FBI headquarters in Washington and a number to call, and she moved quickly to the bedside telephone to make the connection, scribbling down the initial details about the hijacking of an AirBridge flight and the plan to set up a command post at Salt Lake City International Airport.
"I'll be in my car in ten minutes," she told her counterpart in Washington. "I'll call you on the way."
She hung up the phone feeling exhilarated.
Wow! The real thing.
She was now officially on a case as an FBI hostage negotiator. The thought made her smile as she replaced the receiver and began a tug- of-war with the nearest pair of pantyhose while plotting what clothes to grab.
Something businesslike, she concluded. Okay, a pantsuit.
Kat reached in the closet for the chosen ensemble with her mind racing over the seriousness of the situation, the thought sobering her instantly and draining her excitement away. This was dead serious. An airline hijacking could easily demand every bit of skill and training she had as a psychologist, and anything she did would be subjected to the intense scrutiny of both her bosses and the media. The FBI had very few female hostage negotiators in the first place. Worse, just one mistake in dealing with the hijacker and she could lose everyone on board.
Kat took a look at herself in the mirror as she put on her blouse and began fastening the back, her fingers uncharacteristically fumbling with the buttons. She felt a bit shaky, and that fact sent a cold chill up her spine. The only thing that might be standing between disaster and a peaceful surrender would be her voice. Her voice, her steadiness under pressure, and her intellect. She had to be cool.
Okay, I'm scared. I'd better admit it right now. She forced herself to take a deep breath and focus.
I'm scared, but I know what I'm doing.
Kat let several seconds tick by before glancing at her watch. Twelve minutes had already elapsed. A quick dab of lipstick, eyeliner, and blush, and she grabbed her keys and purse and headed for the door, quietly pleased by the dead weight of her Glock 40mm handgun as it bulged against the leather.
Aboard AirBridge Flight 90. 11:14 A.M.
"Sir! Sir, please sit down?' Annette jumped to her feet as a coach passenger came through the dividing curtains into first class at a brisk walk, his face contorted in a frown. She raised her hand as he came to a halt just short of the galley and pulled something from his shirt pocket, holding it up for her to see.
"I'm with the FAA, miss. Dudley Harris. I need to talk to your captain, right now."
She read the name on the identification card as he continued.
"I'm a maintenance inspector, but I can still file violations, and you're required to admit me to the cockpit on request."
Annette studied the man for a second, then gestured toward the forward entry alcove. Harris followed.
Annette molded her back against the forward entry door next to the interphone panel and motioned Harris to within inches of her face as she held her finger to her lips.
"What is it?" he asked in a suspicious tone.
"Mr. Harris, there's something I have to tell you," she said very softly.
He pulled back slightly. "I'm sorry, what? I'm having trouble hearing you." His voice was softer, too, but still loud enough to startle her, and she motioned for quiet again as she leaned forward to speak directly in his ear.
"Mr. Harris, the passengers have not been told, but we've been hijacked. There's a hijacker in the right seat in the cockpit with a gun claiming he has a bomb in the baggage compartment."
The FAA inspector jumped back, his eyes wide, mouthing the word "Hijacker?"
Annette nodded solemnly, and leaned toward him again.
"The captain told me the hijacker is listening on the interphone.'
Harris took a deep breath and looked around toward the close cockpit door before replying. He turned back to Annette, alarm shoing clearly on his face.
"I--I had no idea." She shrugged. "He said not to tell anyone."
The sound of a call chime reverberated through the airplane an Annette checked the ceiling call lights, startled to see it was the cod pit call button that had been pushed. She swallowed hard and motioned to Harris to wait as she picked up the handset.
"Hello."
"Annette?"
"Yes, Ken."
"I heard voices outside the door. What's going on? Is that sorry son of a bitch Rudy Bostich acting up?"
"Bostich? Ah, no, captain. You mean the guy in coach?" She looked at Harris in confusion, her mind whirling around his reference to Bostich as she raised the receiver to her lips again. "There's an FAA inspector here who didn't appreciate your tour. He wants to talk to you, but"But you told him we've been hijacked, didn't you?"
"I had to, Ken."
There was silence for a few heartbeats as Annette held her breath.
"Is he still there?" Ken asked.
She nodded silently, before remembering to speak the words. "Ye Yes, he is. He's right here with me."
"Well, I'm instructed to tell the FAA to go back to his seat. I've.
I've got to hang up now."
Annette replaced the receiver and relayed the message to Harry who raised the palms of both hands.
"I'm gone, but I'm in Twenty-two-C if you need me."
"Thanks, Mr. Harris."
The inspector moved through the first class cabin and headed back to his seat, leaving Annette with a desperate, hollow feeling that only increased when the sound of the P.A. filled the aircraft once more.
"Okay, folks, this is captain. Here's the deal. What I couldn't tell you a while ago was that we've had a forced change of plans. I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. We've been hijacked, and the hijacker is sitting right next to me holding a gun."
There was a low, collective gasp throughout the cabin.
"What's worse, he claims he has a bag full of explosives in the baggage compartment, and he's holding an electronic trigger. If he lets go of that trigger, we've had it. Therefore, I caution everybody to remain seated, remain calm, and under no circumstances whatsoever should anyone try to intervene. Even if you could successfully overpower him, if his fingers leave that electronic trigger, it's all over."
Annette stood in shock watching the equally horrified expressions on the faces of her passengers. There had been a few short cries in the coach cabin, but now there was stunned silence as the captain continued.
"'Scuse me just a second folks. What?"
The captain's question seemed to be partially off microphone, as if listening to the hijacker's response. There were the sounds of a voice murmuring in the background as the hijacker spoke, then Ken's voice returned to the P.A.
"Folks, the man tells me to assure you that he has no intention of hurting anyone on board, but that he's had to use real explosives just to make sure no one fails to believe him. He says--What? I can't hear you."
There was silence as the captain kept the P.A. button depressed, but every few seconds Ken would interject an "okay" or "all right" as the hijacker told him what to say. Annette turned and looked at the cockpit door, which was fairly easy to hear through. Countless times on the forward jumpseat she'd been scared to death by various warning horns going off in the cockpit during landing and wafting clearly through the door. If she could hear warnings, maybe she could hear the hijacker's voice, too.
She remembered clearly the voice of the young man from seat 18D, the other pilot. If he was the hijacker, she had to know.
Annette 'moved quietly to the cockpit door and put her ear against the surface as Ken began speaking once more.
"Sorry for the delay. I'm trying to relay exactly what I've been requested to relay. He says that he'll tell us what he's demanding a little later, but in the meantime, he's ordering me to fly us to Salt Lake City, and that's where we're headed right now. He also says-- hold.., hold on."
Annette listened for the hijacker's voice as Ken began listening again to instructions. She could hear him saying "right" and "okay" every few seconds, but even with her eyes closed to help sort out the sounds, she couldn't make out the second voice.
"Okay, I got it. All right, folks, the word is that he's demanding certain actions by various governments, including the U.S. government, in trying to right a terrible wrong. He says he knows what he's doing is a capital crime, but the crime he's trying to address is far worse. I'll tell you more when I'm permitted to. In the meantime, stay very calm, and again, do NOT try to be a hero. It could get us all killed."
The P.A. clicked off, but no additional sounds came from within the cockpit.
Annette pulled back from the door and slid over to her jumpseat as a flight attendant call chime rang from the passenger cabin.
She wondered why the hijacker was speaking so quietly. Obviously, whoever he was, his vocal range was being masked by the sound of the engines and the slipstream in flight. Listening through the door was going to shed no light on who--or what-they were facing.
The call chime had been ringing repeatedly for the last thirty seconds.
A distinguished-looking silver-haired woman in row nine was jabbing the overhead call button as if she were trying to kill it, and as Bev approached, she could see the alarmed passenger was none other than the leader of the fear-of-flying group.
Bev knelt beside her in the aisle, trying to keep her voice down. "Mrs. Gates, are you okay?"
The woman turned to the right, startled to see Bev. Her eyebrows were flaring, and with a flick of her right hand, she pulled her reading glasses free, allowing them to drop on the cord around her neck as she took a quick breath, her voice coming in cultured intensity.
"Certainly not! Good heavens! I told these people this would be a calm flight, and then I led them into the middle of a nightmare." "I'm awfully sorry-"
"I'm sure you are, but the fact remains, I've spent the past three months calming down twenty-two people who have just been returned to the status of emotional basket cases."
As Bev tried to respond, an older gentleman in the seat behind leaned forward and grabbed Mrs. Gates's elbow, his voice calm and gravelly.
"Elvira, my wife and I may be having a small coronary episode back here, but I take exception to being referred to as a basket case."
Elvira Gates turned and flashed the man a wide-eyed look, before a small smile spread across her face.
"Very well, then I'm the basket case!"
"We're all doing quite well back here, Elvira," he added.
"How could you be?"
"You told us even hijackings almost always end peacefully. Don't they?"