Hostages of Hate (2 page)

"Some group of madmen," Joe muttered. "This guy doesn't sound like he's got all his screws bolted down too tight."

But the terrorist leader's quiet, clipped voice went on. "It is most important that you understand with whom you are dealing. We are a serious group, and we expect that all of you will treat us seriously. Soon, a videotape of ANWO's demands will be made available to the media. These are unconditional demands, and we do not intend to negotiate."

A chill crept over Frank Hardy's body as he heard the calm voice speaking reasonably about madness and bloody murder. "I most earnestly hope that I can depend on your cooperation."

The leader hesitated for a moment. "Otherwise," he finally said, "I assure you, all of the people on that aircraft will die."

Interference blurred the screens again, then Pauline Fox reappeared.

"That guy is mocking us—right to our faces!" a man burst out. Joe could read his name tag: "R. O'Neill, National Advisory Committee on Terrorism."

Pauline Fox wasn't standing in front of the hijacked plane anymore. She was walking toward it, and the camera was following her. "I've been invited aboard the airplane to meet a spokesperson ..." Joe caught the words over the uproar.

Professor T. J. Hayden of Hadley University looked disgusted. "Great. They're arranging media opportunities now."

"We should be blacking out this whole thing!" R. O'Neill said explosively.

"And show the world how afraid we are?" asked Hayden. He shrugged. "And if we tried, what do you think the terrorists' first demand would be? With the hostages' necks on the line."

Pauline Fox was actually aboard the plane now, in the first-class cabin. It was empty, except for the armed, masked terrorist in the suit and three passengers. One was a gray-haired elderly man, the second was a woman with carefully arranged orange hair, and the third was a blond young woman. Frank and Joe both gasped. "Callie!"

The camera focused on the elderly man as the terrorist stood behind him. "Professor Beemis, a noted authority on international affairs," came the terrorist's slightly accented voice. "You will tell them about conditions on this aircraft."

"N - no one was hurt as they took over," the professor said shakily. "I don't know about outside — " His voice was cut off abruptly as the terrorist laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Look at that!" O'Neill said. "They're probably talking from a prepared script—and that guy doesn't want the professor moving away from it."

"Professor Beemis," Pauline Fox's voice called out. "Are you — "

"You will ask no questions," the terrorist's voice said. "Otherwise, you will leave."

He moved behind the orange-haired woman. "Mrs. Margaret Thayer, wife of Senator Thayer."

"They've got guns and lots of ammunition." The woman's voice was shrill. "And they've got a bomb in a briefcase. They say it's enough to blow up the plane and kill everyone on it." Tears began to run down her face, streaking her carefully applied makeup. "I don't want to die! You've got to listen to these people!"

The camera zoomed in on the weeping woman. Then the terrorist moved on to Callie. "Miss Shaw, a student, and the youngest person on the aircraft."

Callie's voice was low and tight as she began. "We've been treated — "

The terrorist's hand landed on her shoulder. "Louder."

She appeared to be blinking away tears as she started again. "We've been treated very well. No one has been mis - mistreated. Our captors — "

O'Neill stood in front of the set. "I can't stand to listen to any more of this."

But Frank pushed him aside. "Quiet." He was staring fixedly at the screen, his lips moving.

"What's the big idea, kid?" The government expert leaned over Frank, who pushed him aside without turning from the TV.

"Callie and I have a system for sending messages to each other across the classroom in school. We blink our eyelids."

"Blink?" Joe repeated. "What kind of messages?"

Frank's ears turned red, but he didn't look at his brother. "Not as important as this one." He read from the screen: "Frank. Only two on plane." He paused for a second. "Help."

Callie's voice went on, parroting how well the terrorists were treating them.

"Just two guys holding all those people," Joe said.

Callie's eyes blinked again. "Bomb real," Frank read. His hands clenched into fists.

As her speech finished, the camera pulled back from Callie. "I have something to add," the terrorist said, still standing behind her.

The camera switched to the masked face. With the black bag over his head, he looked almost laughable—except for the cold stare coming from behind the eyeholes.

"We have one further message for the government of the United States," he said. "We are fighting a war and are willing to die for our cause. We will also execute all enemies — man, woman, or child."

The camera pulled back to show that the terrorist had pointed the barrel of his Uzi at Callie's head.

"We regret this demonstration, but your government must be made aware of our seriousness ... " The man's hand tightened on Callie's shoulder as he aimed the gun.

"Oh no," Joe breathed.

"NO!" The cry was torn from Frank as he leaped at the set.

But even as he moved, the picture disappeared. The screen went blank.

ABOARD THE PLANE, Callie Shaw shut her eyes and struggled not to let her fear show on her face. These guys will never see me cry, she promised herself. And they won't see me beg.

Behind her, she heard the terrorist's voice. For once, it wasn't full of icy confidence. "What? What are you doing?" he cried, surprised.

Callie opened her eyes to see Pauline Fox standing beside her cameraman. "I turned off the camera," the newswoman said. "Our live feed is off — there are just blank screens out there now." Her voice shook as she glared at the terrorist. "I will not stand here and film a murder for you."

The gun muzzle at Callie's head quivered with the terrorist's annoyance. "You will show what we tell you to show."

"No," said Pauline Fox.

"You are a news broadcaster," said the gunman. "You are supposed to report the news." He gestured at Callie. "This is news."

"It's cold-blooded killing. And I won't play a part in it."

"We could get other news-people in here — " The terrorist's voice was cold and confident again.

"Not after what just went out," Pauline Fox retorted. "They know what you're up to. Nobody will give you live airtime."

The terrorist stood for a long moment, his gun still resting against Callie's temple. Then the cold metal left her head. "Into the other cabin," he ordered abruptly.

Professor Beemis and Mrs. Thayer hurriedly got to their feet, scuttling for the cabin door.

Callie turned back at the door to see that the gun was now aimed at Pauline Fox and her cameraman. "You too, Miss Fox."

A hand grabbed Callie by the hair, hauling her into the economy cabin of the plane. "Inside, you," a voice screamed in her ear.

She turned to look into the second hijacker's face, which was not protected by a mask. His dark eyes were level with hers as he dragged her along — he was only as tall as she was. But he had a wiry strength and a machine gun in his hand — she wouldn't argue with him.

The man's eyes burned like coals against the dark tan of his face, his coarse black hair dancing wildly as he pushed her down the aisle. The tan business suit he wore was now blotched with sweat stains at the back and under the arms. "Sit here," he shouted, thrusting her into an aisle seat.

Callie glanced around the semidarkened cabin. All the window shades were down, to keep the police from seeing what went on inside. The men on the plane had been put in the window seats. Some of them nursed bruises where the terrorists had hit them. "Neutralizing them," the gray-suited terrorist had called it. Breaking their spirit is more like it, Callie told herself. Showing them that two guys with guns can beat up a planeful of unarmed men.

Only women were now sitting in aisle seats. They figure women are too weak to attack them as they pass in the aisles, Callie realized. She watched the man's back. Maybe I'll have a chance to give them a nasty surprise.

The tan-suited terrorist walked up and down the aisle, his Uzi at the ready. He whirled around when the other terrorist entered the cabin — with Pauline Fox ahead of him. The cameraman had been locked in the cockpit.

"Calmly, Habib," said the gray-suited gunman as his comrade's gun snapped into firing position.

"Do not think this is his real name. We use false names."

"What is she doing here?" Habib yelled, anger thickening his accent. "Lars, I do not have my mask."

"It is necessary." Lars pulled his mask off too, revealing a pale face that looked as if it had been chiseled from ice. Handsome as that of a statue, and with about as much feeling. His eyes were like twin blue pebbles as he looked at his partner.

"Miss Fox will not cooperate in transmitting all of our message."

"That's Ms. Fox, and I won't — " The rest of Pauline Fox's words were cut off as Habib charged down the aisle and pointed his gun at her. The muzzle was only inches from her face.

"You will do this thing!" His voice was almost a scream.

Pauline Fox stood very still as she stared at the gun. Even though her face was pale, she shook her head. "No."

"I will kill you then!"

Then Callie called out, "You do that. And you can kiss goodbye any hopes of getting your precious message out."

Habib whirled around, ready to smash his gun into Callie's face. But the blue-eyed man reached over to grab the other's arm. "Why do you say that?" he asked Callie.

"The news-people won't give you a second on television if you kill a reporter."

The cold blue eyes narrowed, considering that fact. Then they turned and gave Pauline Fox an appraising look. "You are a brave woman to refuse us even after we have threatened you. So I will no longer threaten you. But what happens if I threaten someone else?"

Pauline glanced at Callie, but the gray-suited man shook his head. "I was thinking about your cameraman. We could execute him instead of Miss Shaw. It would not be a problem."

"But how can you shoot the cameraman?" Callie said. "Who'll run the camera?"

Lars gave her a chilly smile. "I know much about machinery—of all kinds. Running the videotape could be arranged." He looked at her. "Easily."

"But you'll have the same problem. Shoot me, shoot my cameraman, and you'll be like poison to any other news-people." Pauline Fox stared at the two terrorists. "They'll know you can't be trusted."

Lars pulled on his mask. When his face was hidden again, he spoke to Pauline. "Congratulations, Miss — no, Ms. Fox," he said. "You have won this time. There will be no execution. And your cameraman will be allowed to leave without harm."

Callie went limp with relief. Pauline took a long, deep breath and then moved toward the exit where the cameraman would be released.

But Lars barred her way.

"Unfortunately," he said, "I cannot let you leave. You know too much."

"You mean, how many—" Pauline said.

"How many of them there are." Callie cut her off. Oh, Frank, were you watching? Did you get my message?

Lars nodded. "I am afraid I cannot let you go off and tell your police. You will have to join the other hostages. I will inform your cameraman." He moved toward the cockpit.

Pauline Fox stared after him, dazed. In two seconds, she had gone from neutral observer to helpless pawn.

"Down! Sit!" The newswoman was shoved into the seat across the aisle from Callie.

Pauline stared around wildly. "What? How?"

"No talking!" The terrorist's voice rose in a screech. Pauline Fox took in the gun clutched in his hand, the venomous look in his eyes — and stayed silent. The man smiled in triumph and started patrolling the aisle again.

Pauline Fox slumped limply in her chair, arms wrapped around herself as if she were warding off a chill. Her usually perfect hair was askew, and her skin was gray.

Glancing around to make sure the gunman wouldn't see or hear her, Callie whispered, "Thanks. You saved my life. That was pretty brave."

"Brave? So were you." Pauline turned hopeless eyes toward Callie. "But I think I just traded my life for yours."

FRANK HARDY SLAMMED his hand down on top of the television set. "They can't stop it there! What happened to Callie?"

R. O'Neill, the government counterterrorist expert, and Professor Hayden glanced at each other. Then O'Neill asked, "You know the girl, huh?" He tried to soften his voice. "Well, we'll know soon enough."

"She slipped a message across!" Frank told them. "There are just two guys aboard the plane. Only two! The cops outnumber them a hundred to one. They should be able to sneak up on them — "

He stopped as he saw the disbelieving look on the government man's face. "A message, eh, kid?" O'Neill patted Frank on the shoulder. "Good work."

"You can see it," Frank went on desperately. "Get a videotape of that interview on the plane. The close-up of Callie. I'll show you the code we used."

"Sure, kid." O'Neill patted Frank's shoulder again, then started to walk away.

Frank grabbed his arm. "You've got to listen to me!"

The government man shook himself loose. But in a smooth move, Frank grabbed the guy's arm once again and sent him tumbling to the floor.

Joe jumped and put a restraining arm out to keep Frank from doing anything else. "I don't think you convinced him," Joe whispered in his brother's ear.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," Frank said to the man.

"You little twerp!" O'Neill growled, getting back to his feet. He looked ready to deck Frank, until a hand landed on his elbow. O'Neill's glare of annoyance turned to a look of shock. "You!"

The man restraining O'Neill looked perfectly ordinary. In fact, he looked almost too ordinary, from his rumpled suit to his slightly scuffed shoes. But looks could be deceiving. And it was obvious that O'Neill recognized him.

The Hardys knew him only by his code name, Gray Man. He was an agent of the ultrasecret government organization called the Network, and he sometimes acted as their contact man.