Twister (5 page)

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, though. 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.'

The hijacker's voice was flat and emotionless now. Ben thought he could sense a tone of determination. In the cabin, the silence had turned into a hum of curious voices. There was still an atmosphere of thick fear, but the hijacker had certainly got their attention. Ben turned to Angelo. His Italian friend's face was expressionless as he continued to listen to the words coming over the intercom.

'I myself witnessed a father carrying the body of his daughter out of their house. She was killed by the machines of the men who thoughtlessly ravaged our island in their search for oil. The world did not hear about the little girl's death, but what we will do today will set that right. Today we will avenge the death of an innocent. Today my people will stand up to the invaders.'

As he spoke, the hijacker's expressionless voice became almost excited. Ben didn't know what their enemy looked like, but in his head he pictured a face that was beaming fanatically.

'We are headed towards the southern tip of Florida,' the hijacker continued, his voice slightly calmer now. 'The oil company that did us this injustice owns a large refinery there. This plane will act like a noble bullet. When it crashes into the refinery, the whole world will learn of the evils of the men who kill our children.'

It was the word 'crash' that did it, that sent the panic of the cabin into overdrive. Ben's ears were filled once more with the sound of people screaming, and he didn't blame them. He felt like screaming too. A deathly chill was running through his veins and it was all he could do to stop himself from collapsing, sick with fear. He grabbed onto the back of the nearest seat.

'I estimate that we are half an hour away from our target.' Ben had to strain now to hear the hijacker's voice above the noise of the cabin. 'I do not intend to speak to you again, but I suggest you use the time to consider the evils the Western world has inflicted upon us, and the part you have played in it.'

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the crackle of the intercom disappeared.

The air-traffic control tower of Miami International Airport throbbed with activity.

The hurricane in the Caribbean Sea had come from nowhere and it was moving fast – a freak of nature that was as unpredictable as it was unexpected. Already it had hit the Cayman Islands, leaving a trail of unbelievable devastation in its wake, and they'd nearly lost a 747 that had strayed too close to the headwinds. All the controllers in the control tower had sweat on their brows as they stared at their bank of computer screens, intently watching the flight paths of the planes that were being diverted round the area. Each aircraft on the screen was accompanied by a string of information – the flight number, the type of plane, its altitude and direction. It was a lot to take in, and you needed your wits about you.

Jack Simpson was twenty-five years old and he hadn't been in the job long. Not long enough to feel entirely confident. But as he spoke to the pilots he was guiding into the area, he did his best not to let any nervousness show in his voice. He knew that was the last thing pilots wanted to hear, especially in a difficult, high-traffic situation like this. And so he kept his voice calm as five passenger jets circled in a holding pattern to the east of Miami, and a good many more approached across his screen.

'Hurricane's heading north!' he heard someone in the room shout. There was a murmur among everyone there. They all knew what that meant: it was heading their way. Jack did his best not to think about his mother, living alone in a retirement village on the coast. She'd been battered by enough high winds in the past few years. If this one didn't break up before it hit land, she'd be battered by another. Jack wasn't sure she had it in her. He winced as he tried to put that thought from his head. He had to concentrate on the job in hand, and that job was to make sure these planes landed safely.

As Jack stared at the screen, however, something caught his attention. A flashing light on the screen – one of the aircraft. His eyebrows crumpled as he looked at it: the plane seemed to be losing height. And fast.

'You see that, Jack?' his colleague sitting next to him asked tensely.

'Yeah,' Jack replied. 'I see it.'

And then, suddenly, the aircraft appeared to stop losing height and to start climbing again.

The two air-traffic controllers glanced at each other, worried looks on their faces. 'Better make contact,' Jack said, and his colleague nodded.

Jack checked the flight number of the aircraft – GXR1689 from Grand Cayman to Miami International – and the frequency of its communication system. Within seconds he was trying to get through to the plane's pilot.

'Flight GXR1689, this is Miami International. Do you read me? Over.'

Jack waited for a reply. There was none. Just an empty crackle. He cast his colleague another worried look. 'Flight GXR1689, this is Miami International. Do you read me? Over.'

Nothing.

Jack took a deep breath. Total radio silence from an approaching civilian aircraft. This was the sort of thing that only happened in training exercises. But this was no exercise. Something was going on with this plane. It could be in trouble. Or it could be about to
cause
trouble. Either way, if there was no response from the cockpit, there was only one course of action.

Jack knew what to do. He knew he had to raise the alarm.

He picked up a telephone handset. 'Inform the Department of Homeland Security,' he said curtly. 'We've got a Code Red.'

Ben felt like he was frozen to the spot. The sight of the bodyguard's dead body did not affect him now; all the emotions he might have felt had been replaced with blind dread. It took a supreme effort for him to turn to look at Angelo. When he did, he received quite a shock. His friend's tortured face spoke of a million different emotions, none of them good. Between gritted teeth, the Italian boy spoke. '
Ben
,' he hissed. '
I need to talk to you. Now!
'

Ben nodded. The two of them headed back to their seats, fighting their way through a scramble of people trying to look at Brad's corpse. Once they were sitting down again, Angelo spoke in a hushed, urgent whisper.

'I told you,' he said. 'I told you it was my fault.'

Ben looked at him in confusion. 'Your fault? What do you mean, it's your fault?'

'My father,' Angelo insisted. 'The oil refinery the hijacker was talking about – my father owns it. That's why they have chosen this plane.'

Ben stared at his friend. 'You know what?' he breathed. 'This is turning into a really bad day.' He took a deep breath and furrowed his brow. 'But it still doesn't make sense. How did they know you'd be on this flight?'

Angelo shrugged impatiently. '
Non so
. I don't know. How does anyone know anything?' he demanded. 'Maybe they have been watching me. Following me.'

'Or maybe,' Ben replied slowly, 'it's just a coincidence.'

Angelo snorted. 'Some coincidence. But listen, you can't tell anyone, OK? If the people on the plane find out, who knows what they'll do to me?'

Ben nodded. Angelo was right. The people around them were panicking. The chances of them acting rationally and sensibly were small.

He glanced up the aisle to where a small group had congregated around Brad's dead body. They seemed to be arguing about something. Ben turned back to Angelo. 'To be honest,' he said, 'if we don't do something quick, it's not going to matter
who
your dad is – we're all going to be history in half an hour anyway.'

'But what can we do?' Angelo asked in panic, his voice wavering. 'He's got a gun . . . he's locked in there . . . he's—'

'
Calm down, Angelo!
' Ben hissed. 'Just calm down, all right? Let me think.'

Ben fell silent and tried to work his way through their options. It didn't help that Angelo was looking at him, his eyes wide with terror and his body shaking. And it didn't help, either, that Ben's mind didn't want to work. It was frozen by fear.

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

There had to be a way out of this.

There
had
to be.

'Flight GXR1689, this is Miami International. Do you read me? Over.'

The hijacker stared at the radio. His lip curled. For a brief moment he thought about answering the call, but he quickly decided not to.

'Flight GXR1689, this is Miami International. Do you read me? Over.'

He stared resolutely at the instruments in front of him. Inwardly, he cursed. He had hoped to be able to get closer to the target before they contacted him. Now the alert would have been raised. There was a good chance that the military would be called in, and that before long he'd have US attack planes flying alongside him. The moment he started going off course, and if they couldn't identify the nature of the threat, they'd shoot him down. But maybe, just maybe, if he increased his airspeed and headed straight for the refinery now, he'd have a chance.