Page 110 of Protected from Reprisal
I almost laugh at her scolding tone. Like she’s a librarian shushing a noisy patron instead of confronting a man who just threatened to blow up the plane.
The hijacker turns to her. “Shut up,” he spits. “Or you’ll be the first to die.”
One of the flight attendants—a young blonde wearing sparkly reindeer antlers on a headband—protests, “Sir. Please. Just tell us what you want, and we’ll get it for you.”
He spins and aims his weapon at her. “Shut. Up.”
She cringes. Whimpers. Then she sinks into the nearest empty seat.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the man continues in a slightly calmer tone. “You—” he points his gun at another flight attendant, who’s vainly trying to hide behind the drink cart. “Stand up. Now.”
She doesn’t move. She’s probably too scared to.
“Stand up!” he yells.
Several people bleat in fear. One man shouts, “Stand up! Before you get us all killed!”
Ace narrows an angry glare at the shouting man, and I can’t say I blame him. What kind of man would encourage a poor, helpless flight attendant to risk her life instead of him?
A coward, obviously.
The flight attendant slowly stands. She’s pale and shaking. Her makeup is streaked with tears. “What…” she stammers. “What…”
“You,” the hijacker orders, gesturing with his gun, “are going to get me into the cockpit.”
She shakes her head. “He won’t let you in. It’s policy. If?—”
“You. Will. Get. Me. Into. The. Cockpit!”
Ace glances at me. He doesn’t have to say anything. I know what he’s thinking.
We have to do something.
Or, more likely, he’s thinkinghehas to do something. Because he won’t want me involved. But that’s not happening. No way. Whatever Ace does, I’m right there with him.
“If you don’t do what I say,” the hijacker adds. He pauses, and his lips draw back in a malicious grin. “I’ll start the bomb.” Another pause. “In fact.” He presses a button on the vest. “I’ve started the timer. Five minutes. If you don’t get me in there, I’ll let it go off.”
The poor mother, who so patiently explained about air pockets and bubbles, lets out an agonized cry.
My heart aches for her.
They’re supposed to be going to Gran and Gramps’ for Christmas. Not fearing for their lives.
To Ace, I whisper, “We have to do something.”
Ace gives a slight nod. “I know,” he murmurs. “I don’t see an air marshal. And I don’t think it would help with the bomb, even if there is one.”
The unspoken part of his statement is,hecould defuse the bomb.
Do I want Ace even close to an active bomb? No.
Does it look like we have a choice? Not really.
As the reality of our situation sinks in, fear threatens to overwhelm me. I can feel the panic edging in, trying to take over.
But I won’t let it.
Not when Ace needs me. When the survival of everyone on the plane relies on this playing out perfectly.
