Twister (6 page)

Decision made. He altered the throttle setting and reduced the drag on the wings. He watched in satisfaction as the instruments before him showed a substantial increase in velocity, and then he manoeuvred the control stick to head towards the coordinates he wanted.

Not long now, he told himself calmly.

Just hold your nerve and it won't be long now.

Ben opened his eyes suddenly. There had been a lurch in the aircraft's movements, as though they had suddenly increased their speed. Angelo had clearly noticed it too: his face had gone from pale to ghostly white.

Further up the aisle, the voices of the group of people standing around Brad's body had grown louder. Ben stood up. 'Let's find out what's happening,' he said. 'See if anyone else has any bright ideas.' They stepped hurriedly into the aisle.

Two passengers, both men, were arguing. They were both tall and broad-shouldered, with bulging stomachs and American accents, though one was a good deal older than the other. They were both sweating profusely. 'He must have been in the hold,' the older man said. 'He
must
have been. How else could he get into the cockpit?'

'He can't have been,' the other one replied. 'The hold's depressurized. Takeoff would have killed him.'

'Not necessarily,' Ben interrupted, remembering something he'd learned at school. 'Aircraft holds are often pressurized. The only problem would have been the cold. It'll be freezing down there.'

The two men looked at him and blinked, as if surprised that someone as young as Ben might know more than them. 'Whatever, kid,' the younger man said dismissively. 'Bottom line is we're done for. This nutcase is taking the plane down, and we're going with him.'

The group fell silent. Some of them nodded their heads in agreement.

'So that's it, is it?' Ben demanded. 'We just sit here and let it happen?'

'None of us want to, son,' the older of the two men told him. 'But it doesn't look to us like we've got a whole load of options. Try and break through to the cockpit and we get shot; go through the hold and we freeze to death, and if we don't we still get shot.'

Ben looked at them each in turn, amazed that they seemed to have given up so quickly. 'But – we've got to do
something
,' he announced. 'If we're all going to die anyway, surely anything's worth a try.' He realized he was shouting slightly. 'Come on – better for one of us to get shot than for all of us to burn to death in some oil refinery!'

'Look, son,' the older man continued. 'You're scared, and that's OK. But unless you've got any better ideas, the best thing we can all do is keep calm.'

Better ideas? Ben took a deep breath and looked around. Everyone's eyes seemed to be on him now, and he sensed that they were all waiting for him to come up with something. As he looked around, his eyes fell on the damaged corpse of Angelo's bodyguard, lying motionless in a pool of his own blood.

The man had asked for better ideas, and Ben realized that he was talking to him again in a somewhat hysterical voice. 'So have you, son?
Have you?
'

Ben looked up at him and a whisper of a smile played across his lips.

'Actually,' he said quietly, stepping forward towards Brad's body, 'I have.'

Everyone went quiet, waiting for Ben to explain.

'Look,' he said, slightly breathlessly. 'The hijacker is obviously worried that we'll be able to break the door in if we try. That's why he shot Brad. So it's obvious, isn't it? Either we
do
break the door down, or we get him to open it himself.'

'But he's got a gun,' one of the group said, as though speaking to someone of below normal intelligence.

'Yeah, but Brad's got a bulletproof vest.'

'And that did him a lot of good,' the older man said, not hiding the scorn in his voice. 'Look, kid, if you haven't got anything sensible to add—' 'Wait,' Ben said impatiently. 'Think about it. If we barge the door again and the hijacker opens up to shoot, what part of the body is he going to go for?'

The group looked at each other, like a bunch of children in a classroom who weren't sure they knew the answer to a teacher's question. The voice that finally replied came from behind Ben.

'The head,' it said, clearly and confidently.

Ben spun round and he sensed everyone else in the group looking at this newcomer. The man standing behind them was tall and well tanned with dark, slicked-back hair. He looked South American maybe, and his accent was American too.

'Exactly,' Ben replied. 'So we need to remove the bulletproof vest and whoever barges the door has to hold it in front of their face.'

Another silence. A long one.

'You're mad,' a woman said, and there was a murmur of agreement.

Ben felt himself getting angry. 'Well, has anyone got any better ideas? Or shall we just sit around and wait to be blown up?'

More silence. And then the older man spoke. 'It's got to be worth a try,' he murmured.

'Yeah,' someone else agreed. 'It's not like we've got many options.'

'I think it's a very good idea,' the newcomer said firmly. He stepped forward and offered Ben his hand. 'My name's Danny.'

Ben shook his hand briefly. 'I'm Ben.'

'So who's going to perform this act of bravery then, Ben?'

None of the older people answered, but that was OK. Ben had it all worked out. 'It makes sense for the smallest person to do it,' he said. 'That way the bulletproof vest will cover more of their body when they hold it up.' He looked around. He was quite a bit smaller than all the other adults. 'I'll do it,' he said firmly.

'And what happens,' Danny asked, 'if we overcome the hijacker? Does anyone here know how to fly a plane?'

Again, silence.

'Well, actually,' Ben said quietly, 'I kind of do. I mean, not a real plane like this, but I've flown a microlight before. I reckon I can keep it steady at least, and if we can get radio contact with Miami, maybe they can talk me through it, guide us down.' He glanced at everyone. They were all looking at him expectantly. 'Come on,' Ben said brusquely. 'We need to roll Brad's body over, unstrap the vest.'

It was Danny who bent down to help him. The bodyguard was quite a weight, and they really had to put their back into turning him over. As they did so, Ben tried not to look at the messed-up remains of his head. Danny ripped Brad's shirt open. Sure enough, beneath the torn material was a thick black bulletproof vest. The buckles were tight – they hurt Ben's fingers as he grappled with them – but a minute or so later they had undone the vest and rolled Brad back over. Ben moved his arms out so that they could take it off more easily.

When he stood up, he had the bulletproof vest in his hands. He was just holding it up in front of his body when he heard Angelo speak.

'Ben,' the Italian boy said firmly. '
Dammelo
. Give it to me.'

Ben blinked.

'I mean it, Ben. I'm slightly smaller than you, and if this goes according to plan, you don't want to be fighting the hijacker when you should be getting to the controls of the cockpit. And anyway, this
should
be my job.'

'Why?' a woman's voice asked.

Angelo didn't reply. He just stared meaningfully at Ben, who nodded slowly and handed the vest over to Angelo.

'All right, Angelo,' he said softly. 'If that's what you want.'

The two of them turned to look at the cockpit door. Ben couldn't help noticing that everyone had got out of their way and had retreated to the safety of their seats. Only Danny was standing with them.

Ben took a deep breath. Now was the time. The safety of everyone on the plane was up to them.

The two striker aircraft – Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning IIs – had taken off from Key West Naval Air Station within minutes of the Code Red being raised. They roared from their island base out over the sea before making a sharp turn and heading through the clear sky up towards their target. Each of the aircraft carried easily enough weaponry to take down a civilian plane in mid-air, and both of them were flown by experienced pilots. Pilots who had been in war zones. Pilots who weren't afraid to carry out difficult orders if the chain of command made them.

The two F-35s appeared immediately on Jack Simpson's air-traffic control screen. These military aircraft were a different colour to the civilian planes that filled his screen. They moved faster too. Much faster. It was difficult to estimate these things, but Jack reckoned it wouldn't be more than ten minutes before they caught up with the rogue plane. What happened then would be anyone's guess. He felt his sweat seeping through all the pores of his skin as he tried to keep tabs on all the other air traffic and do his bit to guide them in safely. But it wasn't easy to concentrate when things were going so wrong up there. He wanted to close his eyes and pray for the poor passengers on the plane whose lives were hanging by a thread. But closing his eyes wouldn't have been sensible at all.

'Weird kind of day,' Jack's colleague observed. The guy's voice was tense.

'You can say that again,' Jack replied.

A pause as they both looked at their screens.

'They're calling it Hurricane Jasmine,' Jack's colleague continued.

'Pretty name,' Jack said.

'Not such a pretty storm.'

A voice shouted in the background. 'Listen up, everyone. All Florida airports to be closed to incoming traffic. Hurricane's moving quickly and unpredictably. Divert everything up north to Atlanta or Cincinnati.'

Jack's colleague snorted. 'Wouldn't mind being diverted up north myself. It's looking nasty out there.'

'We're safe here, aren't we?' Jack asked.

'Should be. Hurricane should pass to the west of here. Thing's got a mind of its own, though, so don't take my word for it.'

But Jack wasn't paying attention to him any more. He was staring again at the two striker planes moving inexorably towards the civilian aircraft.

It was just a communications failure, he told himself. Just that. Jack ignored the fact that the plane had changed course and increased its velocity. That was just a blip, surely. Maybe the pilot had been spooked by the approaching hurricane. Jack knew he would be.

But if the aircraft had maintained its original course, it would have landed well before the hurricane hit.

He put all those thoughts from his head. Any second, the radio frequency would burst into life and the military aircraft could pull away.

It was all going to be OK. Surely it was.

The bulletproof vest, opened up and held sideways, covered Angelo's head, his body and the top part of his legs.

'You ready?' Ben asked tersely.

'Ready,' Angelo replied. He was staring straight ahead of him and chewing his lower lip.

'OK,' Ben said. 'Listen carefully. I'm going to stand right behind you. We'll approach the door together and when we're there, you need to start kicking on it. Do it as hard as you can – it's really got to sound like we're trying to break the door down if we're going to persuade the hijacker to do something about it.'

Angelo nodded mutely.

'The plane's going to nosedive again the moment he lets go of the controls,' Ben continued. 'You need to be ready for it. Whatever you do, and whatever happens, you need to keep your head covered, OK?'

'OK.'

'I'll tell you when the door opens. Soon as it does, we charge him. If we get the right element of surprise, we might be able to knock him down before he even fires.'

Angelo turned to Ben and smiled weakly. 'Nothing like being optimistic,' he said.

Ben grinned. 'I find it works for me,' he replied. 'Come on, let's go.'

There was absolute silence in the cabin as Ben and Angelo stepped forward. Ben could sense Angelo's anxiety, which only made the nerves he himself was feeling ten times worse. His hands were shaking and he couldn't get rid of the horrible sensation that he was only moments away from his own death.

'Good luck, Ben,' Angelo murmured.

'You too,' he whispered back. 'OK. Go for it!'

BANG! Angelo kicked the cockpit door with all his strength. He did it once, twice, a third time. The door rattled slightly.

'Keep going!' Ben told him. 'Keep kicking the door!'

Angelo's kicks became regular. As they continued, Ben noticed that his Italian friend had inadvertently lowered the bulletproof vest. The top of his head was peeking out above it. From behind, he yanked Angelo's arms. 'Keep it up,' he hissed. 'Keep the vest up.'

Angelo covered his face again. But as he did, the plane dipped.

Everyone in the cabin screamed again. Everyone, that is, except Ben and Angelo. They were expecting it, and they knew what it meant. 'He's coming!' Ben shouted. They both fell against the cockpit door, which suddenly opened.

It all happened so quickly. Ben heard the sound of the bullets this time as he was close to the suppressed weapon. They thudded into the bulletproof vest, ripping the material but not going any further. As the shots were fired, the two of them fell straight into the cockpit and onto the body of the hijacker. The three of them smashed against the instrument panel, and Ben heard the crunch of broken glass as they did so. The plane started screaming. Through the windscreen of the cockpit, Ben could see the sickening sight of the sea, far below but approaching at a forty-five degree angle.

They were going down.

'I've got him!' Angelo yelled, his voice thick with panic. 'Get the controls, Ben.
Get the controls!
'

Ben looked around him. There was someone else in the cockpit and in the confusion he realized it was Danny. The man was helping Angelo restrain the hijacker, whose arms were flailing and who was shouting out in a foreign language Ben didn't recognize. Just to his right was the control stick, vibrating and juddering. It took all Ben's strength to fight against the G-force of the plane, but he just managed to get his fingertips round the stick and push himself into the pilot's seat. With all his might he pulled on the control stick, straining his muscles against the force that was urging the plane downwards.

Behind him, shrieks of terror came from the cabin. '
The controls, Ben!
' Danny was still shouting. '
Get them!
'

'I'm trying, all right!' Ben yelled back, but he wasn't sure if anyone would have heard him over the earsplitting sound of the engines. He gritted his teeth and pulled the control stick as hard as he could. '
I'm . . . trying
. . .
' he roared.