Big trouble

thirteen

The security personnel had heard Eliot running down the concourse toward them, shouting for the police. They were looking his way, and as he approached the checkpoint, they recognized him as one of the perpetrators who had violated their scanning procedures a few minutes earlier.

"STOP HIM!" shouted the rotund man, pointing at Eliot.

"STOP HIM!" echoed the X-ray woman, the stern conveyor-belt woman, and the other checkpoint personnel. "STOP HIM!"

As Eliot veered to his right toward the checkpoint exit, three young men, on their way home to Pittsburgh after a week in South Beach, jumped in front of him. All three of them lifted weights regularly, focusing especially on biceps development. All three were wearing tank tops. They always wore tank tops, unless the ambient temperature dropped below forty degrees.

"Out of the way!" shouted Eliot, trying to push past the biceps men. "I need to find a police officer."

"GET HIM!" shouted the rotund security man. One of the biceps men grabbed Eliot by the arm. "Hold it, buddy," he said. "Listen," said Eliot, fighting to sound calm. "I need to find a cop now. There's a man shooting back there." He yanked his arm free.

"HOLD HIM THERE!" shouted the rotund man. The biceps men were inclined to follow orders from the rotund man, because he was wearing an official blazer. All three of them grabbed Eliot.

"NO!" Eliot shouted, struggling. "I HAVE TO GET ooof."

Eliot's breath was knocked out of him as he went down hard onto the carpet, with the three biceps men on top of him. They had been knocked over by Anna, who had hit the struggling huddle running and was now pounding one of the biceps men on the back of the head.

"Let him GO, you idiots!" she shouted. "He's trying to get help!"

"GRAB HER!" shouted the rotund man. "SHE'S ONE OF THEM!"

One of the biceps men threw a hard elbow that caught Anna in the gut and sent her rolling off the pile, moaning. The other two each had one of Eliot's arms and were pressing him hard, face-first, to the floor. Eliot could no longer open his mouth to yell, and his right arm felt as though it were coming out of its socket. Knowing it was hopeless, he gave one last, desperate heave, and…

… and one of the biceps men was gone. And then another one. Eliot rolled to his right and saw the third biceps man flying through the air, hitting the concourse wall, and landing next to the other two.

The thrower was Puggy, who had never lifted a weight in his life, but had always had a knack for picking up heavy objects. He reached down — he did not have to reach far — and raised Eliot easily to his feet. Nina was helping Anna, who was still gasping for air.

"SOMEBODY GRAB THEM!" shouted the rotund man, not making any moves in their direction personally.

"We gotta get outta here," Eliot said to Anna, who nodded I'm OK and waved him forward. The four of them, Eliot in the lead, ran out of the checkpoint area and turned right. A couple of security people trailed behind, still shouting for somebody to stop them. As he ran, Eliot frantically scanned the gawking crowd; where the hell were the cops?

When Greer, Seitz, and Baker reached the Air Impact! counter, it was abandoned; there were no more flights that night, and Sheila had gone home to her sick child.

"Now what?" asked Baker.

Greer was looking at the Air Impact! schedule on the wall behind the counter.

"I'm thinkin' we go to the gate," he said. "Find whoever loaded the plane, find out who was on it."

"This way," said Seitz.

Flight 2038 was crossing Miami Beach now, the vast glowing blob of Dade County behind it, the blackness of the Atlantic ahead, dotted with the lights of a few seemingly motionless northbound freighters out in the Gulf Stream shipping lanes. Justin was feeling very lonely. Next to him, Frank was catatonic with fear. Immediately behind him, the postal-retiree couples were huddled in their seats, both women sobbing, both men staring at the floor. Behind them, the maniac was still standing in the aisle, holding the gun, watching. He had spoken to Justin only once, shouting over the noise of the plane.

"Two things, zitface," he'd said. "You touch that radio, you're dead. This plane don't come down in the fuckin' Bahamas, you're dead."

Justin knew the guy would be crazy to shoot him, because then who would fly the plane? But he also knew that the guy was crazy, because why else would he be doing this?

Adding to Justin's discomfort was a nagging alarm, beeping in his ear, telling him that the rear door was open. The door, and the hanging stairs, were making the plane handle weird. Justin was worried about the landing in Freeport. If they made it to Freeport.

Please, he thought — although he was not sure to whom he was beaming the thought — please send some help.

The two F-16s had used rockets to accelerate their takeoff from Homestead Air Reserve Base in South Dade County. The instant they were airborne, they turned sharply toward the northeast, and in under a minute, they were approaching the speed of sound, closing on the civilian plane over Miami Beach as though it were moving no faster than the freighters out in the Gulf Stream. The fighter pilots' orders were to stay behind and above the civilian plane, out of sight but nearby. They were not to arm their missiles. Yet.

As Greet, Seitz, and Baker trotted through the crowd, they saw a man in shorts and T-shirt running in their direction, looking upset.

"POLICE!" the man shouted.

Greer and Seitz ignored him; whatever this guy's problem was, they weren't interested. But Baker stared at the man's face. He'd seen this guy, but he couldn't remember where. Then he saw the woman running behind the upset man, and it clicked.

"Mrs. Herk!" he shouted. The man and woman both stopped, looked at him.

"I'm Detective Baker," he said, "Miami PD."

"Oh, thank God!" Anna said, grabbing Baker's arm. "You have to…»

"Hold it," said Baker. He shouted ahead to Greer and Seitz, who were disappearing in the crowd ahead, "Agent Greer! Back here!"

Greer turned and trotted back, impatient. "What?" he said.

"This is Mrs. Herk," said Baker. "It was her house. Where the suitcase was."

In an instant, Greer had his hand on Anna's arm.

"Mrs. Greer," he said, "I'm with the FBI. I need you to…»

"My daughter," said Anna. "She's in the plane with that man, and he shot at us, and you have to…»

"Listen, Mrs. Herk," said Greer, now gripping her arms with both his hands. "We're concerned about your daughter, but we have to know, where is that metal suitcase now?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "They had it, they took it when they left the house…»

"Is it on the plane?" asked Greer. "Did they take the metal suitcase on the plane?"

"I don't know," said Anna, starting to cry. "I don't know about the suitcase."

"Mrs. Herk," said Greer, shaking her, "you have to…»

Eliot pulled Anna away and stepped right in front of Greer. Their noses were a half inch apart.

"She says she doesn't know where the goddamn suitcase is, OK?" Eliot said. "She wants her daughter. She doesn't care about your fucking suitcase."

"Who're you?" asked Greer.

"I'm her friend," said Eliot.

"Well, friend," said Greer, "if you want to help her daughter, you better care about the fucking suitcase."

"She wasn't with the suitcase," said Eliot. "She was with me. This guy was with the suitcase." Eliot pointed to Puggy, who had just trotted up.

Greer turned to Puggy.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"Puggy," said Puggy.

"You were with the suitcase?" asked Greer. "A metal suitcase? You saw it?"

"I carried it," said Puggy. "It's heavy."

"You carried it?" asked Greer. "Where?»

"To the plane," said Puggy.

"It's on the plane?"

"Yeah," said Puggy.

Greer thought for a second, then said, "Did anybody open the suitcase?"

"Over there," said Puggy, pointing toward the security checkpoint.

"They opened it there?" asked Greer.

"Yeah," said Puggy. "They made him turn it on."

Greer's face went pale.

"How did he turn it on?" he asked.

"There was these, like, switches, that he… " Puggy made a hand motion, flipping up imaginary switches.

"Then what happened?" asked Greer. "Did anything happen when he did that?"

"Lights," said Puggy. "Little numbers."

Greer glanced at Seitz and Baker, who were both listening. Seitz's face was blank. Baker looked sick.

Greer looked back at Puggy. "When did this happen?" he asked. "How long ago did he turn it on?"

Puggy thought about it.

"It's been a while now," he said.

Monica's legs ached from crouching in the tiny space allotted for legroom in front of the seat. She was trying to think, but it was hard with the horrendous roar of wind and engines coming through the open door.

Twice, very carefully, she'd moved her head just enough to look around the seat in front of her toward the front of the plane. Both times, Snake was facing forward. Once she'd heard him say something to the pilot, but she couldn't make out what it was.

From time to time, she made eye contact with Matt, crouching across the aisle. She tried to look confident, but she definitely didn't feel confident. She had no plan. The only thing she'd thought of was to jump Snake from behind, but he'd almost certainly fire his gun, and there were passengers — Monica didn't know how many — in front of him. And of course the pilots. If he shot them, everybody would die. On the other hand, if she didn't try to grab him, he might kill everybody anyway. He was definitely crazy.

Monica looked over at Matt, gave him another confident expression. He stared back. He was clearly scared.

Monica thought, He's right.

Greer was standing at the edge of the main concourse traffic, next to an abandoned airline counter, talking into his special phone. Seitz and Baker were next to him. A few feet away were Eliot, who had his arm around Anna, and Puggy, who was holding hands with Nina.

"Still nothing from the pilot?" Greer said to the phone. "OK, and his location is… OK. How about Homestead? They're… right, OK, good." Greer looked at his watch. "Right, that's affirmative."

"I don't understand," Anna said to Baker. "Why aren't you going out to the plane? Why aren't there police out there?"

"Mrs. Herk," said Baker, "the plane took off."

"Oh my God," she said, putting her hand to her face. Eliot hugged her tight, imagining how awful he'd feel if Matt were in that plane.

"But they're tracking it," said Baker. "They have it on radar. That's what he's talking to them about now."

"So what happens?" asked Eliot. "When the plane lands, they arrest him?"

Baker looked at Seitz.

Seitz said, "They'll do whatever it takes."

The noise was driving Snake crazy. He decided to try to close the door. Facing the cockpit, he walked backward slowly toward the rear of the plane.

Baker pulled Seitz aside, close to where Greer was talking on the special phone.

"What do you mean, 'Whatever it takes'?" asked Baker.

"Just what I said."

Baker stared at Seitz. A few feet away, Greer was saying, "Has that been cleared? Can I talk to… Sorry, I didn't realize. Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Yes, sir, they've acquired it."

"Who's acquired what?" Baker asked Seitz.

"Keep it down," said Seitz, nodding toward Anna.

"It's fighter jets, isn't it?" said Baker, his voice low. "From Homestead. You're gonna shoot this plane down, aren't you?"

Seitz said, "Whatever it takes."

Snake was backing slowly toward the rear of the plane, keeping his eye on the pilot. He was now even with the third row from the last. And now he was even with the second from the last. One more step, and he'd be right next to Monica and Matt; he'd see them for sure. Monica saw she was going to have no choice.

"We got no choice," said Greer. Baker was right in his face. They were talking quietly, so Anna and Eliot couldn't hear.

"There are innocent people on that plane," said Baker. "This woman's daughter is on there."

"With a nuclear weapon that's gonna go off," said Greer. "If it goes off in Freeport, many innocent people die, you understand? Many. We have to get it now."

A man wearing an official Greg Norman golf shirt, official Greg Norman hat, and official Greg Norman slacks tapped Baker on the shoulder. He tapped several times before Baker turned to him.

"What?" Baker said.

"Which way is Northwest Airlines?" the man asked.

"I don't know," Baker said. He turned back to Greer. "Can't you signal to them somehow?" he asked. "Tell them to…»

The man tapped Baker's shoulder again, and said, "Is there some kind of…»

"NOT NOW," Baker said.

"Well, you don't have to shout," the man said. He went back over to his wife, who was wearing a muumuu the size of a wedding tent, to tell her how rude this jerk was.

"Can't you tell 'em the situation?" Baker said to Greer. 'Tell 'em throw the suitcase out of the plane?"

"We tried," said Greer. "We're still trying. Pilot doesn't respond."

"But how can you just… " Baker held up his hands, let them drop.

"We have to," Greer said. "We fucking have to, that's how. Listen, nobody likes this. Nobody wants this. But this has been discussed, believe me, as high as it can be, every scenario, and this is the only way outta this."

Baker looked over at Anna. She was watching him and Greer, the representatives of Law and Order, waiting for them to tell her that her daughter was OK. Baker looked back at Greer.

"When does this happen?" he asked.

"When the plane's over the middle of the Gulf Stream," said Greer. "Over deep water."

"How long is that?" Baker asked.

Greer looked at his watch.

"Three minutes," he said.

Snake had stopped one row in front of where Monica crouched. She could see the back of his legs; he still hadn't turned. He was yelling something Monica couldn't quite hear to die pilot, something about the radio.

Monica looked across the aisle at Matt, nodded her head toward Snake, and made a grabbing gesture with both hands, to indicate, We're gonna jump him. Matt nodded. Monica held her right hand out with the forefinger and middle finger pointed down, like legs, then tapped upward between the legs with the forefinger of her left hand, to indicate Kick him in the balls. Matt puzzled over that one for a moment, then got it and nodded again. The thought flashed through Monica's mind, just for an instant, that Matt was a lot quicker on the uptake than her partner, Walter.

The F-16s carried both the AIM-9M heat-seeking missile, known as the "Sidewinder," and the AIM-120 AMRAAM, or advanced medium-range air-to-air missile, which is radar-guided. Because they were at close range, and because Flight 2038 had turboprop engines that generated enough heat, the pilots had elected to go with the Sidewinders. They radioed this decision in and were told to go ahead and arm.

Snake took another step back. He was right next to Monica and turning to his left, toward the door, which meant his gun was turning toward Matt. Monica came up out of her crouch and grabbed for his right arm, the one with the gun in it. She gripped it for an instant, but then a cramp sent a vicious jolt of pain through her right hamstring, buckling her leg. As she fell sideways, Snake shook off her arm and whirled, pulling the trigger. Monica's body jerked violently backward into the window, then crumpled to the floor. There was a softball-sized hole in the window, its edges spattered with blood.

As she went down, Matt came up, wrapping his arms around Snake, trying to pin him; but Snake was stronger, and he twisted quickly back to his left inside Mart's arms, whipping the gun around hard into the side of Mart's head. Matt lurched to his right and went down onto the plane seat.

In the front of the plane, the postal retirees had gone to the floor at the sound of the gunshot, as had Frank the copilot. Justin had turned around and seen that the maniac was fighting somebody — Justin had no idea who it was — back there. Timing forward again, Justin quickly reached for his radio headset.

"Yes," said Greer, into his special phone. He was looking at his watch. "That's affirmative. I repeat, affirmative. When you're ready."

Snake was furious. The cop bitch and the punk! How the fuck did they get here? He looked down at the bitch; her eyes were open, but he couldn't tell if she was seeing anything. He turned back toward the punk, who was groaning, moving a little. Definitely alive. Not for long, punk.

Greer had his ear pressed tight to the special phone. "What?" he said, his voice rising. "What'd he say?"

"What?" asked Baker, pressing close to Greer. "What?"

"They heard from the pilot," said Greer. "He's… hold it." He listened on the phone. "OK," he said, looking at his watch. "Ask him is the suitcase on the airplane. Got that? Ask him can he get the suitcase off the airplane right now." He looked at his watch. Shit.

Snake raised the gun, aimed it at Matt's head.

"Snake!" a voice shouted. Snake jerked his head right. It was Eddie, standing in the aisle.

Snake, still aiming the gun at Matt, shouted, "The fuck you want?"

"Snake, Jesus," shouted Eddie, pointing down at Monica. "You shot a cop."

"That's right," shouted Snake. "Now I'm gonna shoot this punk."

"Snake," shouted Eddie, "You're fuckin' crazy. I don't wa…»

Snake grabbed Eddie by the shirt, yanked him hard, pivoting and hurling him past Matt against the wall in the rear of the plane. Eddie's back hit the wall and slumped to the floor next to the suitcase.

"DON'T CALL ME CRAZY," shouted Snake.

"Snake," shouted Eddie, "When we land, I ain't goin' with you."

Snake fired the gun. Eddie screamed and rolled sideways, grabbing his thigh.

"That's right," shouted Snake. "You ain't goin' with me." He turned back toward Matt, raising the gun.

Jenny landed on Snake chest high, wrapping her legs around his waist, grabbing his hair with one hand and furiously clawing at his eyes with the other. He raised his left hand to shove her off and she bit into it, her teeth sinking in to the bone.

The F-16s were directly behind the target, in textbook firing position. The target was slow and taking no evasive measures. There was essentially zero chance the Sidewinders would miss.

Snake screamed and yanked his bleeding hand away from Jenny's mouth. He brought his other hand up hard, hitting Jenny with the gun barrel under her jaw. Her head snapped back and she dropped off of him, into the aisle.

"You fuckin' BITCH," he screamed, kicking at her. "I'm gonna KILL YOU, YOU FUCKIN' BITCH." Jenny, on her back, tried to scrabble away up the aisle.

"YOU AIN'T GETTTN' AWAY, BITCH," screamed Snake, raising the gun.

Then he heard it, over the plane noise, a thump behind him. He spun and looked. Eddie, blood spreading quickly over his thigh, had managed to shove the suitcase against the lower lip of the open doorway. His eyes closed, his teeth gritted, he was pushing it over the lip. It was leaning out now, into the shrieking wind.

"NO!" screamed Snake. He dove to the back of the plane. As he got there, Eddie gave the suitcase a last desperate shove, toppling it slowly over the lip. Kicking Eddie aside, Snake leaned out of the doorway and grabbed for the suitcase handle with his left hand. He caught the handle, and he almost got the suitcase pulled back. But he'd leaned forward a little too far, and the weight of the suitcase was a little too much. Snake felt it pulling him out of the plane. He grabbed for the side of the door with his right, but he still had the gun in that hand, and he couldn't get a good grip. If he'd have let go of the suitcase, he could have grabbed the stairs, could have stayed on the plane and saved himself. But he wanted that suitcase; that was his kingpin suitcase. Snake held on to it as it bounced down to the bottom of the hanging stairs, then off the last stair, dragging Snake along, into the rushing black nothingness, over the vast black ocean.

Justin heard the bumps and felt the sudden weight change at the back of the plane. He looked back where the maniac had been, where the suitcase had been. He began shouting into his headset microphone.

Greer was shouting into the special phone, now, causing airline passengers to stop on the concourse and stare at him.

"ABORT ABORT ABORT," he shouted. "DO YOU HEAR ME? ABORT ABORT ABORT."

Snake was falling, falling. He was very afraid, but he was still thinking clearly. He had not let go of the suitcase. He would not let go of the suitcase. This was his kingpin suitcase. He would hold on to it for the rest of his life.