Twister

Chapter Two

'They are on flight GXR1689 bound for Miami, leaving from Gate 3.'

'You are sure?' The man ran his finger gently down the scar on the side of his face as he spoke — a habit of his.

'They will be boarding any minute.' The two men on either side of the telephone conversation were not speaking English, but some other language.

'And will you be on the flight with them?' the scarred man demanded quietly.

'I have the last seat.'

'Good. We are lucky. This storm was not expected. Let us hope that bringing our plans forward at the last minute does not ruin them.'

'You are nearby? You will be able to board the plane unnoticed?'

'I think so.' He continued to stroke his scar. 'But if I am unsuccessful, I wish you luck with our backup plan. Remember, we do this for the good of our people. Do not be scared.'

'I'm not scared. If death comes, I will embrace it.'

'As will I.'

The man pressed a button on his mobile phone and hung up.

He was not a big man, but he was stocky and strong. The scar down the left-hand side of his face was angry and red, and at that exact moment he stood at the edge of Grand Cayman airport, only metres away from an aircraft hangar. The sea was behind him. He had already cut a hole in the wire perimeter fence and he lost no time in clambering through it. He ran quickly to the hangar, then skirted around the outside until he found the entrance. It was there that he discovered what he was looking for: a member of the airport staff dressed in the regulation short-sleeved khaki uniform. He stepped into the worker's field of vision, then disappeared again behind the hangar.

'Hey!' the worker called. 'What are you doing there?' He followed the man suspiciously.

That was his big mistake.

It only took the man one blow on the back of the worker's neck to knock him unconscious, and as soon as the victim hit the ground he started to remove his clothes. They didn't fit him that well, but they would do. In under a minute he was indistinguishable from any of the other airport workers on site, other than the fact that he carried a small rucksack full of essential items. Essential to him, at least.

It was not a big airfield, and he could see Gate 3 less than 100 metres away. A small twin-propeller aircraft of the kind used for short hops was waiting there, its luggage being loaded. It was an old-fashioned-looking plane that had clearly been hauled into service to get people off the island before the storms hit. A few final passengers were walking across the tarmac and climbing up into the aircraft as he approached, but none of them paid him any attention. Nor did the two baggage handlers who were using a truck to reverse pallets of luggage up into the plane. He walked in the shadow of one of these pallets, completely unobserved, and up the ramp. Quickly, before anyone could notice him, he hid behind a pallet that was already loaded.

No one would see him here, he decided. When they were in the air he would have to work quickly — the temperature in the hold would soon drop. But for now he had to keep quiet.

He had to keep still.

He had to trust his luck, and wait until takeoff.

Ben didn't mind admitting to himself that he felt nervous as he strapped himself firmly into his seat. He'd been in enough aeroplanes, of course, in his time; he'd even flown a microlight over Adelaide in some pretty hairy circumstances. But as he sat next to Angelo in their seats near the front of the plane — Angelo's bodyguard had taken a place in the seat behind them — he could already hear the wind outside. It wasn't as strong as it had been at the beach, but it was still — as Alec would have said — a bit blowy, and Ben knew that it was going to be a bumpy takeoff.

The plane was bound for Miami. It was a twin-propeller aircraft and the propellers had already been spinning as they were ushered onto it with the last few remaining passengers. Ben didn't know why, but there was something about a twin-prop plane that made him feel less safe than a jet plane. They looked out of date, somehow, and his mind wasn't put at rest by the interior of the aircraft either. He had the impression that this plane had been in service for a very long time. He put that thought from his mind: the pilot would know what he was doing. He wasn't going to risk his life and the lives of everyone else on board by taking off if he thought it was dangerous.

'Thanks for doing this,' he said to Angelo. 'Looking at the chaos back at the terminal, I reckon I'd have been lucky to get a flight this side of Christmas.'

Angelo looked a bit embarrassed. 'Di niente,' he said shortly. 'It's fine. There have to be some advantages to—' He stopped mid-sentence, as though he had caught himself saying something he didn't want to say. Instead, he glanced down the aisle of the plane. The last couple of passengers were boarding, bringing the total number of people on board this small plane up to about twenty or thirty. They took the last two remaining seats, one just near Ben and Angelo, the other much further back. 'Anyway,' Angelo continued, 'other people seem to have got seats. You would probably have been OK.'

Ben shrugged. 'Maybe,' he said, as the gentle hum of the engines became a little louder. A voice came over the speakers and the cabin crew performed their safety announcement as the plane trundled towards the runway. It turned, paused for a moment and then the engines started to scream. The plane accelerated, Ben was pushed back in his seat and moments later they were airborne.

He hadn't been wrong about the bumpy takeoff — it was a bit like being in the boat earlier on. The winds buffeted the plane, knocking it from side to side and making the whole aircraft shudder. Ben found that he was gripping his armrests, white-knuckled, and when he glanced over at Angelo, he saw that his friend had gone rather pale.

'It's fine,' Angelo said, though he sounded more like he was reassuring himself than Ben. 'We need to get above the winds. I've been on lots of bumpy fl—'

He didn't finish his sentence, because the plane performed a horrible lurch, then seemed to drop from the sky momentarily before continuing its ascent.

'It'll be fine,' Angelo breathed again. Ben just closed his eyes and waited for the shaking to stop.

It took about five minutes for the flight to settle down, although it seemed like a lot longer to Ben. Still, it was a real relief when it happened. He and Angelo gave each other a sheepish smile. Neither of them, he sensed, wanted to admit how much the takeoff had frightened them.

'Where are you headed after you get to Miami?' Ben asked. The plane tilted as he spoke, and the sun shone directly into their eyes.

'To Italy,' Angelo replied. 'Back home.' He didn't sound too thrilled by the idea.

'Yeah, it's home for me too.' Ben smiled. 'Worst luck.'

Angelo looked at him and then spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. 'It's not so bad for you,' he breathed, and pointed his thumb back towards the seat his bodyguard had taken. 'You don't have people like him following you all the time.'

Ben had to admit that it didn't sound great being under someone's watchful gaze every waking moment, but he tried to cheer Angelo up. 'It can't be that bad,' he said a bit weakly. 'At least you know you're, er, safe and everything.'

Angelo snorted. 'Safe from what?' he asked. Ben didn't have an answer to that question.

They had been flying for about twenty minutes when the captain announced over the loudspeaker that they had reached their cruising altitude. All signs of the turbulence they had encountered at takeoff had disappeared now, and the ride was smooth. Angelo's bodyguard stood up and walked a little way up and down the aisle. He walked nonchalantly, as if he was simply stretching his legs, but the dark look Angelo cast him suggested to Ben that the guy was doing a little more than that. Clearly he was satisfied that everything was all right, however, because he soon sat down again, winking at the two of them — a bit patronizingly, Ben thought — before he did so.

'Does he really follow you everywhere?' Ben whispered.

Angelo nodded his head. 'There are three of them,' he confided. 'They take it in turns.'

'But why?' Ben asked.

Angelo inclined his head slightly. 'I soldi. Money. My father is a very wealthy man. Wealthy men can be paranoid. He thinks I am at risk of being…' He paused for a moment, searching for the word.

'Kidnapped,' he said finally. 'He thinks I will be kidnapped and held for ransom. Me, I think it is stupid. Only famous people get kidnapped.'

Ben wasn't so sure that that was true. He kept his mouth shut, though: it was clearly a sore point for Angelo. Instead he settled back in his seat and felt his eyes becoming heavy. He had slept badly the night before, and it had already been an eventful day. After a few moments he nodded off to sleep.

The temperature was dropping in the hold, and fast. The man's body was bruised and sore from the way he had been thrown around during the bumpy takeoff, but he put all thoughts of that from his mind. He clambered his way to the front of the plane, climbing over the pallets of luggage as he went. Before long he came to a metal panel sealed along the side with a number of tightly wound screws.

Quickly he opened his rucksack and pulled out an electric screwdriver. It was difficult to keep his grip true down here, but the screws unwound quickly enough. In a couple of minutes he was able to pull the metal panel away. He clambered into the small chamber that he could tell, from the rounded shape of the plane's nose, was just below the cockpit.

It was freezing now, but the aircraft was still climbing. He looked above and saw the trap door that led into the cockpit. He would not break through it yet. Not just yet. He would wait a little longer. Wait until the cold became unbearable. By that time, he hoped, the aircraft would be fully on course.

Only then, he decided, would it begin.

It was the sudden, clunky juddering that woke Ben up — a juddering that felt as if someone had taken the plane in their hands and given it a good shake. It felt like they had done the same to Ben's stomach too. And then there were the screams — the screams and the horrible sensation of the aircraft going into freefall.

'What's happening?' he shouted as, terrified, he gripped on firmly to the arms of his seat. 'What's happening?'

The cabin crew had been hurled to the floor at the back by the sudden change in the plane's movement. Ben thought that one of the screams came from an air stewardess — never a good sign. He looked out of the window, half expecting to see the bubbling skies of the hurricane they were escaping. But he didn't. All he saw was clear blue.

When your plane is going down, time has no meaning. It couldn't have been more than about twenty seconds that they stayed like that, but it seemed like half a lifetime. Half a lifetime of cold, blind terror. Suddenly, though, Ben felt the plane straighten up, and the popping in his ears told him that they were gaining height again. He exhaled deeply with relief, and he could sense Angelo doing the same.

'What's going on?' he breathed. 'What was that?'

Angelo shook his head, but he still seemed too scared to speak. The bodyguard, on the other hand, immediately got to his feet. He said something to Angelo in curt Italian. Angelo nodded.

'What happened?' Ben demanded, not at all sure that the bodyguard spoke any English.

'I don't know,' the burly man replied in a perfect American accent that slightly surprised Ben.

'Something to do with the hurricane?'

'Looks bright and sunny outside to me,' the bodyguard growled. 'Stay where you are. I'll go and find out.' He stepped out into the aisle and walked down to the crew.

Ben and Angelo watched them intently, but from this distance it was impossible to tell what they were saying or what was happening. After a while, Ben couldn't hack it any more. They should have heard something from the captain by now. His silence was worrying. With a determined look on his face Ben unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed past Angelo. 'I'm going to find out what's happening,' he said, before walking down to the rear, ignoring the stares of the other passengers, who obviously wanted to do the same thing but were too scared to unbuckle themselves.

'What's going on?' he demanded of the worried-looking cabin crew.

One of the air stewards — a tall man with perfectly groomed dark hair and a cheesy smile — answered. 'Nothing to worry about, son,' he said. 'Take your seat, please.'

But Ben didn't take his seat. He wasn't going to be fobbed off like that. He turned to the bodyguard. 'Have you found out what's happening?' he demanded.

For a moment the bodyguard hesitated, as if he was in two minds whether to tell Ben or not. When he finally spoke, he was tense and serious. 'There is an intercom between the cabin and the cockpit,' he said quietly. 'They've been trying to buzz through to the pilot to find out what went on up there, but there's no reply.'

Ben's brow furrowed. 'Can't we just open the door?'

The air steward shook his head. 'Can't be done,' he said. 'Since 9/11, no aircraft cockpits can be entered from the cabin.'

'How many pilots are there?' Ben asked.

'Two.'

'And neither of them are replying?'

The air steward shook his head again.

'What are we going to do?'

The man gave Ben a patronizing smile. 'We,' he said emphatically, 'are not going to do anything. You are going to take your seat and keep quiet about all this. The last thing we need is any more panic in the cabin, OK.'

Ben glanced over his shoulder back at the terrified passengers. 'I think that might be asking a bit much,' he murmured. As he spoke, the air steward took him by the shoulders, turned him round and gave him a little shove back towards his seat.

But Ben never got there, because just as he started up the aisle, the loudspeaker crackled into life.

'Ladies and gentleman,' an unfamiliar voice announced in an accent Ben did not recognize. 'I advise you all to remain very calm. This plane has been hijacked and is under my control. I will be giving you instructions very soon. In the meantime, be assured that if anyone tries to enter the cockpit or tamper with its door, they will immediately be shot.'

With that, the loudspeaker went dead.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then the sound of panicked screams filled the aircraft.