Buzz returned, looking somewhat refreshed. The water on his collar showed that he had splashed himself. With him was the big hijacker, the brute. None of them had been overtly violent yet, but this one had it in him. Hendrickson could tell by the eyes. They had a wild quality.
Abu exchanged a few words with Wael before leaving the flight deck. Buzz returned to his seat. Its cushion was still wet with perspiration.
“I think we’re leaving soon.” Buzz shifted in the warm seat. His back still felt prickly.
“When?”
“I don’t know. I heard them talking outside the head. My Arabic is pretty damn limited.” Buzz laughed.
Wael cast an angry look at the jovial Americans. He could not understand their words. What was it that made them laugh? he was thinking. They should be afraid.
“I don’t think Kong here can understand us,” Buzz said in his best deadpan. The lack of reaction confirmed his suspicion.
“I think you’re right.” The captain checked his AC system readings. Power was still coming from the GPU, which had been changed three times so far. Each truck-mounted generator could work only so long before servicing was needed. At least they had power, and the luxuries and necessities that it allowed. Some hijackers had ruled under harsh and nearly unbearable conditions, not allowing any power to be supplied once the aircraft’s built-in APU had exhausted its oil source. Maybe these ‘tough guys’ liked their comforts, the captain thought.
“At least we’ll be doing something besides just sitting here,” Buzz commented.
“Earn our pay.”
Buzz nodded, instinctively putting his harness on, but letting it hang loose. Both men turned when the door opened. The head terrorist, the one the others called Mohammed, came in. His clothing was different from before. He now looked the same as the others: green fatigues. The Mini-Uzi hung from his shoulder.
“Get ready to fly.” Hadad motioned to the control panel. Its alien markings and devices did not interest him. “We leave in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll need to check the exterior of my aircraft.”
Hadad brought the small submachine gun up in his right hand, pointing at the captain. It looked almost like a toy.
“You do not need to,” Hadad enunciated slowly. “And you will not. Your tricks will not fool me.”
Captain Hendrickson half stood, leaning awkwardly on the armrest, his body twisted to face the hijacker. “Listen, if you want this aircraft to fly safely, then either I or my first officer must inspect the undercarriage and exterior. This runway is not the best in the world, so I have no idea what was kicked up when we landed. Do you understand?”
“Do I understand?” Hadad smiled, his head tilting quizzically. The barrel came up roughly in the soft flesh where jaw met neck. “I think you do not understand, Cap-tan.” He mockingly emphasized the rank. “You will fly this plane and you will do it without going outside to perform your trickery. The plane is fine.”
“I am not tryi—” The Uzi pressed harder. Hendrickson was sure he could feel the barrel in the back of his mouth.
“Shut up! I am talking, and I am tired of your defiance!” Hadad screamed. “You have done nothing but defy my orders! You will learn to do as you are told!”
“Raghead asshole!” Buzz reached for the Uzi pointing at him, but missed, grabbing Wael’s web belt instead.
Hadad saw out of the comer of his eye Wael’s weapon come back in preparation to strike the co-pilot.
“Wael!” Hadad’s strong grip locked on his comrade’s arm, holding it back like a coiled snake.
Buzz glared at the wild eyes staring down at him. He felt the hot breath of his would-be attacker expelling from the flared nostrils. It smelled sweet and spiced, maybe from the food they brought on board. Wael lowered the Uzi cautiously. Buzz released his hold in a quick motion, holding his hands open as if gesturing surrender.
Hadad turned back to the captain. The barrel was still rammed straight up, the gun held tightly in his left hand. Hendrickson’s head was tilted back by the pressure, his eyes somewhat downcast to look directly at his tormentor. “You must learn, Cap-tan. And your number two. I am in command…total command. This is my plane. You, your number two, all the passengers will die if I decide it is to be. You no longer have any power.” His voice eased as he drew back. “Does it trouble you that a lowly Palestinian now rules over your domain? Ah! Of course it does, Cap-tan. You would kill me without a thought, so be assured that I will do the same. Now, you will learn that this is true, and when I am finished I will ask, ‘Do you understand?’ “ The Uzi was withdrawn. “Sit and watch.”
The captain sank into his seat, never letting his eyes leave Hadad. Buzz turned back to his console; he could no longer control himself while looking at the pirates.
There was a rapid burst of commands in Arabic from Hadad. Wael gave the pilots a departing look, removed a grenade from his webbing, and disappeared through the door.
Captain Hendrickson watched the head terrorist as a crooked smile came from one side of his mouth.
Below, the passenger deck instantly was filled with the noise coming from the forward cabin. Wael bounded down the stairs from the lounge and trotted down the left-side aisle, screaming in his native language. The sound, a pulsing wail, was a tirade of gibberish to nearly all of the passengers, but frightening still.
Abu ran forward from the aft cabin to meet Wael. The huge terrorist was waving his Uzi in one hand and displaying a pinless grenade in the other. Those with aisle seats leaned away from the ranting giant. The two terrorists exchanged a few sentences before Wael moved forward again, taunting the hostages. Abu followed closely. From the rear Abdul walked slowly, almost casually, chewing a mouthful of dates. He, too, pulled the pin from a grenade and held it above his head for all to see.
Abu watched as the wild man erupted from his comrade.
His sub-machine gun occasionally pointed at a single target, usually a woman, who would begin to cry. Wael thought that it was great fun to frighten the Americans. It was so easy. They cringed at the sight of the massive, dark figure standing over them. A few times he would hold the grenade inches from a terrified face and berate the person with invectives they could not understand. Some were stoic and stubborn. Wael could see those and avoided them — he was going for an effect. One elderly man protested when his wife was the recipient of Wael’s furor. The metal stock of his Uzi smashed dead center on the man’s face, breaking the nose and sending him backward into his seat where his wife shielded him with her body.
A few rows forward Wael stopped and called for Abu. His eyes were fixed on a man in the center seat on the left.
“You.” Abu pointed to the man. “Are you alone?”
Uncertainty as to whether or not he should answer kept him silent.
“You are alone! You are! Hands on your head — now!” The hands came up, and the chosen one looked to those next to him, but they just looked away. “Get up! Get up!” Abu kept the Uzi leveled at the man as he slowly rose. His light blue shirt was untucked and wrinkled, and his shaggy hair was obviously only hand-combed. He still spoke nothing as he squeezed past a bespectacled young lady whose hands covered her mouth.
“Move forward. Up the stairs.” The gun directed him with forceful jabs in the back. Wael followed, leaving Abdul to watch the hostages. He stood by the forward galley. It gave him a good vantage point from which to survey the front section and all the way to the rear of the aircraft, down the left aisle.