Three hijackers… are there really only three of them? Maybe someone is blending in with the passengers to trigger a bomb. A bomb is the worst-case scenario; a single bullet could punch a hole through the plane's fuselage, causing a rapid descent that might make some guys vomit or wet themselves, but nobody would die from it; however, one bomb could kill everyone on board. Clark assessed the situation and felt there was no need to take risks; it was better to just let the plane fly to the destination the three wanted and let negotiations handle the problem. This way, people would discover there were three ‘special individuals' on the plane. Word would get out, the bad guys would make demands over the radio, and the news would spread worldwide within a day. Peter Fleming, head of security at United Airlines—Clark knew him, he was a former assistant deputy director at the FBI—would call his old colleagues, and then the whole system would go into action, including the CIA, the State Department, the FBI hostage rescue team, and the Delta Force led by Colonel 'Little Willie' Byron stationed at Breckenridge. Peter would check the passenger list, circle their three names in red, Little Willie would get nervous, and the CIA and FBI would suspect a leak of classified information—but impossible, John dismissed that possibility. This was just an isolated incident that would scare the guys at Langley headquarters… maybe.
Now he could move a little. Clark slowly turned his head to look at Domingo Chavez, twenty feet away. When their eyes met, he touched his nose, as if casually scratching it. Chavez touched his nose too… Ding was still wearing a jacket; he probably wasn't too bothered by the heat, maybe the temperature on the plane felt a bit chilly to him. Perfect, maybe his Beretta .45 pistol was still on him… maybe. Although the airplane seats made it hard to get up, Chavez knew what to do at this critical moment, so he didn't do anything foolish… at least not yet. His pregnant wife sat next to him—how would Ding react? Domingo was smart and calm, but in this situation… after all, he was Latino, a type prone to getting excited; even someone as experienced as John Clark couldn't avoid having biases. John's wife sat beside him, her face full of terror;He knew that Sandy wasn't worried about her own safety... it must be because of her husband's new job... A thug was checking the passenger list. Well, John thought, at least soon he could find out whether someone had leaked information. However, even if there was a leak, the hijacker was coming for them, and he was powerless now; before figuring out what was going on, he couldn't act rashly, and could only sit helplessly and wait. —The guy at the front of the left aisle started moving backward; after he had moved fifteen feet, he stopped and focused his gaze on a woman sitting by the window next to Alistair.
"Who are you?" he asked in Spanish.
She gave a name, but John didn't catch it — with twenty feet between them, he could only make out that it was a Spanish name, and her response was soft and polite... She was clearly well-educated, perhaps the wife of a diplomat? Alistair leaned against the seatback, staring with his blue eyes at the armed thug.
A man's scream came from behind: “Gun! A gun!”
Damn, John thought. Now everyone knew. The guy in the right aisle knocked on the cockpit door and looked in, saying a few words. Then the captain began to announce:
"Ladies and gentlemen... I am the captain... I, uh, have been asked to inform you of one thing: our flight plan has been altered... There are a few passengers on board requesting to fly to Lajes in the Azores. They stated they mean no harm to anyone, but they are armed. First Officer Blansford and I will follow their instructions. Please remain calm and stay seated. I will broadcast again shortly." Good news, the captain must have had military training; even in this situation, his tone was calm like smoke over dry ice; excellent.
Lajes, Azores, Clark thought, a former US Navy base... still in use? Perhaps now only serving as a long-range flight diversion airport, providing emergency landing and refueling services. The hijacker in the left aisle had asked in Spanish, and the woman responded in Spanish. Maybe it wasn't some Middle Eastern bad guy, speaking Spanish... Basque separatists?They are still active in Spain to this day (Editor's note: Basques, the Basque people, are distributed in the Spanish region of Vascongadas, among whom the Basques in Navarre hope to separate from Spain and become autonomous. Although the Spanish government granted them partial local autonomy in 1978–1979, the militant separatists were still not satisfied). Who is that woman? Clark looked up—at this moment everyone was peeking from their seats, so doing this was not dangerous—she was probably in her early fifties, dressed like someone from the upper class. Clark remembered that the Spanish ambassador to the U.S. was male; maybe she was his wife?
The guy in the left aisle moved his gaze to the seat next to the lady: "Who are you?"
"Alistair Stanley." Clark knew that Alistair had no reason to lie. Their trip was public, and no one knew their identities—actually, they hadn't even started their new identities yet. Damn it, John thought. Alistair answered with an extremely exaggerated British accent: "I'm British. My passport is in the bag, in the overhead compartment above—" He made a move to stand up and open the luggage compartment but was immediately forced back by the assailant's gun.
Well acted, John thought, even though it didn't succeed. He almost had the chance to stand up, get the bag, take out the passport for verification, and then grab his own gun; unfortunately, the guy trusted him completely—couldn't help it, all because of the British accent. But it seemed Alistair was preparing to take action. So far, these three villains did not know that three guard dogs were hidden among the sheep—and they were the best ones.
Willy must be on the phone now. The Delta team's advance squad had to be ready 24 hours a day; they were probably planning potential actions right now. Colonel Byron would lead the team personally because "little Willy" was the kind of soldier who led from the front. He had a deputy and staff to help draft plans when he was on the front line. Now, John and his friends should sit quietly and wait... as long as the hijackers remained calm and the situation didn't escalate.
From the left front came more Spanish conversation. "Where is your husband?" he asked, seemingly furious.Sure enough, John thought, the ambassador is a good target for an attack, but the ambassador's wife may not be. An ambassador stationed in Washington must be an important and experienced diplomat, perhaps even a noble, since Spain still has titles. For putting pressure on the Spanish government, this is indeed a good method. The words "messed-up mission" floated in John's mind. Perhaps the person they want to catch is him, not her, which must make them extremely unhappy. Bad intelligence, gentlemen. John saw uncontrollable anger on their faces. I've encountered this before, so you don't need to be angry. The two hijackers in first class were talking quietly; although John couldn't hear what they were saying, their body language said it all—they had been stood up. That left three (maybe more) angry terrorists, holding guns on a plane; and this plane not only had just two engines, but was flying over the North Atlantic in the dark of night. Could the situation get worse? John asked himself. According to his judgment, the hijackers were about thirty years old. People at this age were usually technically skilled, but needed better emotional control; they lacked experience and their judgment could be improved. But people at this age always think they know everything and are exceptionally clever. Yet in life-or-death situations, trained soldiers have a far better understanding of the real environment than terrorists do. These three men wanted the mission to succeed, but with the target now lost, they didn't know how to think through a solution. Perhaps it was a rash mission? In John's memory, Basque separatist attacks had never involved other countries, at least not the United States. But this time it was an American commercial plane—they had clearly crossed a line. A reckless act? Probably. This was when good judgment was needed; even terrorists have their logic. The established protocol for handling such incidents is as fixed as church services: give the good guys a chance to establish dialogue with the bad guys. Send a negotiation expert to deal with them, starting with small matters—please, let the children and mothers off the plane first, how about it? It's really no big deal. Besides, if the news reports that you're making women and children uncomfortable, it won't do you any good, right?He urged them to make some small concessions first, and then the elderly—what are you leaving a bunch of old men and old women for? Then, taking advantage of meal delivery, they installed eavesdropping devices and fiber-optic pinhole cameras in the cabin to monitor the situation inside the plane—Whitey, Clark told himself, the show hasn't even started yet. Hijacking is just as disgusting as kidnapping children. The police have their own methods for capturing such guys; 'Little Willy' must now be waiting on the transport plane at Pope Air Force Base. If this plane really lands at Rajes, the rescue operation will begin immediately. What needs worrying at that time is how many innocent people will die before the bad guys are taken down. Clark had worked with Colonel Byron's men before, and he knew that once they stormed the plane, at least three guys wouldn't make it out alive. The question was, how many innocent passengers would die in the crossfire? Fighting inside an airplane cabin is just like having a gunfight in an elementary school—the cabin is even more cramped than a school playground. The hijackers were discussing things and not very concerned about other matters in the cabin. From a certain perspective, this made sense, after all, the cockpit is the most important place. But you still need to pay attention to the people in the passenger area because you never know who might be on the plane. Of course, there are no sky marshals on the passenger planes now, but the cops still carry guns on planes—well, maybe not on international flights. But in the 'industry' of terrorism, idiots have a hard time surviving, and even smart people can't always get away unscathed. Rookie personnel, impulsive missions, poor intelligence, anger, and frustration; from Clark's perspective, things were getting worse. A thug's left fist swung in the air as if trying to twist the world upside down. John slowly turned, facing Meiji again; he shook his head slightly, while Ding raised an eyebrow. The atmosphere in the cabin changed, and things seemed to be worsening. The second hijacker walked into the cockpit and stayed inside for a few minutes. John and Alistair watched the remaining hijacker; he stood in the left aisle, staring at the floor ahead. Two minutes later, he suddenly whipped his head around as if electrocuted, looking towards the front of the plane; in the end, nothing happened, and the cockpit was still quiet.He leaned forward, trying to find out the condition of the other companions in the cockpit, his face showing a mix of the power to control life and death and the helplessness of a bleak future. In the end, he decided to stay in place, sulkily continuing to monitor the passengers. The second hijacker returned to the rear cabin. It seemed that there were only three of them, John told himself. The third one's behavior was far too uncalm. Are there really only three people? He needed to think carefully. If that were indeed the case, it would prove that they were real amateurs. Clark thought: under normal circumstances, subduing the hijackers like in a police-action movie would be a good idea, but right now, they were on a plane over the North Atlantic at 37,000 feet, traveling at 500 miles per hour. If these three guys were calm enough, they should let this two-engine flying monster land safely first. But they were not very calm; could they remain rational? The second hijacker, who had originally been monitoring the passengers on the right row, now walked toward the third hijacker, and the two spoke quietly. Clark could not hear clearly, but he could tell from their expressions what they were talking about. The second hijacker spoke while pointing with his hand toward the cockpit. End of part.
