Rainbow Six, Section 4
The flight attendant was about forty years old, still elegant, and remained calm. She used the intercom to enter the cockpit and relayed John's message word for word.
A few seconds later, the door opened. The first assailant poked his head out and saw the flight attendant, who then pointed at Clark.
"Coffee?"
The first assailant was confused; he took a step toward the tall person holding the coffee cup, with his gun pointed at the floor.
"Hello," Ding suddenly appeared to his left, gun aimed at his head.
For a moment, the first assailant had no idea what was happening. He hesitated, unable to react in time.
"Put the gun down!" Chavis commanded.
"You better do what he says," Clark said in Spanish, "or my friend will kill you."
The first assailant anxiously tried to locate his two accomplices but couldn't, his expression growing more and more confused. John stepped forward, took the gun from his hand without resistance, and then grabbed his belt, pinning him to the ground. During the process, Ding kept his gun aimed at the assailant's neck; at the back, Alistair also aimed his gun at the other two assailants.
"Two magazines… nothing else." John gestured to the flight attendant to bring the rope.
"A bunch of fools," Chavis said in Spanish, then turned to look at his superior and father-in-law: "John, don't you think this is a bit risky?"
"No." John stood up and walked to the cockpit. "Captain?"
"Who are you?" The flight crew still couldn't make sense of what had just happened.
"Where's the nearest military airport?"
"Canada Air Force's Gander Base," the co-pilot immediately replied—he seemed to be called Langford?
"Fine, we'll fly there. Captain, you can take control of the plane again; the three assailants are tied up."
"Who exactly are you?" Captain Will Garnett asked again, his tone more firm; his nervousness had not subsided.
"I'm just someone who wants to help a little," John replied; the two looked at each other. Captain Garnett, with his air force background, could see the message John intended to convey. "Captain, may I use your radio?"
The captain gestured to the seat beside him for John to sit down and then taught him how to use the radio.“United Flight 920 calling,” Clarke said. “Who am I speaking with?”
“I'm Agent Carney from the FBI. Who are you?”
“Carney, tell the director: ‘Rainbow Six' is online. Everything is under control, no casualties. We are en route to Gander Base and need the assistance of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Over.”
“Rainbow?”
“Yes, Rainbow, Agent Carney. I repeat, everything is under control, the three hijackers have been subdued. I am waiting here for the director's reply.”
“Yes, sir.” He sounded clearly surprised.
Clarke looked down at his slightly trembling hands; incidents like this had happened once or twice before, and his hands always did this after an incident. The plane tilted to the left in a turn; the pilot seemed to be communicating with Gander Base.
“920, 920, Agent Carney calling.”
“Carney, this is Rainbow—” Clarke suddenly stopped and asked the captain, “Captain, is this line secure?”
“Yes.”
Clarke silently cursed himself for almost violating radio protocol. “Okay, Carney. What's the situation now?”
“The director is online.” After a brief static, a new voice came through. “John?”
“Yes, Dan.”
“What's happening?”
“Three people, speak Spanish, not very smart; we've taken care of them.”
“Alive?”
“Yes. I need the pilot to fly to Gander Base, and we also need—”
“Ninety minutes,” said the co-pilot.
“We'll be there in another hour and a half,” John continued. “Notify the RCMP to arrest these guys after the plane lands, and tell Andrew Air Force Base that we need another plane to take us to London.”
He didn't want to bother explaining further. Originally, it was just a routine flight with three officials and two family members, but now it had been exposed. Even worse, people had seen the three of their faces—of course, most were happy to buy them a drink, but this was no good. They had done everything possible to keep ‘Rainbow' operating at maximum efficiency and secrecy, and now three Spanish or foreign idiots had messed it up. “Alright, John, I'll arrange everything. Anything else I can help with?”
“Yes, let me sleep for a few hours, okay?”"No problem, buddy." The FBI director laughed as he hung up the phone. Clark took off the headset and hung it back in its place. "Where exactly are you calling from?" the Captain asked again, clearly dissatisfied with Clark's earlier explanation. "Captain, my friend and I are law enforcement officers, and it just so happens that we're on this flight. Is that clear enough?" Captain Garnett said, "I guess so; glad to have you guys on board. That guy earlier was a little... out of control, you know what I mean? We were really worried for a moment there." Clark smiled knowingly and nodded: "Yeah, same here." They always set out together: sky-blue vans, a total of four, cruising the streets of New York, looking for homeless people, and then taking them to shelters sponsored by institutions. This altruistic act was always carried out quietly, until a local TV station exposed it a year ago, and letters of praise came in like snowflakes. However, like other news events, after the hype faded, it gradually slipped from public memory. The operation always started in the cool autumn season, setting off at midnight, searching for the homeless in Midtown and Lower Manhattan. Their approach differed from the police; volunteers from the institutions did not force anyone into the vans, just politely asked if they wanted help? If they wanted a clean bed? Completely free, and without the religious rituals held at church-run shelters. Those who didn't want to go could still get blankets, which were purchased with donations from the institution's staff; although second-hand, they were still warm and waterproof. Some homeless people preferred a blanket over the limitations of going on board; however, most would choose to get in, because even drunks wanted a shower and a good sleep. Now the van had ten homeless people, fully occupied; the staff helped them on board, seated, and fastened their seat belts. The homeless people didn't know this was the fifth van in Lower Manhattan tonight, although they quickly realized something was a bit off once on board; the staff in the front seat turned around, holding several bottles of Carlo Burgundy wine—a cheap California red, but still much better than what these homeless people usually drank. Also, of course, something had been added to the wine. By the time the van reached its destination, almost everyone was asleep.Those vagrants who could barely walk on their own were helped into the back of another truck, lay flat on the small beds inside, and soon fell asleep; others were carried onto the truck by four people and similarly placed on the beds. Once the work was completed, the first truck immediately drove away for a thorough cleaning—they even used steam to disinfect, ensuring no traces remained. The second truck then drove onto the west-side highway, crossed the Hudson River via the George Washington Bridge, and proceeded north; it briefly passed through the northeastern corner of New Jersey before entering New York State.
News came in: Colonel “Little Willie” Byron had boarded a USAF KC-10 aircraft, following their United 777 by only an hour; they had also turned north, heading for Gander Base. It seemed that the base, formerly home to P-3 anti-submarine aircraft, would be busy for some time accommodating these two massive uninvited guests.
The three hijackers were blindfolded and tied up in multiple restraints, lying on the floor in front of the first row of seats in first class, guarded by John, Ding, and Alistair, while the other passengers kept their distance.
"Sometimes I rather admire the way Ethiopians handle these matters," Stanley said, sipping his tea.
"How so?" Chavis asked wearily.
"A few years ago, someone hijacked an Ethiopian Airlines plane, and an Air Marshal happened to be on board; they subdued the hijackers, tied them to the first-class seats, wrapped towels around their necks to prevent the carpet from being stained with blood, and then slit the hijackers' throats on the spot. You know—"
"Good heavens!" Ding said. No wonder nobody dared to mess with Ethiopian Airlines again. "That method is indeed simple and effective."
"Indeed." Alistair put down his teacup. "Hijacking is something better not to occur too often."
The plane was about to land, and they watched the runway lights whizzing by outside. The moment the wheels touched the ground, a cheer rose from the rear of the cabin. The plane gradually slowed, taxied onto the military ramp, and came to a stop. The front right door of the aircraft opened, and a stair vehicle slowly approached.
John, Ding, and Alistair unfastened their seatbelts, walked to the door, and kept watch over the three hijackers.The first to board the plane was a Canadian Air Force officer wearing a gun holster around his waist, followed by three plainclothes police officers.
"Are you Mr. Clark?" the officer asked.
"Yes," Clark replied with a weary smile. "These are the three… suspects." The police stepped forward to arrest the criminals.
The officer said, "The plane scheduled to pick you up will arrive in an hour."
"Thank you." The three of them packed their luggage and called for their wives to come down from the plane — after the harrowing ordeal, Peggy fell sound asleep, while Sandy continued to bury herself in her novel. Two minutes later, the group descended the stairs and stood on the tarmac. The passenger plane closed its doors and taxied toward the terminal; while the plane was being refueled and cleaned, passengers got off to stretch their legs.
After settling his wife, Ding asked, "So how are we going to get to England now?"
"The Air Force will send a VC-20, and there will be personnel at London Heathrow to help you claim your checked luggage. Colonel Byron will take the three hijackers into custody," explained a senior officer.
"These are their weapons." Stanley handed the police three vomit bags containing disassembled gun parts. "Browning M-1935, military version; no explosives. These people are still beginners, I think they are Basques. They originally seemed to want to hijack the Spanish ambassador to the United States, but he was not on the plane; his wife, however, was sitting next to me. This really was a failed hijacking attempt."
The police asked, "Who exactly are you people?"
Clark interjected, "No comment. Are you planning to deport the hijackers immediately?"
"Ottawa has instructed us to handle everything following the international anti-hijacking conventions. But you know, we have to face questions from reporters; I need to tell them something," the officer said.
"Just say that there happened to be U.S. government law enforcement officers on board who together caught these idiots," Clark suggested.
"Yes, exactly," Chavis agreed with a smile. "Damn it, John, this is my first time arresting criminals, but I forgot to read them their rights." He was too exhausted to even smile.
~~~
The shelter staff looked at the homeless people brought in; they were filthy enough that their smell could knock out a skunk.End of Section 4