Hostages of Hate (11 page)

It was as though Habib hadn't even heard. He didn't move. He just lay where he was, glassy-eyed.

Frank took Habib's fist. The fingers wouldn't budge. He could break the grip if he broke the hand. But that wouldn't help much. If the handle got loose, the bomb would be armed and ready to blast in seconds.

And even if he got the grenade with the handle still down, what would he do with it? Frank looked at the shape in Habib's hand. How weird to think that this small object, hardly larger than a baseball, could destroy the whole plane. Yet with the pin in, it was completely harmless.

That made up Frank's mind. The first thing to do was find the firing pin. With that back in, he could take the grenade from Habib.

Apparently, Habib realized what Frank was doing. That was when he came out of his funk. He gave Frank the grenade—right in the head, still clutched in his right fist.

It was a glancing blow, but hard enough to stun.

Frank reeled back, trying to blink away the jagged bolts of lightning that flashed before his eyes. Habib would be coming at him, trying to catch him while he was helpless.

The light show cleared enough to reveal a shadowy figure leaping at Frank, his arm raised for another blow. If he stayed where he was, Habib would probably nail him—permanently. In desperation, Frank threw himself forward at the figure.

They crashed into each other in the middle of the aisle, both on their knees now. Frank tried for a tackle to knock Habib down. He failed. Habib shoved him back, trying to butt Frank.

His forehead crashed into Frank's shoulder. They grappled together, Habib still flailing his right arm, trying to slug Frank with the grenade again.

Frank found himself fighting at a tremendous disadvantage. Habib had a wonderful weapon for trying to brain him. But even if Frank managed to disarm Habib, the live grenade would kill everyone on the plane.

They swayed back and forth in the aisle, lurching around as they tried to throw each other off balance. Then Habib sent them both crashing into one of the seats. Frank hit an armrest and lost his hold. Habib leaned back for a final blow, triumph on his face.

But that look soon turned to one of total shock and surprise. He made a horrible choking noise. Kneeling behind Habib, her face white and serious, was Callie. In her hands was the leather belt she had been wearing. But now Habib was wearing it — around his neck.

He tried hard to turn around, but Callie had a knee in his back. She tightened the belt, and instinctively both of Habib's hands went to his throat.

The grenade fell to the floor and bounced. The handle flew off. It was armed!

Frank darted forward, scooping up the bomb. It was no longer a question of putting the pin back in. There was just one crying need — to get the grenade off the plane. The seconds were ticking away. Frank rose to his feet, hurling the grenade out the nearest broken window. He didn't even have time to see what—or who—was out there.

"Watch out! Grenade!" he yelled, hoping the cops would be keeping pretty far away. They must have been pretty confused by then about what was happening on board the jetliner.

The blast from outside was far away, but it still shook the plane. Frank paid no attention. He still had a job to take care of. Pivoting around, he threw a karate blow at Habib. He was just in time. The hijacker had managed to squirm around to grab at Callie. The blow landed with devastating force. Frank was through playing around with this guy, especially since his metallic hot potato was gone.

The blow tore Habib away from Callie. The terrorist caromed into one of the seats, then bounced off to hit the floor.

Frank dropped to his knees to pick Habib up. As he fell, a new volley of bullets flew over his head. Frank turned to see Lars whipping his Uzi around one-handed as Joe dropped to the floor for cover. With his free hand, the terrorist dragged the bound figure of the Dutchman, and they retreated into the first-class cabin.

Once again, everyone hugged the floor until the two terrorists were out of sight. But Frank was busy even as the bullets flew. He threw a choke hold on Habib — this one wasn't getting away. The hijacker thrashed for a few seconds. But as the shooting stopped, his body dropped like a deflated balloon. The Hardys may have lost two of the bad guys, but the third was definitely out of the game.

Joe stood up, his face twisted in a scowl. "Real cute. He fired low enough to keep me from interfering with him and just high enough to reward me for being a good boy."

Frank nodded. He knew that if Joe had tried to stop Lars, the terrorist would have aimed low, killing Joe and probably maiming dozens of innocent passengers.

"At least we've got them now," Joe said. "They're trapped in the nose of the plane. They know that if they try coming back here again, they'll be walking into our guns. If they try to get off the plane — well, that's what all those cops outside are waiting for."

Frank nodded. "They've got big problems. This plane is going nowhere, and they're about to lose their hostages."

A babble of noise erupted from the crowd of passengers.

"What do you mean?" A woman's voice cut across the noise.

Frank turned to her, staring for a second. Then he realized why she looked familiar. Despite the stringy hair and the bags under her eyes, this was Pauline Fox.

"The hijackers control the front hatch of the plane," he explained. "That's where passengers usually get on or off. But there are escape hatches in the tail."

"They could shoot us as we get off!" the newswoman said.

"We'll call to the cops first," said Frank. "Tell them what's going on in here. Then they can lay cover fire on the nose of the plane — keep the terrorists' heads down until everyone is off and safe. But first things first."

Frank looked down at Habib, lying at his feet. "We need something to tie this guy up with." He turned to his brother. "And we need somebody to cover that front doorway. Joe, that's a job for you and your gun. See if you can find stuff to make a barricade. Everyone else, go back to your seats. Don't sit down. Stay on the floor. We'll need somebody from the plane crew to open those hatches."

He grinned at Callie. "And I'd like you to come with me. We'll give the cops the good news, together."

The passengers listened to these plans in a happy daze. They had spent so much time in mortal danger, they could hardly believe that they were safe now.

They weren't.

As two flight attendants opened the rear hatches, the whole plane began to tremble. A high-pitched whine filled the cabin — a whine that anyone who had ever flown was sure to recognize. It was just louder because so many of the windows were gone.

It was the sound of jet engines starting up.

The airliner jolted as it started moving forward, nearly throwing Frank and Callie out the emergency hatch.

"Lars—the tall blond—said he was good at mechanical stuff," Callie said. "He just never mentioned that he knew how to fly one of these."

Joe threw himself through the door into first-class and was met by a quick burst of fire. He jumped back to friendly territory. "The Dutchman's standing guard with the Uzi," he reported. "Looks like they piled up all the carry-on luggage in first-class to barricade the door to the cockpit."

Frank looked out one of the shattered windows. "We're moving too fast to let people jump off," he said.

"What I don't get is why they're doing this," Joe complained. "I mean, they can keep us aboard until they run out of fuel — " He jerked as the plane lurched through another turn. "You know, this Lars guy doesn't strike me as a very good pilot."

"Good enough," one of the flight attendants said in a tight voice. "He's taxiing out to one of the runways. If he's good enough to do that, he's good enough to get us into the air."

She stared at the broken windows. "And the cockpit has its own air system."

Everyone's eyes went to the windows in slow horror.

"Those guys will have a chance to escape and air to breathe," Callie said quietly. "But when the plane rises high enough, those broken windows will let all the air out of here. All of us will suffocate!"

THE PASSENGERS BEGAN to crowd into the aisle, completely giving way to panic. Cries and screams filled the air, fighting with the whine of the jet engines. But the engine noise still dominated, growing louder as the plane picked up speed.

Even though there was nowhere to go, people began pushing at one another. Then they began shoving and clawing. Some of the more desperate people began heading for the rear escape hatches. Better to jump to a possible death than stay aboard for a sure one.

Callie looked nervously at Frank as the crowd headed their way. They were standing right in front of the hatches, directly in the path of what was rapidly becoming a mob.

Frank's face was cold and remote. Callie knew that look. Frank was running over about a dozen possible plans to get them out of this. And from the frown on his face, she could tell none of them would work.

Before the crowd got to within pushing distance, however, Frank snapped back to the real world. He turned his frown on the mob.

"Out of our way!" screamed a heavyset woman. Her hair looked like a wad of collapsed cotton candy. Only its orange color helped Frank and Callie recognize Mrs. Thayer, the senator's wife. "You can't keep us here! We aren't going to stay and die like rats in a trap!"

"You can't jump from a moving plane," Frank told her. "It's like leaping from a second-story window."

But those people weren't ready to discuss anything rationally. More and more passengers pushed against those in the front ranks. They began advancing on Frank and Callie. "Let us off! Let us off!"

Frank shook his head in disbelief. But as hands grabbed for him, he shoved Callie behind him. "Don't be stupid!" he shouted.

Then a new chant rose from the back of the group. "Throw them off! Throw them out!"

For a second, Frank stared. He shouted to the people, but they were making too much noise for him to be heard. He glanced at the weapon in his hand, and then he used it. A quick burst into the ceiling shocked the crowd into silence.

"Look, all of you. This plane has two engines — both of them in the tail and both of them over these hatches."

"So what?" somebody called.

"Remember how a jet crashed some years ago because a flock of starlings got sucked into the air intakes for the engines?" Frank asked. "Those intakes are right up there." He pointed over his head.

"We don't have many starlings handy," a voice said.

"No, but we've got blankets, paper, pillows, and magazines." Frank stared into the faces of the crowd. "If we can starve those jets of air, we won't take off. It's a better gamble than jumping thirty feet onto the runway."

"He's right," another voice cried out.

"Yeah. Let's get that junk up here!"

"Come on!"

"Form a line," Frank called. "Pass the stuff along. And cut up the big stuff, like the blankets. We want it small enough to get sucked in but big enough to stick."

He shouted up to the front of the cabin. "Joe, you stay on guard duty."

"Just what I've been doing," Joe called back. "While you were busy discussing policy with that lynch mob."

With a chance to do something to save themselves, the passengers went to work feverishly.

Mrs. Thayer led the group in charge of tearing up the blankets. Her hairdo wobbled ridiculously as she reduced the blankets to long strips. "Ow!" she cried. "Third nail I've broken so far!" But she kept on tearing.

Pauline Fox was searching through the seats, trying to find more things to throw into the engines. "Not my bag!" a woman cried as she picked up a canvas tote.

"Honey, it's not going to be much use to you if we go up there." She dumped the bag onto a seat and passed it up the line, shaking her head. "The best story of my life, and I don't have a camera handy."

"If you did, we'd be passing that up, too!" somebody called.

Callie and Frank grinned at each other as they stood at the end of one line, tossing stuff as high as they could, past the jet intakes. "Look at all this—stuff," Frank grunted as he hurled torn blankets up.

"I like this," Callie replied, tossing a set of plastic cards Frisbee-style into the engine. "They're the instructions on what to do in case of an emergency."

Frank grinned at her. "Well, this is an emergency, isn't it?"

The flood of items began to decrease as the searchers reached the seats at the back. Then it swelled as they started going over the cabin again, scavenging in new and more creative ways. Pauline Fox ripped the headrest covers off the seats. Mrs. Thayer and her crew started tearing the elastic magazine holders from the seats.

"Hey, look what I found!" Professor Beemis called out. "The bag that terrorist was using to make his collection."

"My money!" somebody else cried.

"My pearls!" shouted a woman.

"Pass it up," said Frank.

"What?" a roar of furious voices demanded.

"The money is paper, just like the magazine pages," Frank said. "And the metal in the jewelry will do a real job on the vanes in the engine."

"Expensive paper," one of the passengers muttered.

"It'll all be worthless if we don't live to spend it," said Frank. He opened his own wallet, took out the bills, and tossed them into the intake. "Anybody else?"

Everyone feverishly searched pockets and purses. Money, handkerchiefs, even used tissues appeared on the line.

Habib's bag of loot came up to Frank and Callie. They tossed handfuls of bills up at the jet intake.

"If these things go through, they'll make the airport people very happy," Callie said.

"Probably look more like confetti than money," Frank said.

"This had better start working soon," Professor Beemis called out. "We've reached the runway now."

Stuff began appearing at a fever pitch as the plane prepared for its leap into the air. Callie and Frank found themselves throwing trays snapped from the chairs, seat belts, even people's shirts torn off and handed up the line.

The jet engines revved faster. "Lars is preparing for his takeoff." Callie gritted her teeth.