Falling by T.J. Newman

CHAPTER FIVE

“NO CHANGES?” BILL SAID.

“No changes,” Ben replied.

“I have control.”

“You have control.”

Ben unbuckled his harness as his seat adjusted back. Ducking, he stepped over the center console. Adjusting his pants and tucking his shirt in, he closed one eye to peer out the cockpit door’s peephole to make sure Jo was still blocking. Behind him, Bill readjusted his seat and buckled his harness, control of the aircraft shifting from first officer back to captain.

Bill knew he had a window of less than five seconds.

Less than five seconds while the computer screen was still down and Sam couldn’t see him. Five seconds when Ben was distracted and wouldn’t ask Bill what he was doing. Five seconds to press and release the correct reception knobs. Five seconds to enable the radio’s backup frequency. Five seconds to twist the volume on Ben’s headset all the way off so he wouldn’t hear the secondary channel. A line of gray knobs with white stripes lined up on the center console by his knee waiting for his command.

For the whole flight, those five seconds were his only opportunity to engage the one thing he could think of that might possibly help him out of this hell.

“Door opening,” Ben said. The door opened and shut with a slam a moment later.

It was done. He didn’t even need all five seconds.

But his plan would have to wait.

Bill opened his computer.

Carrie rocked Elise slowly, her cheek laid gently on top of the baby’s sleeping head. Scott stood beside her, his eyes now dry. Neither looked into the camera.

“Welcome back,” Sam greeted. “Here you go.”

An email pinged in Bill’s inbox.

“Hello there,” Jo said through a convincing smile, turning at the sound of the cockpit door closing and locking. “How’s it going up there?”

“Same shit, different day. Living the dream,” Ben said, stepping into the lav.

“You want anything to eat or drink?” Jo asked before he could shut the door.

“Just coffee, thanks.”

“How do you take it?”

“Two creams, one sugar.”

The lav shut and locked. Immediately, Jo grabbed the full pot of fresh coffee and quietly emptied it into the trash. Putting a new coffee bag in, she would wait to press the BREW button until she heard the toilet flush. She wanted to buy Bill as much time as she could.

“What is this?” Bill asked, reading the email. Alone in the cockpit, he was able to speak out loud without headphones and emails, and he did so quickly, knowing the conditions were short-lived.

“It’s a statement you’re going to record yourself saying,” Sam replied.

Bill continued to read, shaking his head. “But… what are you going to do with it?”

“I’m going to send it to the news networks. Later. After the crash,” Sam said.

Bill’s high school history teacher had once showed the class grainy black-and-white films of American POWs in Vietnam reading forced confessions after having been beaten and tortured by their captors. Later that night, Bill was shaken awake by his wide-eyed little brother only to find his bed soaked and his voice hoarse after the prisoner’s hollow gaze had followed him to his dreams.

“I’m not reading this,” Bill said.

Sam glared into the camera. “Carrie,” he said, peeking into his mug, “my tea is cold. Would you please make me a fresh cup?”

Looking back and forth between Sam and the camera, Carrie tried to determine if it was a trap. Scooting her chair back, she said something to Scott that was garbled behind her gag. He seemed to understand, awkwardly maneuvering his napping sister into his arms as carefully as he could. He and his mother moved slowly, mindful of the explosives around her body. Carrie went to the kitchen, which was behind the computer, out of Bill’s view. Panic choked him at the sight of his children alone with their captor.

He wanted to scream at Scott to run. Take his sister and go to a neighbor’s house for help. Get away from the man, away from the explosives—and just as he was about to say that, Sam reached under his vest and pulled out a gun. He pointed it casually at the children. Scott wrapped his arms tighter around Elise.

“Bill,” Sam said, “have you ever heard the story of the tiger and the crow?”

Behind the galley curtain, Jo stared down at the bright screen of her phone, sending rapid-fire texts to her nephew without a proofread.

No, the FO doesn’t know and we are NOT telling passengers

Rest of the crew doesn’t know yet, will tell after break

No clue on what todo about gas. we’ll figure out something.

Don’t know what it is. Assuming it’s bad. Really bad.

have hazmat meet plane at JFK

In the lav, the toilet flushed. Jo pressed the button on the coffeepot. She knew that meant four minutes minimum, but she’d stretch it.

i’ll text when i can but things are going to get bsuy. for you too.

I love you Theo.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” Sam said. “Have you ever heard—”

“No,” Bill said.

Sam smiled and leaned back in the chair. “There once was a tiger who was the king of the jungle. One day, a crow circled overhead, landing on a branch. ‘Tiger,’ he said, ‘please show me what your king eyes see.’ The tiger brushed the bird away, his powerful paw nearly taking a wing. ‘Be gone!’ he said. ‘I’m the king of the jungle. You’re too stupid to know what I see.’ So the crow flew away sadly.

“The next day, the crow circled overhead again, saying, ‘Please, tiger. Surely you must see such amazing things. Please, tell me what your king eyes see.’ But the tiger laughed, puffing out his broad chest at the poor little bird. ‘Why should you see what my king eyes see? You’re too small. Be gone!’ ”

“Dammit, we’re wasting—” Bill said through gritted teeth. He stopped short, taking a breath as he clenched and released his fists. In a calmer tone, he said, “Look. Let’s just talk for a second—”

“So the next day,” Sam continued, “the tiger lay relaxing on a tree branch. Suddenly, it broke, dropping the king of the jungle into the raging river below. Helpless, he floated downstream. The crow appeared overhead. ‘Help!’ the tiger cried out to the crow. ‘Help me!’ The crow looked down at the tiger struggling in the water. ‘How could I help you, king of the jungle? I’m too stupid and too small.’ But then—”

Sam paused as Carrie appeared, a steaming mug in hand. The tea bag label hung off the side, twirling in her movement as she set it on the table in front of Sam, retaking her seat.

“Then!” Sam continued with a gleeful smile, tucking the gun away in his vest. “The crow swooped down and plucked the tiger’s eyes out of his skull. The king of the jungle was defenseless as the water came up over his mighty head. ‘Now,’ the crow said as he flew away, ‘I will see what the king of the jungle sees.’ ”

Silence fell over the room and filled the cockpit.

“If you think—” Bill said.

Grabbing Carrie’s arm violently, Sam stretched it across the table, his chair smacking the floor behind him as it fell. Elise awoke with a scream.

“You’re missing the moral of the story, Bill,” Sam said. Carrie winced. Bill could see Sam’s fingers digging into her skin. “The moral of the story is that I will get what I want. It’s your choice what is sacrificed along the way. Make the video.”

Grabbing the mug of tea, he emptied it onto Carrie’s soft flesh, her muffled screams behind her gag mixing with her daughter’s.

The screen went black as Sam disconnected the call.

Bill clutched the sides of the computer. Panting, he stared at the blank screen. He had no idea how long he sat like that, staring into nothingness. The sound of the lav opening and closing in the cabin behind him broke his stupor.

Ben would be back soon.

Jo was opening a little creamer as Ben came out of the bathroom, the ebony skin on her fingers speckled with fine mists of cream, an unavoidable reality of a pressurized cabin at altitude. Wiping her fingers on a napkin, she swirled the cream and sugar before pointing at the machine.

“Coffee was cold so I’m brewing you a fresh pot. Almost done.”

The first officer glanced at the cockpit door.

FAA and company protocol said in and out quickly, but the FAA didn’t have any eyes on board today. Jo’s stalling was a bet on the pilot’s youth and cockiness finding him more rebellious than rule stickler, and to her relief, he leaned casually against the galley counter.

“You going downstairs tonight?” he asked.

“Nah,” Jo said. “Tomorrow in Portland, sure. But night one I slam-click, catch up on my sleep. You know I’ve been with my husband for nineteen years? You’d think I’d be able to sleep through his snoring.”

“Another reason why I’m single.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why,” Jo said, watching Ben look for the younger flight attendant in the back.

“So do you commute?” she asked.

“No, I live in Long Beach.”

“Oh, I lived there when I first moved to LA. Where were you before Coastal? You’ve been here…”

“Three years in January,” Ben said. “I was at a regional out of Buffalo.” He glanced at the glowing BREW button.

“Almost done,” she said with a small wink, placing one hand on her hip and the other on the coffeepot handle. “So tell me—”

Behind her, Jo heard her phone vibrate against the counter.

Bill’s foot tapped compulsively. Staring out the window at the rows of cornfields below, he hadn’t blinked in almost a minute. Carrie’s scream as she was scalded with nearly boiling water echoed through his head. Darker thoughts of what could happen to the children bubbled up uncontrollably.

“Dammit,” he muttered, reopening Sam’s last email.

Taking his phone out, he swiped left to open the camera. Toggling to the video function, he flipped the camera around so his own face filled the screen. Holding the phone out, he brought it alongside the computer so he could read the text like a teleprompter. The image of his face on the screen shook. Breathing deeply to steady his hand, he pressed the red record button.

Jo poured into the mug, watching the coffee swirl with the cream, dark and light combining to a shade of tawny. Taken by the relief of the everyday task, she almost didn’t see Ben reach for the interphone to call Bill and head back up.

Acting before she had time to think, Jo yelped in pain as coffee poured all over her hand. The mug slipped out of her fingers, cracking against the metal countertop, covering everything with coffee. She jumped back to avoid the splash.

“Whoa!” Ben said, slamming the phone back in its cradle. “You okay?”

Jo laughed with a grimace. “Besides embarrassed? I think so.” She shook off her hand, examining it under the light. “Well, your coffee is hot and fresh, that’s for sure. Honey, grab me some paper towels?”

With Ben busy in the bathroom, she glanced down quickly at her phone. The text was from Theo. Almost to the family’s house. Dropping the phone in her pocket, she bit her lip, covering a small smile.

“Ah, thank you,” she said, taking the paper towels. “Let me just mop this up real quick.”

Bill watched the seconds tick on the recording video. He cleared his throat.

“My name is Captain Bill Hoffman and I am guilty,” he said into the camera. “Guilty of abuse, manipulation, and exploitation. I am guilty of repressing an entire community of people whose only true desire is sovereignty and dignity. I am guilty of deserting and betraying a close ally after they sacrificed eleven thousand of their own soldiers in the defeat of ISIS, simply because I asked them to. I am guilty of looking the other way as chemical warfare was waged on innocent civilians.”

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He wiped it away.

“The crash of Flight four-one-six and the chaos and death it will bring are the tiniest glimpse of the pain and suffering the Kurdish people have unfairly endured because of me. Today, poison will fill your lungs, and panic will overcome your senses as you suffocate, gasping for cool relief that will never come. The putrid scent of decaying flesh will fill your nose as your precious American skin festers and rots to the bone. Eyes, burning and bloodshot, will bulge from your skulls, wide with terror, as you see your sins played out across your own bodies. You will cower in the empty promise of your privilege and realize that you are not special. That you too will die. And in your last horror-filled moments, you will remember that thousands of innocent Kurdish men, women, and children have gone before you, dying the same tortured deaths—and all because of you. You and your ignorance. Your indifference. Your unwillingness to be inconvenienced by caring. So now, you and I will pay.

“This pitiful restitution cannot come close to the justice the Kurds deserve, but it is the best I can do. So on behalf—”

His voice began to quiver.

“On behalf of America… and on behalf of my family… I come before you with Kurdish blood on my hands and ask the Kurdish people for forgiveness through my sacrifice and the sacrifice of Flight four-one-six.”

The intercom buzzed throughout the cockpit and he pressed the red button to stop recording. Bill stared at his frozen face on the screen in front of him. He pushed a button on the center console.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice flat.

“Ben here,” came the first officer’s voice. “Ready to come up.”

“Hold on,” Bill said. “ATC’s talking.”

On his phone, he opened his email, attached the video to a new message, entered Carrie’s email address, and pressed “Send.” Laying the phone next to his computer, he lowered the laptop’s screen so he could let Ben up—but paused.

Thinking better of it, he reopened the computer and went to his email there. He clicked on the “Sent” folder, wanting to make sure the email went through. Instead, he found that the last sent message was from nearly twenty minutes ago, before the bathroom break. The email with the video hadn’t been delivered.

“Shit,” he whispered, refreshing the browser.

Nothing.

Jo tapped her finger on her wrist, staring out at the cabin from her blocking position. She could tell Bill was stalling.

In the back Kellie crossed the galley.

“I think she’s single too,” Jo said suggestively over her shoulder.

Ben was busy texting. He looked up, clearly having no idea who Jo was talking about. “Huh?”

Jo nodded toward the back.

“Oh! She is?”

“Uh-huh. Want to stay out for a bit and I’ll call her up?” Jo suggested, hoping her tone came off as casually as she meant it to.

Bill knew Ben was standing on the other side of the door waiting while Jo blocked. It had already been a long break—he assumed Jo had stalled as best she could—and if he didn’t open soon it was going to start looking suspicious. Both to Ben and whatever other eyes were watching them. He refreshed the browser again. The “Sent” folder stayed the same.

Jo watched Kellie flip her hair to the side with a laugh. The young woman picked up a magazine and walked it over to the other flight attendant, the curves of her tight uniform impressive even a full length of a plane away.

Ben glanced at the flight deck door, then back to the blonde.

“I don’t know, it’s been long enough of a— Oh. Hey, Bill. Yeah, I’m ready.”

He hung the phone up with one more glance down the aisle as Kellie ducked out of sight.

“Next break, for sure, Miss Matchmaker.” He winked at Jo as the door opened and he disappeared up front.

“You get lost out there?” Bill said.

“Jo can talk, man.”

Bill opened his computer. At the top of the “Sent” folder sat the email with the video.

Jo heard the door close and lock behind her. Turning with a deep exhale, she quickly picked up the interphone and looked through the plane to the back galley.

Everyone was in their seats except a young lady coming up the aisle from the bathroom. Taking her seat, she became one of the mass; tops of heads occasionally swaying in unison with the plane’s movements like sheep packed tightly into the bed of a truck. Jo looked out at these strangers and wondered what twists of fate had brought them all here, now. People didn’t pay to leave their comfort zone unnecessarily. Every person on board had a reason for being here. She wondered who was being shepherded to visit friends, who was going to a wedding. A funeral, a work trip, a vacation. Going home.

Hijacking a plane.

But with 144 passengers on board, surely not all of them were a threat. So knowing what she knew, was it fair to keep the innocent in the dark? Telling them would be a risk to Bill’s family, of course. But didn’t these families on board deserve more?

There it was again. That faint murmur in her gut. She had ignored it the first time, but this time it was stronger, unavoidable.

Jo knew Bill wasn’t going to crash the plane. Her trust in him was bedrock. No, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was, she was afraid he couldn’t trust her.

The terrorist would kill his family if they told the passengers. That was clear.

But how could the flight attendants not tell them? How could they not give these innocent people every advantage they could to protect themselves from their own peril? Keeping it from them, making choices for them, taking away their autonomy. It didn’t sit right. It didn’t seem fair.

Stop.

Jo shut out the line of reasoning by ripping the interphone off the cradle. They would protect the passengers, they would figure it out. But they would do it without telling them. She couldn’t betray Bill like that.

She watched the other two flight attendants in the back galley. Kellie was holding a tray with drinks on it. She laughed at a joke from her coworker before walking off to deliver the drinks. Jo envied their ignorance.

When she pushed a button, a green light lit up in the back with a high-low chime. Jo watched her colleague cross the galley and pick up the phone.

“Housekeeping.”

“Hey, Daddy,” Jo said. “Look, we—”

She stopped herself. Not over the phone. She needed to tell them in person.

“Grab Kellie and come up here. We need to talk.”