Hostage by Clare Mackintosh

FIFTY-TWO

PASSENGER 1G

A life sentence. I confess I hadn’t expected that. Standard for terrorism, yes, but is it terrorism to protect the Earth? Is it terrorism to open people’s eyes to the devastation their actions are wreaking upon the world?

The courts say it is.

They see no difference between our cause and religious mania, between saving the planet and destroying it. They are blind to the truth that is so clear to those of us who care about the future we’re leaving for our children.

It will be forty years before parole is even a possibility. Who knows if I’ll even be here to see it? Forty years behind bars, no contact with the outside world. It’s barbaric. Inhumane. Surely death would be preferable?

In that respect, Missouri won. She escaped. Beat the system by dying.

You didn’t think it was Missouri’s plan, did you? That it was Missouri in charge of the complexities required to pull off a project of such magnitude, such significance?

I wouldn’t blame you if you thought that. After all, she did. She saw herself far more as a leader than as a follower, and it was easy to plant the seeds and let her nurture them. Missouri saw herself as the shepherd, when all the time, she was simply another of my sheep. Should anything go wrong, it ensured that all roads would lead back to her, my own hands kept clean. Our online discussions were secure, but I kept meticulous paper records of every contact, every decision, making the judicious decision to visit Missouri’s house after she left for the airport in order to leave the file in her study.

I’m not the first to have a fall guy, and I certainly won’t be the last. We see them everywhere, from the corporate world to the political sphere, and we watch them crash and burn when their time is up. Around them, CEOs walk away unscathed to invest in new ventures; political führers pledge allegiance to a new puppet. The true leaders aren’t on the stage; they’re pulling the strings.

The others respected Missouri—or rather, they respected what they thought she was. They listened to the words I put in her mouth and the plan I allowed her to present as her own.I’m not good with words, I told her. It’ll sound better from you. People listen to you. You’re a natural leader.

People see what they want to see. Believe what they want to believe. Missouri was used to traveling the world, commanding high fees to speak about injustice. She was used to people hanging on her every word. Her ego hung her and kept me hidden.

Forty years, though.

Would I have done the same again, had I known we would fail? That the prison doors would slam, trapping so many futures inside?

The number of major natural disasters has increased threefold in my own lifetime. Island nations are disappearing under rising sea levels. Bees—those humble pollinators to which we owe so much—are vanishing. A terrifying two thousand species are under threat of extinction because of climate change. The world is dying.

So would I do the same again?

In a heartbeat.

And I will.

Because I wasn’t stupid enough to let myself get caught.

There were times when I was worried, of course. Times when I—momentarily—lost control and risked exposing myself as the real mastermind behind the plan. As I knelt by the body of the young flight attendant, my hands pressed around the wound in her neck, my pulse soared. I waited for the hand on my shoulder, the accusation, the truth. Killing her had been reckless—any one of those passengers could have seen my hand around the corkscrew—but their eyes were focused on Missouri. By the time they settled on me, I was trying to save the girl’s life. A hero, not a threat.

The investigation was extensive—the backgrounds of all passengers were looked into—and I felt the hot breath of counterterrorism on my neck. But it came to nothing; I had covered my tracks with an expertise I have honed over the years. Rowan Fraser has been a model citizen.

It wasn’t the ending I wanted, of course. I wanted us to plunge dramatically into the Opera House. I wanted footage of our actions—the most important political statement ever made—to be replayed for decades, across every continent, in every house, every school, every institution. I wanted “breaking news” headlines, a spotlight on climate change so bright, no one could avoid it. Missouri wanted it too. She was tired of fighting for justice for her brother—also an environmental activist. She was tired of trying to make people listen to the same message that had gotten him killed more than two decades ago. One final act, she said. For him.

It amused me to see the passengers shrink back from Missouri’s rudimentary piece of fancy dress. We have the jihadists to thank, I suppose, for creating such hysteria around a glimpse of wire and plastic. Her “bomb” was nothing but socks in dog-waste bags, strapped to an elastic luggage strap, the colored wires ripped from earphones. Each item innocently passed through the X-ray machine at security and assembled in the bathroom of the plane.

Perhaps if Lena had never known the explosives were fake, it might have been enough to keep the crew at bay… Hindsight is a wonderful thing, is it not?

I did my best to keep Mina from storming the flight deck. I hadn’t counted on her ridiculous desire to “make good” the events of the preceding hours. I could have neutralized her. Even, perhaps, Mina and Cesca. But Mina, Cesca, and Derek? When it became apparent that they were committed to their entirely unplanned rescue mission, I realized that joining in with them, getting into the flight deck with them, was my last chance to make the headlines we needed.

I confess, I had rather expected Mina to fall apart emotionally. I could see it happening, tried to push it still further. I reminded her of her family, exploiting what I knew to be her weak point, just when she needed to hold it together. The controls were almost mine, the mission so nearly complete.

Did I push her too far? Her reaction to my needling was extreme, a screaming tantrum so wildly disproportionate to my own behavior that I can only assume she was in the grip of hysteria. I gave up, then. Even the toughest troops know when to withdraw. Regroup. Better to live to fight again. To fight better.

We won small battles amid the lost war. After the hijack, the UK government banned air miles, a small but significant step toward deterring people from flying. They introduced tax breaks for businesses shipping their products by sea instead of air and added VAT on the purchase of new aircraft.

We made that happen, I tell myself in my darker moments.

I’m telling you now.We made that happen. That’s the power of protest. Don’t ever think that you can’t effect change, can’t truly make a difference in the world. To the world. Your children’s children are counting on you.

Nevertheless, it is time for a new approach. Protests have changed since my mother took me to Greenham Common; legislation has changed, technology has changed. We can be cleverer. Quieter. More powerful.

Over the last few years, since our hijacking mission, I’ve noticed a sea change in attitudes toward climate change. You must have seen it too. More coverage in newspapers, more documentaries, more celebrities standing up to be counted. The tide is turning, and the time to ride the wave is now.

But I’m not the one to ride it.

Branding is everything in this world of consumerism and social media, and it has never been my style to take center stage. What’s needed is someone young, someone passionate, someone whose purity shines through for the world to see.

Someone like you.

I know you’re ready for this. You’ve listened to my side of the story, and you understand the issues. You see that it’s the cause that matters, not the people.

It’s daunting, I know. But I’ll be there, in the wings. I’ll help you write your speeches and prepare for meetings. I’ll teach you how to carry people along with your energy and your innocence, until they believe every word you say. I’ll be behind you, but you’ll take the credit. You’ll be known the world over, making nations sit up and listen because you are the voice of reason. The voice of the future.

Consider this an apprenticeship for now. I’ll talk, and you’ll learn, and meanwhile you’ll be winning hearts, so that when the time is right, people will follow you wherever we wish to lead them. I’ll show you how.

Your parents?

Oh, Sophia, they’re not your parents. They’re carers, that’s all. No more a part of your family than your teachers are. It is their job to look after you. Nothing more. Adam and Mina wanted a child, they wanted any child—they didn’t choose you. Not like me.

Yes. That’s right. I chose you.

I chose to tell you all this while the others watched the trial.

Why?

Because I can see your potential. Because together we’re going to change the world, and I know you’re strong enough not just to lead those changes but to cope with the bloodshed along the way. I chose you to be my second-in-command, to be the future of my campaign.

I chose you. So what do you say?

Good girl. You’re making the right decision.

They’re looking at us. I have to go. Don’t tell them what I’ve said, will you? It’s our little secret. Just sit tight, and don’t breathe a word. Be who they want you to be. For now.

I’ll let you know when it’s time.