Chapter Three: Flight 93
Three of the terrorists were in front of me; one, Ahmed al-Haznawi, was behind. I was about midway back, with Ahmed al-Nami and Saeed al-Ghamdi across the aisle in the row just ahead of mine, and Ziad Jarrah just behind the cockpit.
It was he I needed to watch the closest, though he was their pilot; it was the others who were going to storm the door.
I leaned my seat back, pretending to sleep as I listened to their thoughts. I wasn't really fluent in Arabic; I knew a little, but Eastern languages were more Alice's forte. Like Carlisle, I preferred the European ones. But like most people's, these men's thoughts were in images as well as words; I could follow them well enough to get a sense of when they were going to act.
I couldn't make my move before they did; it had to be obvious to all human witnesses that they were hijacking the plane. Not for my own protection — "George Gabriel" was a phantom who would vanish without a trace — but so the terrorists would be put safely behind bars. Their sentences wouldn't be as severe as if the full plot were known…it would have been death, making Carlisle's insistence on not playing judge and jury a bit hollow…but that couldn't be helped.
Forty-five minutes into the flight, I sensed the rising excitement in their thoughts. The two sitting together looked at each other, then one at a time glanced back toward the man sitting behind me.
I tensed, sitting up now as I waited. There was no possible chance that I would fail, but a miscalculation could result in the death of innocents…some at my own hand if any blood was shed. Maybe even my own death, though even if the plane went down I should be able to leap clear before it burst into flames.
I couldn't fail to take the hijackers down, and those on board were doomed to die anyway according to Alice's vision…and yet if I lost any of them, that in itself was a degree of failure.
Behind me, al-Haznawi got up and started toward the cockpit; I leaned slightly forward. As he drew even with al-Nami and al-Ghamdi, the two across from me, they jumped up and the three rushed the cockpit.
But I was there. I had flashed to the front of the plane, standing in front of the door with my arms crossed. The men stopped short, nearly stumbling over each other; to their eyes I had appeared out of nowhere. "No one gets into this cockpit," I snarled.
Al-Ghamdi barked a short, guttural laugh. "You think you stop us?"
Al-Nami swung his fist to connect with my jaw; I didn't dodge the blow, and he gave a cry of pain, cradling a broken hand. I smiled menacingly, showing my teeth. "Yes. I think I do."
Their pilot, Jarrah, had stood to join them, but now he hesitated as al-Haznawi grabbed one of the passengers and wrapped an arm around her neck, holding a knife to her throat. (Though several of them had been held up at security for various reasons, they had made it on board with knives and other weapons.) "We pass, or she die."
"I don't think so," I said softly, dangerously. The woman was absolutely still, her eyes darting from side to side as her thoughts screamed in panic.
I snatched the knife from al-Haznawi's hand and was back in my place before he realized I had moved. Snapping the heavy blade in half, I dropped the pieces to the floor and ground them under my heel. "Let her go, or the next thing I break will be your hand." I knew all too well that he didn't really need a knife to kill her. But even if I had to lose her, it was a whole lot safer for the other passengers if I could keep any blood from being shed.
He released her slowly, reluctantly. Her eyes wide, she began backing toward the door, where two stewardesses were quietly ushering the rest of the first class passengers back into the economy section.
On the other planes, my counterparts each had a mate guarding that door, making sure the terrorists didn't go back into economy. I was on my own; I had both doors to guard. There was no reason it should be a handicap; from the humans' perspective I could be nearly in two places at the same time. Still, it meant I had to be as vigilant as possible over the terrorists' thoughts.
From the cockpit behind me, I could hear the pilot sending a mayday. "We have what appears to be a hijack attempt by four Middle Eastern men…No, they haven't breached the cockpit; a passenger seems to be trying to prevent them…affirmative, one passenger, but he's succeeding; the man can't be human."
I heard the mayday, but didn't waste mental focus on it.
"You let us pass, or we blow plane up with bomb."
I smirked at him. "You don't have a bomb," I called his bluff, seeing the truth in his thoughts.
The four looked at each other, the same idea in all their minds. I was only one man; not even a very big man. Surely I wouldn't stand a chance against all four of them.
My eyes narrowed to slits. "If all four of you come at me at once, I'll kill you," I promised quietly; I couldn't move that fast and avoid lethal blows. "As it is…" One by one, so quickly the fourth just barely realized what was happening before I struck him, I sent them down. Hard enough to knock them unconscious and give them a concussion; for Carlisle's sake not hard enough to kill them. I could feel the old monster rising up; the vigilante who drank the blood of murderers. These men were more despicable than any of the scum I had hunted down in city alleyways…
Swallowing hard, I turned my back on them and knocked on the cockpit door before pushing it open. "All taken care of, sir."
Next chapter coming next week!
I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!
Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fit in my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie