Chapter 19, part 1.

Alice woke up with a start, her eyes fluttering open as she looked around. Everything seemed calm: the lights were dimmed, the sky behind the window was uniformly black, and most people were asleep, only a few were reading by the individual lamps installed above their seats. There was absolutely no reason why her heart should be beating so fast or the hair at the nape of her neck should be standing up. It must have been that dream—the details were already slipping from her consciousness, but the disturbing feeling persisted. She shifted on her seat, stretching her cramped limbs. It was a miracle in itself that she'd even fallen asleep.

She looked at her watch. It was showing 10:23 PM, but that was Colorado time. She quickly made the conversion—it would be 5:23 AM in London. They were supposed to land at 8:35, so they had three more hours of flight. She wondered idly if she would be able to fall asleep again. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, contemplating the fact that she was here, on this redeye flight to London. At first, when she had left Doctor Green's office, she had not intended to take her advice. In fact, she had felt pretty rebellious about all of the instructions the psychiatrist had given her. She understood the Benadryl and alcohol one—but giving up caffeine? Going home every night just to sleep in her own bed? It was absurd. And she didn't really need an appetite stimulant, did she? She didn't have issues with food—when she remembered to eat… It irked her to have someone look at her life and judge her so hard. And suggesting that she go to London was just a step too far, wasn't it? But then, as time wore on, thoughts came unbidden—images of herself standing over Karim's grave, the memory of the neighborhood where his father lived, the door to his house that she hadn't had the courage to knock on when she had gone there the last time… And almost without any conscious decision, she started looking at flights and the next thing she knew, she was buying a ticket. She was still pretty reluctant to follow all the lifestyle advice Doctor Green had given her—but she did promise to try. She just told herself she would start after coming back from her trip—after all, it would disturb the routine anyway.

She sighed. The sleep wasn't coming. She opened her eyes and looked towards the window—she had the aisle seat, but still could see outside. The black sky seemed a little lighter than before—if she could look towards the direction they were flying, she could probably see the dawn beginning to break over the horizon. For some reason, it made her think back to her time at McMurdo, where they would often roll out in the morning when it was still almost dark and welcome the sun already up in the air. She smiled, remembering. It was beautiful—but, oh, so cold! She shivered at the thought. Actually, the Boeing's cabin wasn't too warm, either—she could use a blanket.

She looked up and down the aisle, but didn't see any flight attendants. They were probably still back in the crew rest area, or already in the galleys preparing the morning service. She could bring someone in by using the dedicated button in the ceiling above her, but she decided to stand up and stretch her legs instead. Might as well walk to the back and ask for a blanket directly.

A couple heads went up to look at her as she passed quietly down the aisle, but most people were asleep. The galley was behind the lavatories and as Alice ventured beyond them, she noted that only one flight attendant was there, and she wasn't even preparing anything—she just stood there, and at first Alice thought she was talking to a man in dark clothing who accompanied her; but as she came closer, she saw the flight attendant's expression and it almost made her stop. She wasn't just pale—she was ashen-faced. Alice threw a quick look at the man—he seemed tense and was leaning on a wall, his hands behind his back, and he looked at Alice broodingly as she approached.

She pretended not to notice their expressions. "Hi, sorry to disturb, but I just woke up and I'm a little cold—do you think I could get a cup of warm tea and a blanket?"

She noted a furtive glance the flight attendant gave the dark-clad man and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Of course, ma'am, right away," she squeaked and turned around to prepare the beverage.

Alice smiled and took another step, closer to the man. "Can't sleep, either?" She asked him, trying to sound friendly.

"No, not really. Came up here to stretch my legs and have a talk," he replied; he had a peculiar accent—certainly a British one, but it wasn't something one could hear spoken by a BBC anchor. Alice knew too little about British accents to pinpoint where it could be coming from.

"Yeah, I'm a little stiff too," she agreed lightly. He could be in earnest—just a passenger, with no sinister motivations. But some instinct at the back of her head didn't agree—and, in fact, it was screaming DANGER! The man's eyes flickered about, restless, his face was tense, and his hands still hidden behind his back. And the nervousness of the flight attendant—there was definitely something wrong.

"Here you go, ma'am, your tea," the young woman said, her voice faltering a little, as she handed Alice a plastic cup. It was hot, almost scalding.

"Thank you! And how about that blanket?" Alice asked.

"Oh, of course!" The flight attendant said and moved to get it. Alice stepped aside, to give her some space—getting even closer to the suspicious man. And then she pretended to stumble and threw the burning hot contents of the cup onto his shirt.

"Hey, watch it!" He cried, instinctively straightening up and lifting his hands up.

Alice caught the black metallic shine of a gun and a thought run through her head—How did you manage to smuggle it aboard?!—but then instinct took over. She reacted automatically, balled her hand into a fist and hit him in the larynx, hard. He wheezed and bent mechanically, his free hand flying to his throat. Alice launched herself at the other one, grasping the gun and twisting it to get it out of his grip. He was so surprised with the suddenness of the attack that he didn't even struggle much. In three seconds, Alice had the pistol in her hand and, before he managed to recover, she brought it down onto the back of his head with as much force as she could. He moaned and toppled over onto his stomach. She saw that this didn't quite knock him out, so she leaned over and clubbed him again—and this time his eyes fluttered and closed.

She stood up, looked over the gun—it was a small Ruger, a three-eighty barely five inches long, with four rounds still in the magazine. Even loaded, it weighed practically nothing—no wonder she had to hit him twice.

She looked around at the flight attendant. The young woman stood rooted to the spot, her hands over her mouth, eyes wide.

"Do you have handcuffs or zip ties on board?" Alice asked urgently.

"Y—yes," the attendant replied, her voice creaking under stress. "They're just over here," she added, diving towards one of the lockers in the galley. As she opened it, Alice could see a jumble of various items.

"Take the duct tape, too," she said authoritatively. "We'll need to gag him."

Thirty seconds later the man was tied and gagged, and lying on the floor inside the galley, to make sure he could not be seen from the cabin.

The flight attendant stood a few paces away, leaning on the wall, breathing hard, her face almost green now.

"Hey, it's okay," Alice told her and then noted a nametag on her uniform. "Jenny, is it?"

"Yes," Jenny replied and swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

"I'm Alice Boyd, I'm an officer in the US Air Force. Now, tell me, what happened here and how many more there are?" It was clear that the man couldn't have acted alone.

Jenny's lips trembled and her eyes got wet instantly. "I don't know how it started, I was helping out one of the passengers, but he—he killed Sami and Tatiana. They were up in the crew rest cabin—I went up there to check on them when they didn't come down on time and they just lay there, blood everywhere…" Her voice rose in distress as she recounted the horror.

Alice put her hand on Jenny's shoulder. "I'm sorry. But I need you to focus now—he wasn't working alone, was he? How many more?"

"I—I'm not sure. He didn't let me out of his sight since the moment I got upstairs. I don't know why he didn't kill me, too…"

"He needed you to avoid panic," Alice explained, looking out into the cabin. The Economy section was divided from the Business class by a curtain, so she couldn't see if there was someone in the middle galley. "Just in case someone came up with a request—that's why he let you get me that tea… his mistake," she added coldly. "Do you know what they want?"

The flight attendant shook her head. "He didn't say. He just told me to be quiet and act natural if someone came…"

"Alright." Alice put the gun behind the belt of her jeans and covered it with the hem of her t-shirt. Then she put the zip ties into the back pocket and added the duct tape next to the gun—it wouldn't fit in a pocket. "Stay here, Jenny. In case he wakes up, keep him quiet—even if that means knocking him out again. Don't move from here and if any of the passengers come close, tell them to get back to their seat. Don't let anyone see him—we don't want panic. Understand?"

"Yes." She nodded courageously. "What are you gonna do?"

"Whatever I have to," Alice replied gravely. "Don't worry, Jenny—this is my bread and butter. I'll make sure we land safe and sound."

It would be very ironic if, after surviving countless skirmishes on other planets and space vessels, she was killed in a plane hijacking on Earth, she thought as she walked away, up the aisle. At least it would've meant that her family would know where and how she died—something that couldn't be guaranteed in the Program.

She paused in front of the curtain that separated the Economy from Business class. She took a quick look around her—everybody nearby seemed to be asleep. She pulled out the Ruger, hiding it from view behind her own body, and then took a deep breath and dived behind the partition.

The man stood inside the galley, invisible from the Business class section; a flight attendant was in front of him, looking out. She was older than Jenny and seemed less frightened—her eyes were wide, but her face was somewhat more composed. As Alice emerged from behind the curtain, the hijacker was looking to the right, away from her. He had another small pistol in his hand, and he noticed Alice and started to turn toward her—but she was quicker. Before he got the gun all the way up, she charged him with the entire weight of her body, putting her empty hand on his armed one and twisting them both upwards, away from herself. He was twice her size, so her tackle only made him take a step back, but that was enough—as he tried to regain his balance, he wasn't struggling too much on the gun. Alice managed to spin it towards him, even as he still held onto it, making pulling the trigger a suicidal move—and then she brought her own Ruger down sideways onto his temple, the barrel actually cutting through his skin with the force of the blow. He slackened, grasped at her with his other hand, missed her shoulder and stumbled backwards, but he didn't fall—yet it accorded her the opportunity to jerk his pistol away from him. Throwing it on the ground, she clobbered him with the Ruger again, and then once more—and finally he crumbled to the floor—first his knees gave out, and then he folded like a harmonica.

Panting a little, Alice bent to zip him up. During the fight, the duct tape slipped out of her belt and she looked around until a black manicured hand appeared in her field of vision, handing her the roll.

"Thanks," Alice murmured to the flight attendant and used the tape to gag the hijacker. Then she dragged him away from the entrance to the galley, so that he wouldn't be visible from outside. Finally, she picked up his pistol—this one a Sig Sauer, a fraction of an inch bigger than her Ruger. This one was a single-action, though, which explained why he didn't manage to shoot when they were struggling for the gun—he couldn't cock the hammer with her hand over it.

She removed the magazine, made sure there was no round in the chamber, and put the Sig Sauer on the counter. "That was lucky," she muttered to herself and then addressed the flight attendant: "You okay?"

"Yes," she replied, her eyes still wide, but her voice quite steady. "Thank you."

Alice shook her head dismissively. "Do you know how many there are?"

"Three more." The nametag read Antonia. "One went to the back—"

"I got rid of that one already," Alice interrupted.

Antonia nodded. "Two more went to the front of the plane—I don't know what they're doing there, this one told me not to move and act natural. I was trying to remember our training how to take down an armed opponent, but I thought I'd wait for a better moment. I would've—"

"It's okay, you did the right thing waiting," Alice told her. "Did he say anything else? What they want?"

"No, he wasn't particularly chatty."

"Did they come from the Economy class?"

"No, Business." She waved towards that section. "Two of them went to the lavatories first, they were carrying their bags, I'm used to ladies bringing their purses in, men typically don't, but I was busy… Then two more approached and these first two came out of the lavatories, and they had guns in their hands—I was too stunned to do anything," she admitted, ashamed. "You read about these things, and we were trained what to do, but I just couldn't—"

"It's okay," Alice repeated distractedly. They had the guns in their bags, but how on Earth did the security not notice them? "It's different when it really happens, and the best thing to do when you're confronted with a gun is to follow the instructions of the gun holder. You can't outrun a bullet."

"But you just disarmed him, and it looked so easy!" Antonia protested vivaciously. "Who are you anyway?"

Alice smiled. "It's not my first rodeo," she said dismissively, and then added more serenely: "I'm a major in the US Air Force, my name is Alice. Now, I'm gonna go and try to deal with the remaining two guys. You stay here and watch over him—don't let anyone see him, or we'll have panic on our hands."

The attendant looked at the Sig Sauer on the counter. "Maybe I could help…?"

"No," Alice said, her voice suddenly harsh. "It would only distract me," she added more softly. "Best to hide the gun somewhere—and just stay here an keep an eye on him. I may need your help later on, but leave the pistol alone."

"Okay." She nodded determinedly and moved to grab the firearm and put it a drawer.

Alice checked her Ruger—except for a spot of blood on the barrel, it looked normal—put it back behind her belt and stepped into the aisle that led through the Business class to another partition that separated it from First. She was almost halfway there when she noted the curtain twitch, and that same instinct that had warned her about the first hijacker suddenly screamed DANGER! again. She pulled the pistol out and lifted it just as someone tugged on the fabric and came through, gun already up.

It was like the moment got suspended in time. She could see every single detail with baffling precision, despite the dimness of the light: the tenseness of muscles on the man's face, his narrowed eyes focusing on the sights of the shiny black gun in his hand, the curtain flapping back to its place behind him, a passenger's head turning around with an alarmed expression—and then two shots went out almost at the same time, filling the relative silence—disturbed only by the hum of the plane engines—with deafening sound.

Almost, but not quite at the same time, though; Alice pulled the trigger half a second earlier. She didn't know if that was the reason why the hijacker's shot went wide, or if it he just wasn't a great shot—either way, the bullet merely grazed her left upper arm and hit the wall that separated the cabin from the lavatories two yards behind her. Alice's aim, however, was accurate: a black, bloody hole appeared on his forehead, between his eyes, and he fell backwards, his body getting tangled in the fabric of the partition and sliding to the ground with a graceless thump.

There was half a second of silence in which the roar of the engines seemed louder than ever, and then the cabin erupted in screams and wails from terrified passengers.

"Everybody shut up!" Alice yelled, and she didn't know if it was the authority in her voice, or the fact that she had a gun in her hand, but it worked, at least for a moment; they all fell quiet at once. She turned around—Antonia was standing at the entrance to the cabin, her eyes wide but her expression still more determined than scared.

"Keep them quiet, and in their seats," she told her. "I'm going forward."

The flight attendant nodded but her eyes were on Alice's arm. "You're hit—you're bleeding…"

Alice looked down at the wound. It didn't even hurt and she knew it was thanks to the adrenaline coursing in her veins. "It's just a scratch, I'll be fine," she said dismissively, and then pivoted around and walked towards the curtain—and the body lying in a pool of blood. She first made sure he was truly dead—though with such a shot, there really was no chance he could survive—and then picked up his gun. It was another pocket pistol, a tiny Beretta with a thirty-two cartridge. Alice un-cocked the hammer and engaged the safety before putting it in her pocket—it was even smaller than the Ruger, and it almost fit, the grip protruding out a little.

A hum of voices and sniffles was rising behind her—and also, she noted with dismay, in front of her. She stepped over the body on the ground gingerly and pulled the curtain away. A number of people were standing up over their First Class seats, a couple even in the aisle. Their faces were scared and curious at the same time, but as they took in the sight—Alice, pistol in hand, and a dead body behind her—gasps of horror started filling the air.

"Everybody back in their seats!" Alice ordered, her voice sharp and authoritative. "And keep quiet!"

She threw a look into the galley to her right, but it was empty. She barreled down the aisle, the two men who had previously obtruded the way having fled back to their seats. The First Class, thankfully, was the smallest passenger compartment and in thirty seconds she was at the front of the plane, in the space between the cabin and the cockpit. On the left, there was the aircraft forward door, and on the right, a couple pull-out seats for the crew to strap in when taking off or landing. And in there, wedged between two walls, the third remaining flight attendant sat on the ground, her arms wrapped around her legs and rocking gently. There was no one else around and that could mean only one thing—the last of the hijackers must have found his way into the cockpit. Fuck.

Alice pulled at the cockpit door, knowing already that it would be in vain—and she was right, it wouldn't budge. She stepped away and approached the terrified attendant on the ground.

"Hey!" She called to get her attention. The woman looked up, her face gray with fright, her eyes huge and panicked. She must have been even younger than Jenny—barely twenty years old, if that. "It's okay, I'm one of the good guys," Alice told her, squatting next to her and touching her shoulder. The girl jerked away as if she was an injured, frantic animal. It was no use—she was in shock, she wouldn't be able to give Alice any intel. And, besides, what news could she give her, really? It was clear that the last hijacker went into the cockpit and probably terrorized the pilots with a gun to ensure they would fly in the direction he chose. Except…

Alice got up to her feet, tucked the Ruger behind her belt and left the young flight attendant alone. She walked back into the First Class cabin and was greeted by an uproar—there were only about ten people in this section, but they all stood and talked at the same time, their voices high and loud—and even more of a commotion could be heard from the aft compartments.

"Everyone, calm down!" She called, but her voice was drowned out in the hubbub. She tried again: "Everybody stop talking now!" And this time it worked at least partially, because a couple men in expensive suits that stood closest noticed. One of them turned around to the other passengers.

"Shut up everyone!" He bellowed, his deep voice carrying far.

The clamor nearby died down a little, though a couple women were still sobbing.

"Listen to me everyone!" Alice said loudly. "We have been hijacked but there is no more immediate danger! We are going to get you back on the ground safe and sound very soon, but I need you all to keep calm and cooperate with the instructions of the crew!"

"Oh thank God!" One of the crying women exclaimed and then folded onto her seat, apparently faint.

"Help her," Alice instructed one of the men and then she approached the partition between First and Business Class. There was still a lot of crying and screaming coming from aft, but of a more immediate concern to her was the dead body still lying in the passage. The pool of blood has grown so much that it was impossible to step around it now, and although it didn't seem to be expanding anymore, she knew that she needed to do something with that body. She glanced up towards the next section, looking to Antonia for help, but the flight attendant was swarmed with people—it looked like some of the Economy passengers have made their way there, too.

Alice turned around and pointed at the deep-voiced guy. "Can you help me get him out of the way?" She asked, her tone composed.

She saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, but he gulped and nodded bravely, stepping out into the aisle. Only now she could take a good look at his handsome face and she realized she recognized him—though from where, she couldn't say.

"What's your name?" She asked and noted his surprised look.

"Uhm… Paul McQueen," he answered and the name sounded familiar, too. She ignored it for the moment, though; at least, if he was someone famous, the chances of him working with the hijackers in secret were minimal.

"Take his arms, Paul, I'll grab his legs. We'll have to drag him over to the galley there."

He hesitated and then nodded again. His face was white as a ghost as he picked the dead body up by the arms and his shoes sloshed over the blood. He was a large man, though, and muscled, and it made moving the hijacker the few paces into the galley a quick work. As soon as it was done, he stepped back, looking revolted and nauseated.

"Good job," she told him. "Now, get back to your seat. Everything's gonna be alright."

She didn't wait to see him walk away, but instead she waded through the rust-colored puddle on the floor and into the Business Class pandemonium—it looked like at least half of the coach section was there now, too. There was no way she could get through the throng to Antonia, so she stopped—even panicked, the crowd had given the bloody spot at the entrance to the compartment a wide berth—and tried to grab their attention, again in vain. But then Paul McQueen's booming voice came to her aid once more—she looked over her shoulder to see him standing just behind her.

"Hey everyone, shut up and listen!"

It didn't work as well as previously—there were too many people, but the ranks closest to them turned around, startled, and gaped at them, a hush falling over them; that reaction made those farther back quiet down, too, looking for the source of the anomaly, renewed fright setting in.

"Listen up!" Alice called, straining her voice to be heard. "The situation is under control and we are no longer in any immediate danger! We are going to bring you all back to the ground safe and sound as soon as possible, but I need you all to get back to your seats, remain calm and follow the instructions of the crew!"

"And who the hell are you?!" Someone asked, and a whisper went over the crowd like a wave.

"I am one of the passengers—and I also happen to be an officer of the US Air Force," she answered, her voice cool. "All the hijackers in the cabin are neutralized, there is nothing to be scared of now—except what happens if you all panic. So please, help me and get back to your seats! Now, please!"

The mass of people seemed to hesitate, sway and then slowly they started dispersing, everyone going back to their seats. As they did, Alice saw one person pull out their phone and she jumped over to them and snatched it from their hand. "No phones!" She hissed. The passenger looked bewildered, but didn't protest, perhaps because of Alice's threatening expression.

It took about five minutes for the throng to thin out enough for Alice to be able to reach Antonia.

"I'm sorry, I tried—" She began as Alice approached.

"Don't sweat it, it was inevitable," Alice interrupted her. "The last flight attendant is up front, but she's in shock—I don't think you'll get much use out of her. Get Jenny on crowd control up here and go to the coach yourself, we have to keep them in their places."

Antonia nodded, her face betraying relief at hearing that her younger colleague was alright. "Sami and Tatiana are upstairs, we can wake them up and…" Her voice trailed off as Alice shook her head.

"Sorry," Alice murmured.

"Oh God…" Antonia lifted her hand to her mouth, more shocked with this news than anything that happened so far.

"I know, but I need you to keep it together," Alice told her. "We gotta grab the bad guys and bring them forward—I need them in one place to keep an eye on them while you're out here."

"I'll help you," came a voice from behind her and she noted that Paul McQueen was still shadowing her. He looked pale, but determined.

She nodded. "The other two are alive but unconscious," she told him and watched his face slacken in relief. Then she turned to Antonia again. "Make sure everyone stays in their seats and as calm as possible. And one more thing—confiscate the phone of anyone who tries to use it."

"Why?"

"I can't guarantee that these guys were working alone. There is a possibility there's someone among the passengers who hasn't identified themselves yet. We can't risk them communicating with—anyone else," she finished, a little lamely. She didn't want to say out loud that there was still one hijacker in the cockpit.

Antonia licked her lips nervously and nodded. Alice turned around to look at Paul and waved at him to follow her.

It took them another ten minutes to bring the first two hijackers up front, to the space right behind the cockpit. Two other men—both from the Economy Class, this time—offered to help, but Alice told them it would be too difficult to walk across the aisle with four people. The real reason was that she didn't trust them—she couldn't rule out that they might be working with the hijackers and they'd volunteered because they wanted to liberate their comrades.

By the time they deposited the second unconscious man on the floor by the crew seats, the young flight attendant seemed to have recovered a little. At least, she was standing up, her eyes still huge but more alert now.

"They made me open the door," she said when Alice questioned her, her voice trembling almost to the point of making the words unintelligible. "They had guns… I didn't want to, but they told me they'd start killing the passengers, one by one, if I don't… I didn't know what to do!"

"You did the right thing," Alice assured her, wondering if it was actually true. "This door—how does it work?"

"It locks automatically," the girl explained, sniffling. Her tag proclaimed her name to be Kayla. "You have to enter a code on a keypad—all the crew knows the code."

"And what happens when you enter it?"

"There is a sound inside the cockpit, and there is a dial that the pilot can switch to unlock the door."

"And if he doesn't?" Alice pressed.

"Then the door won't open unless you enter a special emergency code. Only the pilot, co-pilot and the purser have this code. If they enter it and the pilot doesn't do anything, after a few seconds the alarm will become louder and then the door will open for five seconds."

Alice frowned. She knew these systems were redesigned after 9/11, and it seemed to her like that would leave a pretty big security loophole. "But the pilot can lock the door, too, can he?" She guessed.

Kayla nodded. "If he switches the dial to Lock, nobody can enter until he releases it. I mean, for a few minutes, then you may reenter the code but he can override it again…"

"And do you know the emergency code?"

"No, only the purser knows it from cabin crew…"

"And who's that on this flight?" Alice asked, hoping the girl would say Antonia.

"Tatiana," Kayla replied and Alice half-closed her eyes. Of course it had to be one of the attendants the hijackers had killed…

She didn't respond, but looked at the door pensively. There was a slight chance that whoever was in the cockpit didn't know about the locking system—and if he didn't maybe entering the normal code would work, maybe the pilot could unlock the door without giving himself away.

"Do you know if this aircraft has a camera showing who is standing at the door?" She inquired after a moment of silent meditation.

"I don't think so."

"Okay, so let's try this." Alice nodded determinedly. She looked around her—Paul McQueen was still standing there. "You should get back to your seat," she advised him.

He shook his head. "There's still someone in there, in the cockpit, is there?" His voice was steady, even as his wide eyes gleamed with fear.

Alice didn't see a point in denying the truth. "Yes. I need you out of here and safely back to your—"

"No, ma'am," he interrupted her in his posh British accent, squaring his shoulders. "You'll need backup—"

"An untrained civilian is no backup," she cut him off. "You'd only distract me."

He pursed his lips as if he was unhappy about what she called him, but then he nodded reluctantly. "Okay, then, but let me stay here—you'll need someone to keep an eye on these guys." He pointed to the two on the ground, still unconscious.

Alice mulled it over for a moment and then relented. "Fine, but stay away from the door. I don't need a stray bullet striking a civilian."

He stepped back obediently. Alice turned back to Kayla. "What's the keypad combination? The normal one."

"Six-two-two-four-nine-five," she recited.

"Alright, Kayla, thank you. You did good. Now go back there, your colleagues will need your help to control the passengers."

The girl nodded eagerly and skipped away, apparently happy to leave the place.

Alice pulled the Ruger out, took a deep breath and entered the code on the keypad. There was a moment of silence—and then one long beep. She swore under her breath. She could guess what it meant—the hijacker locked the door from inside.

"What now?" Paul asked, his voice a little higher in stress and fear.

"I've gotta open the lock the hard way," she said, shrugging and looking around. There had to be a toolbox somewhere on board, right? "Wait here," she told him and then hesitated. What if the hijacker opens the door and exits and sees him here alone? She put the Ruger back behind her belt and removed the Beretta from the pocket. "Do you know how to use a gun?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "I've had a professional shooting training for a film a couple years back."

Oh, so you're an actor, she thought, momentarily amused at her own TV illiteracy. "Good. This is a Beretta, it's got seven rounds in the magazine, thirty-two caliber. Now listen carefully—it's a single-action firearm, you have to cock the hammer before you can shoot, understand? And it's got a safety right here." She showed him and then handed him the gun. "All clear?"

"Crystal." He held it correctly, she noted, with his finger safely on the trigger guard, not the trigger itself.

Alice turned around and walked back down the aisle of the First Class. The people there stood up as she passed, but since she didn't spare them even one glance, they didn't stop her in any way. Passengers in the next section were much more agitated, but she ignored them, too, until she got to where Jenny was standing, talking to a hysterical woman in a back row.

"Hey," Alice called to grab her attention and Jenny snapped her head around. "I need your help with something." And she grabbed her hand and pulled her backwards, to the galley. "Where can I find a toolbox?" She asked quietly.

"Oh, yes, let me get it for you!" Jenny breathed. She still looked shaken, but her face was no longer as pale as before. Alice waited for her for about two minutes before she came back, a yellow box in hand. "Here, that's the biggest one we have!"

"Thanks," Alice said and went back up the aisle. A few voices piped up, asking her for news, but she didn't stop. As long as there was no panic to disrupt her, she didn't care how secure they felt at the moment. She had more important things to do.

McQueen exhaled with relief as he saw her and watched her keenly as she deposited the box on the ground and opened it.

"Do you really think you can open the door with a screwdriver?" He asked doubtfully as she stood up armed with that tool.

"You have no idea how much I can do with nothing but a screwdriver," she answered with humor, winking at him. It shocked him a little, she thought, so she added: "I haven't found an electronic lock I couldn't open yet. Now, if it was a sturdy door with a normal keyhole, I'd have a problem, but keypads are easy." She made quick work of removing the external cover, unveiling a chipset and some wires. She tossed the screwdriver back to the box and selected a multimeter.

"Easy?" He repeated, astounded. "I thought they were supposed to be more secure than lock and key!"

"Well, I'm sure they are—it's just that I have no lockpicking skills, whereas anything that is electronic and has a chip or wires—well, that's what I can deal with," she explained distractedly, most of her focus on the readouts from the multimeter. She hadn't had to handle Earth-style chips in quite a while—most of alien technology was crystal-based—but that didn't mean she'd forgotten how.

"Yeah, but how do you know what to do? Isn't every lock different?"

She didn't reply right away, busy with the keypad. McQueen kept silent and let her work and almost flinched when she suddenly stepped back, with a smile. "I'm an engineer, Paul, I know what I'm doing. Every lock is different, but it's the same guiding principle. Now, I'm about done—I'm gonna create a little short, it'll open the door and then I'm going in. You stay here and if anyone but me or one of the pilots comes out—well, shoot straight."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple going up and down visibly. "Good luck."

"Thanks." She pulled the Ruger out and prepared herself mentally. Then she reached inside the keypad box on the wall and touched one exposed wire to another—a spark flew up, there was a clicking sound, and then a hiss as the door unlocked. She quickly turned the knob and swung the door open, entering with the gun up and ready.

She took in the scene in the cockpit in a fraction of a second: the left-hand seat, the co-pilot's, was occupied, but he was slumped over and motionless; and there was someone on the ground, too, pushed all the way over to the wall and laid out in a sitting position. The floor was all rusty-colored from blood and it was not hard to determine that both the aircraft's Captain and First Officer were dead. There was a third man occupying the pilot's seat on the right, and he was very much alive—for, just as Alice was wrenching the door open, he had pushed on the yoke, making the tip of the plane point down and the violent change of direction shook the craft and made Alice stumble over the entrance and into the cockpit almost free-fall. She only stopped at the middle seat by grabbing the backrest. If the hijacker hadn't been affected by the same gravitational force, he would have had a very easy way with her—but he had unbuckled his seat belts, possibly preparing to rise and shoot her, so he was thrown forward, pushing the yoke even farther down and before he managed to disentangle himself from it, Alice was already sliding towards him. She leaned on his seat for balance and bent forward to hit him with the barrel of her gun—he had just managed to turn enough for her to land a perfect blow to his temple. She saw his eyes flutter, hit him again, missed that perfect spot because the plane was starting to shake dangerously, and then tried once more—and succeeded. His eyes closed and he went slack against the equipment. His pistol clattered to the ground and Alice put her own behind her belt, grabbed his hand and pulled with all her might to get him away from the yoke. It seemed like she struggled for many minutes with the dead weight of his unconscious body—but it was just a few seconds and then, finally, she managed to push him over to the right, and he almost slid on the front window. She slipped onto the seat and pulled on the yoke even before she was all the way in. A number of dials were flashing and beeping at her angrily, but the plane was slowly correcting its path from uncontrolled descent to a level flight. She waited with bated breath until it was fully aligned, and then exhaled deeply. She ran her eyes over the hundreds of switches and dials, and although some were obvious to her, a lot of them didn't seem familiar. Landing this thing would be loads of fun.

She managed to reengage the autopilot which the hijacker had switched off, and then rose from her seat. She quickly checked the pulse on the two pilots, though she knew, with the amount of blood on the floor, it was unlikely that either of them would be alive. She shook her head angrily, throwing a scathing look at the unconscious hijacker, and then walked to the cockpit door. She didn't even exit fully—just cocked her head outside to look at McQueen.

He was standing a little to the right, gun in hand; the two guys he was watching over were crowded to the left, by the wall—gravity must have pushed them over there. One of them was moving a little, but Alice ignored it for the moment.

"It's done," she told McQueen calmly. "Come help me get him out of there."

He half-closed his eyes in relief, his pale face almost green with fright—and maybe a little nausea from the plane shaking so much. Then he nodded, put the safety on the gun and walked into the cockpit. Just inside, he stopped, his eyes wide, looking at the dead pilots.

"Good Lord…" he murmured.

"I know," she agreed gravely. "Don't focus on them, come over here and help me get him out of here and into the corridor."

Together, they managed to move the last unconscious hijacker and put him with the others.

"He almost had me with that maneuver," she admitted as she was tying him up. "If he hadn't been thrown about as well, I would've been a goner. Lucky." She contemplated for a moment that it was the second instance where only luck prevented her from failing. She shook her head. She was losing her edge. She should've predicted he would've done something like that.

"I thought it was the end," Paul confessed, his lips trembling a little. "I thought we were going down, crashing…"

Alice nodded grimly. He had no idea how close it had been. "As long as there are no more bad guys among the passengers, we should be fine now," she said, trying to sound comforting.

"More bad guys?" He repeated, alarm coloring his voice.

She rolled her eyes at her own loose tongue. "It's a distant possibility, but I have to take it under consideration."

"If there are any more of them… they may have a bomb!" He whispered and Alice recognized the spiral of anxiety. "They may explode us to smithereens!"

"I doubt that," she opined confidently, pulling the duct tape around the hijacker's mouth to gag him, though now it was of lesser importance that they be quiet. "They would've already done that when we started leveling up if they had explosives. Plus—" she hesitated.

"What?"

"They killed the Captain and First Officer because this guy is a pilot, too, so they didn't need them. They didn't even turn off the transponder. Which tells me that they had a specific target in mind and wanted to get as close as possible without attracting attention—the aviation industry changed a lot since 9/11."

"Okay, but now we don't have a pilot!" He insisted.

Alice stood up and looked at him with a crooked smile. "We have me. I've never flow an airliner, but it can't be that hard, now, can it?" She shrugged nonchalantly.

He gaped at her. "You take down terrorists, open electronic locks designed to keep people out, and fly planes. Is there anything you can't do?"

She smirked. "Oh so many, many things," she told him. "Now, I've gotta get back in, get on the intercom and reassure the passengers and then make contact with Air Traffic Control… and land this thing. Will you stay here and watch them?"

He blinked and then nodded. "Of course."

"Good man. See you on the ground."

She went back to the cockpit, closing the door behind her—though it would no longer lock. It was a little creepy in there with two bodies and a puddle of congealing blood on the floor, but she tried to ignore that. First thing she did was to look for the aircraft flight manual. It was a thick guidebook detailing all the procedures for both normal and emergency operations. She put it nearby, took a seat, buckled the seat belt and picked up the headphones, switching the comms dial to internal PA system.

"Hey everyone," she said, trying to sound confident and calming. "I am speaking to you from inside the cockpit and want to reassure you that you are safe. As you all know by now, our plane has been hijacked, but we have managed to retake control of the aircraft. That sudden dip you've all felt a few minutes ago was the last attempt of the only remaining hijacker to stop us, and he failed. We have neutralized all four of them and we are now back on track. The plane has not been damaged in any way and we will get you back to the ground safe and sound. Please remain calm and keep following instructions from the flight crew. I will continue to communicate any new information as I get it. That's all for now."

She breathed deeply. She wasn't sure if this would reassure anyone—she wasn't particularly specific, and they had to start wondering why the only communication they got was from her, and not the original pilots. She didn't think your pilots are dead was the right message to send, though. Better keep them guessing.