Eight Weeks Later...
Wednesday, February 7th, 2018
Sydney Airport, Australia
Air Emirates Flight EK413
Sydney to Dubai
20:44 GMT+11 (09:44 GMT)
The monstrous aircraft stretched six inches over 238 feet from nose to tail and rose a few inches less than eighty feet into the air while the expansive wings stretched eight inches over 261 feet from tip to tip.
The passenger boarding took a while to accomplish as there were upwards of over five-hundred passengers to file away across two decks of fourteen first class suites, seventy-six business class seats, and over four-hundred economy class seats. The aircraft was a hive of activity as the twenty-one strong cabin crew worked hard to get each passenger to their allocated seating swiftly and efficiently. The flight attendants were always polite, but they kept their eyes open, watching the passengers and looking for any potential security risks or hazards. Amongst that evening's travellers, two groups boarded at around the same time, although each boarded on separate decks.
Making their way to economy seats 69A, 69B, and 69C was what outwardly appeared to be a small family group consisting of a late-thirties female, a mid-teens girl, and a boy who was probably barely into double figures. Outwardly, they seemed normal, and attracted little to no attention as they slipped into their seating, the girl taking the window seat with the woman taking the aisle seat once the boy had sat down in the middle of the three seats which were located on the left side of the aircraft, just a few feet and the third row aft of the wing emergency exit. Once seated, the woman first ensured that the two children fastened their seatbelts and that their carryon bags were tucked under the seats ahead of them. The woman then stowed a larger-than-usual attaché case into the overhead locker before she retook her own seat. Nobody noticed the woman's eyes as they darted around the aircraft, taking in the exits and the general aircraft layout. The woman was not alone in her checks as the girl was doing the very same thing.
On the upper deck, almost directly above, but across on the opposite side of the aircraft, were two over-excited youngsters, who were about to jet off on the flight of a lifetime. Sabre and Cerrus slid into their business class seats 16E and 16F, which were located on the centreline of the aircraft, side-by-side. Their elder brother, Oscar, was seated to their right in seat 16K. The family was emigrating to America, in search of a new life with relatives. Ahead of them, there was an unenviable thirty-four hours of travelling which included an almost five-hour long layover in Dubai before they caught their next flight which would take them across the world. However, the jewel in their mammoth trip was to be the flight aboard the gigantic Airbus A380-800 which they hoped would be an experience to remember. They needed a bit of fun in their lives, especially after the loss of their parents, just three weeks previously. Oscar was twenty, and he had assumed custody of his younger sisters who were twelve and nine respectively. It was a burden which was a struggle for the young man, but one which he would not shrug off, for his siblings' sakes. The family had each received a complimentary fruit juice – Oscar was not interested in the complimentary champagne – as they had boarded, and a female flight attendant had seen them to their seats.
Very soon, all passengers were aboard, and the cabin doors were secured prior to departure.
Twelve minutes later...
The gigantic 276,800-kilogramme aircraft thundered down runway Twelve-Right, passing one hundred and sixty knots as the pilot eased back on the controls and the nose wheels lifted off the runway.
The two young girls had never flown before and they were very apprehensive, especially as they found themselves pushed into their seats by the massive acceleration forces during take-off. Their eyes darted around the cabin as the cabin crew began to work through their assigned seats, passing out drinks while the first meal of the trip was prepared. It was a routine the cabin crew knew by heart and one which was well practised to ensure every person aboard was suitably fed and watered before they chose to relax or sleep. Cerrus and Sabre were adamant that neither one of them was going to sleep for fear of missing something vital during the flight.
"Will you both settle down!" Oscar growled. "It is going to be a very long and very boring flight."
Oscar knew that when his two younger sisters built up a head of steam, it would be hours until they calmed down to the level expected of two young human beings compared to a pair of rabid animals. He fervently hoped that Sabre and Cerrus would tire and eventually doze off to the constant droning sound of the four huge Rolls Royce Trent 900 jet engines.
Even better, he hoped they would both get lost in the massive library of movies for the next several hours so he himself could rest.
..._...
On the deck below, in the less auspicious accommodations of economy, another youngster was struggling to keep still due to his excitement at being aboard an aircraft.
For the nine-year-old boy, it was his second ever flight having flown to Australia just the year before. His life was one of drudgery and he was all but a slave in the hierarchy of Urban Predator. He knew very little about what went on outside their cell and was kept on a very short leash by his instructor who thought nothing about slapping him if required for instant obedience. As for the girl, she was a typical bitch, but she at least spoke to him as if he was a human being, from time to time.
The girl sat in her seat beside the window, gazing out at the fluffy clouds which passed below. She hated flying and she hated being with that woman. Though she did not really hate the boy; he was still a constant irritant she could do without. She had no idea why they were flying most of the way across the planet, but she figured that it was part of an operation, although, it had been a concern that they had not actually accomplished anything despite their year-long stay in Australia. That in itself had been suspicious, but she had learnt, years earlier, that Urban Predator did not always make sense; you just followed orders if you wanted to live.
She hoped that whatever lay ahead would alleviate the boredom.
Three hours into the flight...
23:56 GMT+11 (09:56 GMT)
Tracy Turner mulled over what she had to do as she sat in seat 69C sipping a plastic glass of Coke.
The thirty-one-year-old woman had been in company with the two children for a little over a year. They were a standard Urban Predator strike group but only Turner knew that Urban Predator no longer existed. She was using the children to assist in her escape from what she knew would be a prison cell for many years. The plan was to slip away in Dubai and board another flight to Europe to start a new life with a new name and identity. However, she needed to get rid of some excess baggage; namely the nine-year-old boy, Ashley Hawkins, who would be an easy take down – he was just a scrawny Yellow after all – and her primary asset, the all-but-seventeen-year-old Phase 3 Predator, Ava Carmody. It was Ava who was the biggest problem as she was a trained killer and Turner was not one hundred percent certain that she could take the girl down but that was a secondary worry. The first worry was disposing of the boy.
Turner was not to know the chain of events which she was about to unleash in the next few minutes.
..._...
Obtaining a plastic syringe was easy but the modification so that the blunt tip designed to deploy the likes of glue or grease could penetrate human skin without triggering an airport x-ray machine was not.
The entire device was less than ten centimetres in length and fit comfortably in the palm of Turner's right hand. Despite the small size and capacity of just six millilitres, the device was deadly as in general les than one millilitre of air injected into a pulmonary artery was enough to kill an adult by cerebral embolism, let alone a mere boy.
As the boy headed forward along the left aisle to the nearest toilet, Turner followed him to ensure he did not wander. Hawkins was used to being monitored continuously, so thought nothing of it. His minder stepped towards the galley, but it was a feint and as the boy entered the toilet, he caught the reflection of Instructor Turner in the mirror, or more specifically, the hypodermic in her right hand. The boy knew what was about and while just a mere Yellow, he had been taught to defend himself. Hawkins ducked as a hand reached out for his head to seize him and hold him for the simple injection. As he ducked, the boy jabbed into Turner's stomach with two strong punches then he bolted before Turner could grab him.
Several rows aft, Ava looked up from her inflight magazine and she scowled as her experienced eyes detected trouble. She could not see Hawkins' head near the toilet and Turner seemed to be bending over but then there was some sort of scuffle as a female flight attendant tried to grab hold of the instructor. Then came confirmation of what was unfolding.
"Spite! Spite! Spite!" Hawkins yelled out.
It was their personal duress code word which in this instance indicated that Hawkins was in mortal danger, more specifically that their instructor had tried to kill the boy. Ava went into battle mode as she leapt out of her seat, leaping over the two between her and the aisle and landing in the aisle at a run, closing the distance swiftly. Ava dodged around Hawkins who dropped to the deck leaving the way open for Ava to attack as she had been trained. Before Instructor Turner knew what was happening, she had been kicked in the side of the head and she found herself on the deck, her head reeling with pain. Before the flight attendant could do more than place a hand on Ava, the woman was struck hard in the chest putting her down beside Turner who was trying to regain her feet. Then Ava caught movement out of the corner of her right eye. That was not surprising considering she was surrounded by hundreds of men, women, and children, some of whom were beginning to notice the scuffle.
But Ava had not counted on a federal sky marshal traveling that day who had moved swiftly from his seat further aft to intervene. The man's strong arms seized Ava and wrapped her in a bearhug, preventing her escape. Ava struggled and yelled obscenities as she fought to escape the man, but he was much, much bigger and stronger. Ava then stopped struggling as she decided to bide her time – after all, they were forty-thousand feet in the air, and nobody was going anywhere. Swiftly, she found herself secured with Plexi-cuffs and pushed to the deck, face down. Ava looked to her right and scowled at Instructor Turner who was in the very same position a few feet away in the galley.
"All clear, folks," the man said with an Australian accent.
But the situation was anything but clear as unbeknownst to the officer of the Australian Federal Police, others aboard were taking advantage of the distraction and the unmasking of a sky marshal.
Thursday, February 8th
Somewhere over the Indian Ocean...
00:16 GMT+11 (10:16 GMT)
On the upper deck of the Airbus A380 four men and two women left their business class seats scattered around the aircraft.
At first glance, they appeared to be travelling individually but they moved like a coordinated team without audible communication. Two of the men and one woman made for the stairs at the tail end of the deck and descended to the lower deck. The other woman headed the length of the aircraft to the forward stairs and then to the deck below. It took a few minutes, but the coordinated move was soon complete.
Back down on the lower deck, Ava Carmody was now seated on the floor between the galley on the starboard side and the toilets with her hands secured behind her. The Australian sky marshal was content that the immediate issue was neutralised and very soon, he could return to his paperback novel in the obscurity of economy class. Events were still a little murky, but investigation was not his task; that could be left to the authorities in Dubai to investigate and interrogate as required. Until then, the crazy girl and the murderous woman would remain restrained and in a few minutes they would both be secured to their seats for the duration. As for the boy, he had refused to incriminate either of his fellow travellers and was seated in a different seat under the watchful eyes of the flight attendants.
Ava was bored and her mind was wandering – a dangerous state for her kind – so she focussed on movement and conversation around her. Her eyes locked onto a woman walking down the right side of the aircraft from forward. The woman was smartly dressed and had a meaningful demeanour about her, but the eyes told Ava so much about the woman and her intent.
"You're about to be hijacked," Ava said to the sky marshal. "That woman right there, coming towards us."
"Shut up, you!" the sky marshal responded with barely a glance at the advancing woman. "Stop talking rubbish."
Ava simply shrugged – it was not ultimately her problem – and she continued to observe the woman who had not ceased her journey aft, but Ava observed the woman's hands pulling items from her jacket pockets and assembling something. What that something was, was not exactly a stretch for Ava to guess. As the woman passed row 59, she suddenly stopped, and she opened up the luggage bin above the window-side seats. She removed a small backpack and opened it before pulling out several items which Ava was unable to identify, but as the woman swung the pack onto her back and slammed shut the luggage bin, her eyes correctly identified a small pistol and then the magazine which was inserted into the butt – it appeared to be a small Glock compact.
"She has a gun," Ava commented to nobody in particular.
"What're you mumbling about, girl?" the sky marshal growled as he turned forwards only to be pistol-whipped for his trouble.
Ava did not bother with a 'told you so' as the sky marshal fell to the floor and was quickly disarmed by a man who pushed past Ava, rolling her onto her side from where she watched the sky marshal being dragged off to an uncertain fate. She also clocked the sky marshal's compact pistol which had been removed from an ankle holster now in the hands of the man – a second hijacker. Ava burned their faces into her mind, knowing that they would both be dead before they landed in Dubai.
While the two hijackers were occupied with the screaming passengers who had noticed the guns, Ava spoke to the flight attendant.
"Let me go. You need me."
"What can you do without a weapon?"
Ava grinned.
"I am a weapon!"
The flight attendant had witnessed the girl defending the boy, and the girl's eyes; they were dark – maybe there was some truth to her statement.
..._...
The Upper Deck...
It was a male flight attendant who first realised that a hijacking was underway.
He saw two men moving purposely from the rear of business class towards first class and he intercepted them as one of the men opened a luggage bin and began to dig through the items inside.
"Excuse me, sirs, but aren't your seats further back?" the flight attendant asked.
There was no verbal response but one of the men simply elbowed the flight attendant in the face, smashing his nose. A cloud of blood and mucus flew across several passengers who yelled out in consternation. As the flight attendant yelled out and a female flight attendant ran to assist, the other man pulled his hands out of the overhead luggage bin with a small pack in one hand and a compact pistol in the other. Passengers screamed at the sight of the gun, and the flight attendant stopped dead. Her training had taught her not to intervene but to acquiesce to any demands to save lives and to allow the relevant authorities time to intervene.
Oscar was glad he was on the opposite side of the aircraft, but his sisters were between him and the danger, which was unacceptable, not that there was a great deal he could do about it. But even worse was to come as the man without the pack began to pace the rows of business class seats, his eyes roved over the men and women before they paused at each of the small number of children, then stopped as they found the child in seat 16E just feet from where he stood in the left aisle. Oscar saw the eyes focus on Sabre then flicker over to Cerrus before focussing back onto Sabre who flinched away from the man's gaze. Then she screamed as a strong hand grasped her left wrist and another released the clasp of her seatbelt as was yanked from her seat into the aisle.
"Leave her!" Oscar yelled out as Cerrus screamed but both stopped as Oscar stared down the muzzle of the pistol as it was aimed directly at him.
Oscar was distraught as he watched his sister being dragged off against her will. He kept his eyes on her as she was dragged by them man – none too gently – just eight rows of seats forward and then forced to kneel on the deck with a black pistol to her head.
Sabre's entire body trembled with fear, and she sobbed as her young mind struggled and failed to process what was happening to her.
..._...
The Lower Deck...
Sabre was not the only girl to be suffering.
A twelve-year-old girl from economy had been seized from her parents and she had been forced to kneel on the deck outside the cockpit. The girl sobbed as she too struggled to understand what was happening as she was joined by the sky marshal who was forced to his knees beside the girl, facing the passengers in the four seats of premium economy either side of the stairs leading to the upper deck and directly at the base of the steps leading to the cockpit.
The use of a female child in both situations elevated the emotional factor when it came to making demands. The sky marshal had swiftly figured the playbook and he felt intense anger towards the bastards using a child to force their agenda. Using him was acceptable as that was what he had signed up for when he had accepted the job. The young girl who sobbed beside him in abject fear had not signed up for any of it. Then one of the bastards, a woman, stepped up the cockpit steps and she pounded upon the armoured door.
"Open the door!" the woman called out loudly.
Naturally, there was no immediate response from the captain and first officer who instantly went on the alert with the first officer setting the aircraft's transponder to the internationally recognised squawk code of 7500 which would mark the aircraft as being hijacked on every radar screen within range. Not that the code would help them very much considering that they were still many hundreds of miles from land at best.
"Open this door or we will kill a passenger – a girl."
There was no response from the cockpit.
"You have two minutes to open the cockpit door, or the girl dies."
The girl in question began to sob even harder as she felt the cold muzzle against her forehead. The sky marshal knew that the cockpit crew had no choice but to keep the door secured. In fact, the hijacker swore violently as the cockpit door was locked from the inside and the external keypad was disabled. It was the longest two minutes of his life but then came the inevitable show of force by the hijackers to prove who was in charge. Passengers screamed as the bullet was fired into the girl's head, tearing the skull apart as it exploded out of her left temple and the passengers in the front row to starboard were showered in blood, brains, and skull fragments. The young girl's corpse fell to the deck with a dull thud, blood pumping into the carpet. The sky marshal felt the warmth of the girl's blood as it seeped through his trousers while he knelt beside the corpse.
The man looked up as a third hijacker dug into a pack and produced what appeared to be a mobile phone – an old one by the look of it. Then the hijacker produced three small hollow hemispherical objects – shaped much like half a tennis ball – made from a soft plastic material to which he connected the phone using a pair of pre-cut wires for each object. The sky marshal recognised an improvised explosive device when he saw one. The hemispherical objects were secured in a vertical line to the right-hand side of the cockpit door with double-sided tape. After as superficial check of his work, the hijacker pressed several buttons on the phone which he then secured to the cockpit door with double-sided tape before he stepped back from the cockpit door.
"Fire in the hole!" he said to his companions as he turned his back to the cockpit door.
Moments later, three dull cracks echoed throughout the aircraft along with a small amount of smoke and a burning smell.
"Move! Move!" a voice called out and two of the hijackers ran up the cockpit steps and they kicked open the cockpit door, the locking mechanism of which had been totally destroyed by the improvised explosives.
The sky marshal was able to monitor the exchange in the cockpit.
"What the bloody hell do you want?" an angry Australian voice demanded – the captain.
"You will fly us to Bandaranika International Airport in Sri Lanka," the hijacker who had set the explosive devices directed.
"Then what?" another Australian voice asked – the first officer.
"No questions. Change course or more die. You will receive further instructions in a few hours."
That was all the sky marshal heard as he was pistol whipped into borderline unconsciousness and fell to the bloody carpet.
Some distance aft, Ava Carmody considered what she had to do now that the flight attendant had released her bonds.
..._...
The Lower Deck...
A female hijacker dragged the groggy form of the sky marshal down the right aisle towards the aft end of the aircraft.
The passengers were now very much subdued as some sobbed and others prayed as they shied away from the hijackers as they moved around the aircraft seemingly aft galley. The eyes frowned as they identified the sky marshal being dragged along – that was a step too far. None of the passengers caught the movement as a slim form bolted from the galley and attacked the hijacker without warning. The first anyone knew was when the hijacker turned as she caught movement in her peripheral vision. She dropped the sky marshal and turned to meet an attack, but a fist struck her in the throat, fracturing her windpipe with an audible crack.
"Choke on that, bitch!" the attacker growled as the hijacker fell to her knees, her hands clawing at her throat in a vain attempt to breathe.
Horrified passengers watched as the woman's face turned pink and then red as she suffocated before them. Ava looked down at the dying woman without a moment's remorse and even before the body began to cool, she searched the dead hijacker's pockets, dumping the contents on the floor beside Ashley Hawkins while the secured Instructor Tracy Turner was completely ignored but, very wisely, chose to remain silent.
"That was kinda cool, Ava," the boy commented as he leaned over to help.
"We have a passport – United States; probably fake. One customised Glock 26 and a Korth Sky Marshal revolver which was probably taken from the sky marshal."
Ava passed each pistol to the boy in turn who expertly checked the weapons, ejecting the magazine for the automatic pistol and the cylinder for the snub-nosed revolver.
"Eight rounds in the Glock and six in the Korth," he advised Ava.
"We also have a small titanium blade and a Samsung mobile phone – secured with a PIN. No spare magazines or rounds."
"What's your gameplan?" Hawkins asked.
"We get some answers," Ava responded as she slapped the sky marshal several times across the face to get him conscious before she dragged the man into the galley where she slapped him again.
"Okay! Okay! I'm fucking awake, goddammit!" the sky marshal growled as he sat up. "What the fuck did you do?" he added as he noticed a pair of feet outside the galley, and he cast his eyes over the obviously dead hijacker.
"She choked," Ava shot back with zero emotion. "I believe this is yours."
The man's mind raced as he was handed his own revolver butt first by the young boy who had been involved in the earlier ruckus, and he tried to figure out what the girl was and how she knew how, let alone was able to take down an adult with absolutely no compunction about killing. The girl was cold and calculating in her movements and verbal comments, but her body language spoke volumes. As the sky marshal clambered to his feet, he caught a momentary glimpse of a small tattoo behind the girl's right ear – to him it was a strange and slightly sinister adornment.
"How the hell did she get a Glock through security?" the man asked as he spied the weapon held loosely by the boy.
"I saw her assembling something," Ava responded as she carefully opened the woman's pack. "Must have come through in parts; but that is a problem for later on - oh, crap!"
"What you found, girl?"
"Nothing good."
Ava was staring at a collection of objects which did not belong on an aircraft, and which filled her with concern. The first object she recognised as a detonator for explosives but one which had been modified into a dead man's trigger. The other object went with the detonator and was a crude IED made up of an unusual plastic explosive with a small electronic device attached. Ava angled the pack towards the sky marshal without actually touching the items within.
"Nothing good," he agreed. "If..."
He was interrupted by the arrival of a passenger who appeared to be from the upper deck as he wore a smart white shirt with thin vertical blue stripes, a dark blue tie, dark blue slacks over black slip-on shoes, and a blue double-breasted blazer with brass buttons.
"Geoff Repton – UK Specialist Firearms Command. I was due to takeover in Dubai, however..."
The man held out his identification to which the sky marshal countered with his own.
"Trevor Royd – Air Security Officer, Australian Federal Police."
"Ava Carmody – the brat is Ashley Hawkins."
"Hiya!" Hawkins grinned.
"I have work to do," Ava growled as she looked up and down the left and then right alleyways before she vanished from sight – she was after the bitch who had shot the girl.
"What's her story?" Geoff Repton asked.
"Not sure, mate. She killed that woman without a second thought in an expert manner. Strange thing, though, she has a tattoo behind her right ear..."
Repton braced up for a moment.
"... It looked like it was a commando dagger, but maybe I was seeing things."
"No," Repton said. "That girl is dangerous but only to those who harm her, her friends, or innocents."
"Come again?" Royd responded.
"She is a Predator which makes you, young man, a Yellow – am I right?"
Hawkins grimaced but he nodded.
"That girl has spent the last six or seven years being taught to kill in over a hundred different ways. She is an expert assassin. Do not underestimate her."
Royd nodded.
"I have a phone call to make."
Royd turned to follow the girl.
London, England
Counter Terrorism Command Headquarters
10:38 GMT (10:38 GMT)
"Commander?"
Commander Patrick Haig looked up from his desk as a head peeked around his office.
"What is it, Sergeant?" he asked.
"This just came over the wire from the air marshals' office."
"A hijacking?"
"Yes, sir. Air Emirates Flight EK413, Sydney to Dubai. The flight squawked 7500 about thirty minutes ago out over the Indian Ocean."
Patrick frowned.
"What has that got to do with us?"
"As I understand it, sir, the air marshal was able to call in using crew wireless in the sleeping quarters. He advised of an altercation onboard involving a late-teen girl, a young boy, and an adult – get this – the girl has a tattoo behind her right ear."
"A commando dagger?"
"Yes, sir."
"So, we have a Predator aboard," Patrick mused, somewhat darkly. "Well, that should make life interesting for the hijackers."
"Indeed, sir."
"Get me a secure line to Chicago."
"Sir."
Chicago, United States of America
Command Bunker, Safehouse Echo
05:47 GMT-5 (10:47 GMT)
The encrypted phone on the console rang and thirteen-year-old Megan Williams grinned as she picked up the handset.
"Rent-a-vigilante. Justice and pain are our game. How can I help you this fine day?"
"To whom am I speaking?"
"That would be the one and only Wildcat."
"Yes, only space in the world for one ego that size."
Megan laughed.
"How may I transfer your call, Commander?"
"I have a Predator problem."
"I see, let me put you through to Purple Towers."
"Thank you, Wildcat. Treat yourself to a tin of Whiskas."
..._...
'Purple Towers'
Mindy's cell rang and a tired hand reached for the infernal device.
"You got your claws stuck again?" she growled.
"No!"
"Well? Got a hairball stuck?"
"No!"
"Do I need to come down there and take away your catnip?"
"No! I've got Commander Haig on the line from London."
The line clicked.
"Hello, Commander."
"Hello, Mindy. How are you?"
"Good, thanks."
"I'll cut straight to the point; we have a Predator problem aboard a hijacked aircraft."
"Bloody menaces get everywhere!"
"The Predator or the hijackers?"
"Both!" Mindy growled. "You want a team sent out to meet the aircraft?"
"Yes. It will be Dubai. We have a man aboard who recognised the Predator for what she was."
"Do you have a name?"
"Ava Carmody and Ashley Hawkins."
"I'll get a team in the air – The Phoenix is just about ready to leave Seattle."
"I'll leave it to you, then, Mindy."
"I'll have my team check in with your man when they land. Goodbye, Commander."
"Mindy, always a pleasure."
Mindy hung up the call and then dialled another number from memory.
Boeing Field
Seattle
05:02 GMT-7 (12:02 GMT)
Within sixty minutes of Mindy's call, the converted Boeing 777-300ER began its take-off roll down runway 32 Left.
They had been due to depart at seven that morning and the giant executive jet had just been fuelled and pre-flighted minutes earlier. Boeing were very cordial, and they had allowed the aircraft to launch early.
At V1, Arya Anderson gently eased back on the control column, lifting the nose wheel off the ground and the wing leading edge bit deeply into the thick air and the main undercarriage left the tarmac. They continued to climb at a steep thirty-degree angle with the undercarriage rising into place within the fuselage on command. At twenty-thousand feet, Arya pushed the control column forwards to level the aircraft off and she eased back on the throttles.
"Autopilot on," she commanded.
Her father, Reg Anderson leaned forwards from his seat, and he set the autopilot.
"Autopilot engaged."
The aircraft adopted a low angle climb and a left-handed bank which would bring it onto a southerly course for Los Angeles.
Air Emirates Flight EK413
Somewhere over the Indian Ocean...
01:02 GMT+11 (12:02 GMT)
The situation aboard the hijacked aircraft was fraught but relatively peaceful as the remaining hijackers kept an eye on the passengers.
They had not noticed their missing comrade due to the sheer size of the aircraft and the small number of people they had. Now they believed they had full control of the aircraft, including the cockpit, they were elated and that clouded their judgment. They had reasoned that terror would keep the passengers at bay, not to mention that the sky marshal had been subdued – or so they thought. Their intricate planning had not allowed for a psychotic teenager who had a penchant for killing and who wanted revenge.
Almost two hours had passed since their colleague had died and none of them had the slightest inkling that their own demise was imminent.
..._...
The passengers on the upper level were being guarded by two men, each of whom carried a pistol.
The two men stalked the aisles, one to port and one to starboard. Their eyes moved mechanically across the hundred or so passengers who occupied the deck. Most passengers lowered their eyes as the hijackers' eyes passed over them, fearful of making eye contact and attracting undesired attention as a result. Those on the upper deck had seen a young girl taken from her set and hustled to the lower deck. A pistol shot had been heard and then a muffled bang of an explosion. None of the passengers in first or business class had any idea what was actually going on and they had no way of knowing that another young girl had lost her life in a brutal fashion. With the passenger's attention on the hijackers, they never saw the fleeting shape which bolted out of the galley located amidships between first class and business class. Both hijackers had their backs to her as she bolted up the starboard aisle partially hidden from the far aisle by the business class semi suites. As she passed by an astonished women in seat 10G, Ava launched herself into the air kicking off an armrest to her left and then the top of the suite behind the astonished woman in seat 10G. She struck the hijacker before he even considered checking his six. The man collapsed to the deck where he had no chance as his pistol was wrenched form his right hand, snapping two fingers. An arm came around his neck and another wrapped itself snakelike over his mouth stifling any scream or sound as he felt legs wrapping around his lower abdomen, pinning him as python-like the pressure on his throat and lungs grew.
The man's face was turning a purplish blue as he gasped for air and his hands reached out in vain for assistance. His eyes darted around, searching for his colleague, searching for help, but finding nothing but blank stares from the few passengers who had noticed the commotion on the deck. It took little more than a minute before the man expired his last and went limp. Ava was taking no chances as she took the man's pistol and caved in his left temple with the butt. She looked up to see several horrified looks and she simply shrugged her shoulders.
"Sorry about the mess," she offered as she checked the pistol and found four rounds remaining in the magazine and one in the breech.
Keeping low as she moved aft along the seating, she reached the end of the main business class section at row 21 where she paused. She received a strange look from the occupant of seat 22F but otherwise went unobserved as she moved further aft to where the remaining upper deck hijacker was standing. He was observing the aft galley and then turned as he caught sight of movement; however, his pistol was not raised as he assumed it was his colleague; it was his last mistake . . . ever. Ava swept up a pillow from an empty seat and placed it over the muzzle of her appropriated pistol as she brought it up and around, targeting the man as he himself realised he was about to die. Two bullets took the man down and he fell backwards against one of the four toilets. The unrepentant Predator looked up at the deckhead which was no longer off-white but decidedly crimson with a glossy wet look.
"Never liked the colour scheme," Ava commented to the flight attendant who was hiding behind the semi-circular bar. "Looks much better; what do you think?"
The flight attendant nodded as she cringed before she resorted to her training. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Yeah. Coke."
"Normal or Zero?"
"Do I look like I give a damn?" Ava growled as she confirmed that she had three bullets left.
"Ice?" the flight attendant enquired before she wilted under the frosty expression. "Okay, no ice for the ice queen."
Ava grinned as she downed the glass of Coke Zero but then her blood ran cold as she saw the flight attendant began to shake.
..._...
It was obvious to Ava that a hijacker had come up the rear staircase behind her.
She cursed herself silently for letting her guard down but then she reacted before the hijacker could figure out the scene which included his recently deceased colleague.
"Excuse me," Ava whispered as she reached past the frozen flight attendant and grabbed a glass bottle of Bacardi. "Pass me the port from the top shelf."
Surprisingly, the flight attendant moved and turned just as Ava sent a Bacardi missile towards the hijacker who was surprisingly on the ball as he turned enough to take the bottle on his left shoulder which while it hurt, it did not prevent him from raising his weapon in response. The bottle of expensive port, though, he could not dodge, and the hefty bottle struck his weapon which fell from his hand, the gun and the bottle falling to the deck to join the still intact bottle of Bacardi. Ava sighed as she realised it was going to be a physical fight and she stepped into the open with the bar to her left and facing aft.
Her opponent had a good ten inches on her, and he was much heavier than she was. It would require every skill she possessed to put him down; his colleagues had been much easier as they had died not knowing she had even been there. For several moments, neither moved as they sized one another up and figured out a gameplan. There was limited space to move, despite the gigantic A380 aircraft's size. Back aft where they were, the airframe narrowed, and plush seating was fitted around the windows past the bar to her left and on her right was a table with seating for four. Ava used that table to kick-off the fight as she jumped up and placed her right foot on the corner of the table. She put her full weight into her thrust, sending her at the hijacker who was moving towards his fallen pistol but then aborted the attempt as he tried to deflect the flying girl. Ava had a no-nonsense figure with little fat to highlight her feminine figure as you might have found on other girls her age. Ava could care less about her figure, and she enjoyed being slim without the usual appendages girls her age possessed. Without them, she was more agile, and that agility tended to keep her alive as, she hoped, it would that day. The hijacker mistimed his movements, and he found the girl thudding into him where she wrapped her legs around his waist and went to town on his head.
The girl was like a fucking limpet but a stiff punch to her right side with his left fist followed by a striking upthrust from his right fist into her left ribcage sent her reeling backwards where she landed atop the bar and rolled off onto the deck below. The pain in her midriff was severe but she had endured worse. She regained her feet in time to kick out and prevent the hijacker from grasping for his fallen pistol. Her foot struck him in the side of his head, and he sprawled on the deck for just a moment before he lunged at Ava, his face contorted in anger that a mere child could upset his carefully laid plans. That anger would lead to his downfall as that 'mere child' was angry, but that anger was put to one side, and she was both calm and collected as her mind planned his demise. She was a killing machine with an encyclopaedic knowledge of extremely efficient ways for a human to die. She was also an assassin unused to failure and that ensured she was ready for his strike.
Ava leapt upwards as he moved on her and she kicked out, her foot catching him in the face, followed by the other foot before she landed atop the table, crouching due to the limited height available. Blood flowed from his broken nose even as Ava struck again as he closed on her, but she miscalculated and the brute of a man grasped her in a bear hug, squeezing her diaphragm so she could not inhale. Her mind figured out her options in a split second as she was held in a vicelike grip and she acted but instead of using her fists on the man, she punched at the emergency oxygen cover directly in her field of narrowing vision as she struggled for air. The plastic cover dropped open and two yellow oxygen masks dropped attached to their bags and plastic tubing. But it was not the mask she was interested in despite the lack of oxygen clouding her thoughts but the fifty-four inches of robust plastic tubing of which two sets dangled in front of her face and past the brute's head. With the very last of her strength and consciousness, she wrapped the doubled-up plastic tubing around his neck, and she heaved on the tubing to tighten it. She could feel the man easing his grip but not fast enough she knew as darkness edged in from all sides and she knew that she had failed.
But just as her vision had been reduced to not much more than a pinprick and her lungs were screaming for oxygen, she saw a flash . . . then nothing.
..._...
Her head was sore and as she opened her eyes, she recognised that little shit, Hawkins.
Then she realised that something was pressing against her mouth but it was then pulled away and Ava recognised the flight attendant and saw that she held a portable oxygen bottle and an oxygen mask. Then her mind snapped into action as she sat up and she turned her head to look for the hijacker. She saw that the man was dead with half his head blown away. She also saw the British officer, Geoff Repton.
"You?" Ava asked the man.
"Not me," Repton grinned as he tilted his head to the boy.
"You!?"
"Always the goddamn tone of fuckin' surprise," the boy complained. "I'm a fuckin' useless Yellow, so I am totally incapable of being useful. I ain't fuckin' stupid, you know, or fuckin' clueless. Fuckin' Predators; so fuckin' high and fuckin' mighty. They think they fuckin' know fuckin' everything and us fuckin' Yellows just keep our fuckin' eyes closed all the fuckin' time. Clueless cunt!"
Ava simply laughed as she digested Hawkins' tirade.
"What next?" Hawkins asked as he handed Ava the hijacker's pistol.
"And then there were two," Ava responded darkly as she pulled back on the pistol's slide to check how many rounds remained.
It was time to finish what she had started.