Falling(72)

“Daddy, we don’t have time for—”

Bending forward at the waist, he yelled out a string of obscenities. When he stood upright again, he locked his bloodshot eyes on Jo.

“I’m fine,” Big Daddy said with a depth to his voice Jo had never heard before. “What’s the plan?”

She laid it out quickly and plainly. Daddy was to sit in Jo’s jump seat and lead the evacuation from the front once the plane was on the ground. Josip was going to block, and Jo was going to enter the cockpit via keypad entry.

Daddy stared at her. “And do what? Ben has a gun! Jo, we didn’t even discuss keypad entry as an option. Because it’s not an option. You know they’ll override—”

“I know!” Jo clenched her fists at her sides. “But I have to try. I have to get up there. To help Bill. Or stop Ben. Or…” Jo slapped her jump seat. “Dammit, Daddy, sit down.”

Daddy picked up the phone and called the back while strapping himself into the jump seat. As he explained the situation to Kellie, Jo closed and secured a galley carrier. In her hand was a long, hard tube of red plastic with a bulbous end.

Daddy raised his eyebrows and covered the speaker of the phone with his hand. “Ben’s got a gun and you’re arming yourself with the ice mallet?”

“You got a machete I don’t know about?”

Josip remained silent next to Jo, laboring to breathe. The two of them had taken the brunt of the poison up front in the first attack and, while they looked nothing like Daddy, the poison’s effects were showing.

Jo placed a hand on his bicep. “Mr. Guruli. It’s time. Stand here with your back to me. Face the passengers. Stop anyone who tries to get past you by any means necessary. The only people in this cabin who we trust are the flight attendants.” She squeezed his arm.

Josip nodded and assumed his position. Crossing his arms, he widened his stance, standing up to his full height. He was a mountainous form, rooted and impenetrable. Standing between the two immovable forces, Josip and the door, claustrophobia trickled over Jo.

She took a deep breath, focusing on the vertical display of numbers to the left of the lav. Closing her eyes, she reviewed what was about to happen.

She would enter the secret six-digit numerical code—and then wait. In the cockpit, an alarm would sound, alerting the pilots that someone was trying to force an entry. The pilots would then have forty-five seconds to override the keypad entry attempt. If they did that, the door would remain locked and wouldn’t unseal until arrival. If they didn’t override her attempt, a green light would appear on the keypad panel and Jo would have a five-second window to open the door. After five seconds, the door would lock again.

The three flight attendants hadn’t even considered using the keypad as an option. Mainly because they didn’t know Ben was a threat, but also because it was incredibly easy for the pilots to thwart if they wanted to. The whole purpose of the keypad entry was for the unlikely event of a dual pilot incapacitation, an instance where both pilots were unconscious. There was almost no chance that it would work.

Now it was the only option they had.

Jo opened her eyes and raised a hand to the keypad but something kept her from punching the buttons. Her finger wavered over the set of numbers in a maddening hesitation.

On the other side of the door was a landscape of betrayal and violence. Ben had a gun. There was no way to know what might have already happened in there. No way to know what she was going to encounter. And she was about to barge into it blindly. Armed with a plastic ice mallet.

“Jo?”

She looked down to Big Daddy, seated in the jump seat right beside her.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

She nodded and began entering the code.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


A CRACK OF THE BAT.

Foul ball.

Center fielder Bobby Adelson popped up from his ready position, blowing a bubble with his gum. Taking a few restless steps, he kicked a divot of grass.

Stay focused, Bobby It’s just another game. Just another out.

It wasn’t. It was game seven of the World Series. The Yankees were up, 2-1. Top of the ninth. The Dodgers had runners on the corners and their cleanup hitter was at bat. Two outs. The count was 2-2. The Yankees were one strike away from being world champions, the only accolade Bobby’s long career couldn’t claim.

The pitcher shook off a sign from the catcher. He nodded to the next.

Movement out of the corner of Bobby’s eye distracted him.

Focus, Bobby.

More movement from the other side. Something was out of place. He looked to the left-field stands.

The fans were leaving. He turned to right field and saw the same thing. They weren’t just leaving, they were fleeing, pushing each other up the stairs to the main corridor. He looked at the upper deck and watched fans stream down the rows, disappearing into the stadium’s interior. The chorus of cheering was quickly giving way to angry yelling and terrified screams.

Panic swelled in Bobby’s chest as he looked to the other outfielders who were equally confused. The right fielder pointed in front of him and started running in. Bobby did the same, seeing all of the players from both teams congregating on the mound.

A prerecorded voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. For your safety, we are evacuating Yankee Stadium. Please find your closest exit and secondary exit, and walk up or down the aisle toward it now. Once outside, move away from the stadium. Exit ramps and exit stairs will guide you out. Escalators and elevators will not be used during…”