Falling(9)

May I see my family? Please.



“Please! So polite. But no. Let’s talk man to man for a minute.”

Until I see my family, we have nothing to discuss.



The man read the email with an eye roll. “Your stubbornness is annoying.”

Leaning, he beckoned to the kitchen. In his hand, Bill could see what was clearly a detonator. Wireless, with a fitted plastic safety over the red button on top, it was hardly a crude, handmade device.

Carrie and the children appeared on-screen and Bill almost choked. The black hoods had been removed but both his wife and son were gagged and their hands were bound. Elise had stopped crying and Carrie struggled to hold the baby on her hip as her motherly grace was made awkward by the ties and explosive vest. The man brought a chair from the kitchen table over to the desk, motioning for Carrie and the baby to sit. He retook his seat beside her while Scott stood at his mother’s side.

“Now,” the man said, placing his elbows on the desk with a lean into the camera. “You’re a smart man, Captain Hoffman. Or, can I call you Bill?”

Bill stared at the screen.

The intruder smiled. “You see, Bill, you probably already get the obvious. Here’s the rest. You will crash your plane or I will kill your family.”

Carrie’s gag muffled a horrified sound that was something between a moan and a gasp.

“If you tell anyone,” he continued, “your family dies. If you send anyone to the house, your family dies.” Switching the detonator to his other hand, he reiterated, “It’s simple. Crash your plane, or I kill your family. The choice is yours.”

A cold and hollow ache pooled at the base of Bill’s spine. He had prayed the ransom would be money, but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The moment he had seen the picture, he knew his cockpit had been breached. He knew on some level that the plane itself was in jeopardy. Bill couldn’t feel his hands as they moved over the keyboard.

I’m not going to crash this plane and you’re not going to kill my family.



“Wrong,” the man said after reading Bill’s email. “One of those things will happen. You choose which.”

Let me repeat myself, son. I’m not going to crash this plane and you’re not going to kill my family. Period.



The face on the screen bristled at the intended disrespect. “My name is Saman Khani. Call me Sam. I’d have introduced myself this morning, but you couldn’t give a shit about the cable tech.”

“Chicago center to Coastal four-one-six, reports of light to moderate turbulence from Delta two-oh-four-four heavy thirty miles ahead, just northwest of your heading.”

Bill jumped at the ATC intrusion, surprised that the rest of the world appeared to have continued on.

“Asleep over there, old man?” Ben laughed, flipping through his display until it showed the weather radar. “Coastal four-one-six, roger that, Chicago center,” he said into his hand mic. “We’re calm for now but will maintain as advised. We’ll let you know if we need to find smoother air.”

“I, uh… I think that cell was supposed to weaken around this time,” Bill said in an attempt at normalcy. “It’s supposed to shift. North…” he trailed off with a point at the radar.

“Yup,” Ben said as Bill turned back to his computer. “Hey, you mind if we call the back for a break?”

“Huh?” Bill said.

Ben cocked his head. “Okay if I pee? Jesus, you okay?”

“Oh. Sure. I’m fine,” he said, glancing at his laptop. “Actually, can you hold on just a minute? I’m right in the middle of something.”

“Sure. I’ll use a bottle if it gets desperate.”

Sam’s laugh filled Bill’s earbud. “It’s like a weird ‘bring your family to work’ day,” he said, Carrie flinching as he laid a hand on her shoulder. An email arrived and Sam opened it, reading aloud: “?‘I think my first officer would take issue with me crashing the plane…’ Yeah. I think he will. That’s why you’re going to have to kill him first.”

It hit like a sucker punch.

Ben and he had only flown together a couple times, but he liked the kid. He was a solid pilot. Smart, able to fill in the blanks. His confidence bordered on cockiness, but in the way that was actually an asset in the cockpit. They had sparred about sports teams. Bill had been surprised to learn he was a vegetarian. The young man wasn’t married, but surely he had family and friends who enjoyed his easy humor. A girlfriend? Maybe he was dating one of the flight attendants.

Bill was supposed to kill him. Kill him first. Get him out of the way so he could then kill everyone else on board. Nausea simmered in his gut.

Dismissing Bill’s typing, Sam said, “I’m sure you’re wondering how you kill him?”

Bill’s fingers paused.

“I mean, ultimately, the same way you kill everyone else. You crash the plane. But he could actually try to stop you. So in your bag—in the bottom of the big pocket—there’s a bottle full of white powder. On your last bathroom break before you land, just put the powder in his coffee or tea or whatever. A couple sips, you’ll be flying solo.”

What’s the white powder?



Sam read the email, deliberately ignoring the question.