"Give me a scotch and soda." I said calmly. I felt something was wrong. The flight seemed to be going well. This trip was like all my others, first class New York to Los Angeles. Another investigation, apparently there was a small terrorist uprising that had accidentally leaked information of an upcoming attack. Most of the time these end up fake or a group of teenagers striking out against the world. I looked at the briefing one more time then stood up to look for the stewardess. I needed a drink.
A gunshot rang out. I knew now it was too late for my scotch. The ill feeling faded from suspense to fear. I had my gut instinct, It was always right. "Everyone Remane calm. None else shall die if our deemands are met. Alah has commanded our retrieval of this vecle." A gruff man of obvious arab descent spoke out in broken english. His AK-47 was tightly gripped. Airport security never made me really feel secure. Then two other men stood up, reached into the overhead baggage compartment and pulled out a few pistols. So much for the terrorist group in Los Angeles. I was stuck without my sidearm, I had unfortunatly followed the airport securities instructions.
I looked around and saw the passengers remaining as calm as possible. They were quite tame. I assume they all thought we'd just be taken to a foreign country and then sent back later. Perhaps a 24 hour delay from their expected travel course. The fools, a man with a fully automatic weapon stands before them, these terrorists meant to cuase damage. Thank god I could see no visible member of the jewish religion, or else there would have been a bit more chaos. I looked for anything I could use to disarm the leader.
"You der, you look suspicous." The man with the AK said to me. His broken english almost sounded fake, as if his accent were a fraud. Perhaps he was an american that had been drawn to the muslim religion. There was nothing worse than an American terrorist, they had knowledge of our society and knew our weak points.
"I'm just nervous, I don't like guns." I lied, I had that exact model of gun resting on a gun rack at my house.
"Calm yourself, allah does not wish any more bloodspill. Our pilots will take us to destination soon." Destination, I was almost afraid to ask where it was.
"Where are you taking us?" I spoke as I realized my FBI badge was poking me through my wallet, if he searched me I'd be executed immediatly.
"We are traveling back to New York and you all shall be held hostage until our demands are met." I didn't like the sound of this. I look at him, then the two others. Yes he was an american. The other two obviously didn't know any english. I was thinking fast. I had no weapon to defend myself with. I refused to let myself be taken like this. I hated traitors more than I hated terrorists. I wanted to see this three burn. I felt a pack of matches resting in my pocket. I could easily kill the leader had my damn stewardess brought my scotch out, a little more hustle and she could be alive right now with me watching this bastard burn. I rubbed my feet together nervously. My other passengers might as well have been zombies, they believed our hijackers. I did not want to see what the target was going to be, but these three had to be planning to destory something. If it were small enough, the higher ups would cover this with a pretty blanket and pretend it never happened. That was getting to be almost routine. The damn media leaks everything, our lies have become so creative. The government acutally is forced to hire writers to give believable lies to the media.
We hadn't left New York too long ago. A quick turn around and we would be back there soon. The terrorists target would be within reach by the end of the hour. Still rubbing my feet together nervously, I felt something in the sole of the shoe. I small throwing knife. My paranoia and love for knives finally would save me. I pretended to scratch my foot and slowly drew out the three inch blade. I concealed it in my sleeve as I planned out a way to kill the leader without the other two killing me. Help from a few fellow passangers would ease this, but they were all too willing to be lead to their deaths as long as they had their airline peanuts. I only had 1 weapon and three savage beasts to slay with it.
"We will reach New York shortlie, america shall regret their crimes against muslims and allah. We are his prophets and his word shall be spread." The leaders speech made me ill, but it provided a distraction for the other two. Drawing back the knife I flung it at the leader. It found a small place to make an inscision just below the adam's apple and blood flowed from the wound. It was beautiful. If I had more time I would have enjoyed watching blood enter the traitors lungs and I would drain pleasure from his dying breath, but I had two problems at the moment, the silver shimmer of the glock and berretta as they let off two shots each in my direction, I had already hit the floor expecting their reaction. I grabbed a drink from a passenger and flung it and a lit match at the owner of the glock. As I did so the glock's 45 calibur bullet ripped through my shoulder and the beretta's bullet peirced my right lung. As I fell back I looked at the other passengers to stand up and continue my fight. To pick up the AK-47 and release a few round into the unharmed terrorist and watch my handy pyrotechnics claim the life of the third.
I lay over a few seats and saw no one make a move. They all sat in horror as the terrorist put out the flames that desperately tried to consume his partner then then he picked up the fully automatic weapon. I knew I had failed in saving the other passengers, but they had failed me. I lived long enough to hear the plane make contact with something. We were'nt low enough to be hitting ground and we were near no mountains. If I had the energy I would have found out what exactly we had hit, but I felt it would be of no consequence.The government could cover up the damage, and I know the guns will never be admitted to being on the flight, they'd make up some puny weapon that cuase the hijacking. Nail clippers or a swiss army knife, hell I bet the writers could say it was a boxcutter, our bodies would never be seen by the media anyways. I drew in a long breath in amusement thinking of a boxcutter doing this. A fond aroma of perfume drifted over me and I looked around expecting my scotch to finally be delivered.