Kingfisher

She had noticed long ago the way some of the passengers craved the friendship of their captors, mimicked the collaborators of the old wartime days, and this brought no surprise to her.

Despicable, but to be anticipated; of course there would be those without the guts to fight who would wheedle and smile for favours, and hope to win advantage and they would be remembered when the affair was over, named, denounced.

It was to be expected that some would choose to fraternize. At the seminar on hi-jack theory to which she had gone the last summer in Moscow she had heard the lecturer speak of the common practice of passengers in seeking to identify with the men who held the guns. There had been a titter of laughter round the hall but the man on the dais had stamped on that, told them this was not just to be expected: it could be guaranteed. She had talked of this among the cockpit crew with whom she had shared her next flight, and all had agreed that faced with the seizure of an aircraft by force they would never come to terms with terrorists, only play them along for the greatest benefit of their passengers. They were brave words, spoken in safety. Later she had wondered what type of person might confront her, educated or illiterate, young or old, nervous or controlled. But she had found no answer, had not prepared herself for the two young men who had crashed their way through her cockpit door.

For hours, interminably, she had sat upright, staring to the front, trying to shut out the events enacted round her. She had watched the headmaster taken to his death, had not seen and did not know the manner of his escape, watched again as the Italian was pulled to his execution. Now her head moved, bouncing from window to window, swinging round so that she could see behind her, alive and vital because she had seen the man fall and watched the progress of the ribbon of blood that stretched a yard or so from him, highlighted on the pale concrete.

So they did not always win, these people. But the one who called himself Isaac, that was the one she wanted to see demolished. She could wait for that, if it took another day, another week.

To hear him scream and plead and collapse with pain. She found her thighs squeezed together, shoulders hunched, her arms rigid, all for the hatred of the young one with his curly hair and his confidence, who stood now at the rear of the aircraft where once his friend had been. She was hungry, thirsty too, longing for a cigarette, yearning to join the lavatory queues; but she would not bend, not ask. Not of these people.

They had not spoken since David had gone.

Isaac at the back, separated by the length of the cabin from Rebecca, abandoning her, kept his own dark counsel. Neither of them had watched David die, not willing to weaken their own fibre, through seeing the performance of a comrade dedicated to taking his own life because his will had crumbled. But they had been unable to shut out the noise of the gunfire, the little staccato bursts of the handgun, the one report of the heavier, killing rifle.

Where to run now, Isaac, where to hide now that they know that one at least among you was ordinary, human, flesh and blood? Where to go? David had died, uselessly, believing in the value of a gesture. For you too, Isaac? Follow the leader? Follow the Party? No. We fight them, and we hit them.

Oblivious to the passengers he strode down the aisle, gesturing to Rebecca not to come forward to meet him, to hold her position, not to move from her place at the open doorway. Not once did he look behind, never believing that any would dare to rise up against him.

' I give them one more hour. Then there will be another, another for them to watch. One o'clock for the next, and one every hour after that. We will bring them in a line so that all can see them, all who stand out there, they will see them and they can watch with their clocks for the precision with which the next will fall.'

'Why, Isaac? What is there to achieve? After David? What is left for us?'

'Because David was a coward… s

'How can you say that? It was he who walked out to face them.'

'Because that was the fool's escape, the quickest path. He was a coward and he was beaten, and he would not stand at our shoulder. We have to show them. One every hour- that will show that we are not defeated.'

'Then they will attack us, they will storm the aircraft.' A breathiness in her words, and she clung to his arm, the little girl again, small and feminine and clinging, who has found her man and will follow. They will kill us, Isaac.'

As he laughed she saw what she took to be a madness – the fanatical desire for self-immolation, the wish for martyrdom – and she felt the great force that drew her towards him, as if vertigo were dragging her to a cliff face. She had no strength to struggle against it, no willingness to do so.

' If we cannot go to Israel there is nothing left but to die here,' she said.

Isaac broke off from her and went carefully towards the open door. A sharp and darting glance around the corner and to the outside. Time to see Charlie Webster there to the front of the tankers, arms folded, as if he would wait a lifetime, would stay as long as required. Another man behind him, who wore a jacket and who was younger, healthier, carrying the distinctive features of his own people. A bare second Isaac had been visible, and Charlie Webster had reacted to the movement.

'We have to talk to you, Isaac.' The flattened voice, drained of emotion, devoid of tone, patient and carrying across the no-man's land of the tarmac. 'We have to talk again, Isaac.'

Hidden from them and close to the aircraft walls Isaac whispered over his shoulder, 'Cover behind me. And really this time, without mistake.' He stayed watching till he saw her rise, walk to the centre of the aisle, and take up her position, standing where she could see all the passengers. He would miss David. Frightened, abject, pathetic David would at least have stood and presented a reliable front, but the girl…

'There is nothing to say,' he shouted. I must keep back from the door, he told himself, no target, give the bastards nothing. ' I told you we wanted the fuel for the plane by ten o'clock or we would punish you for it. The man is there for you to see. At one o'clock there will be another if we have not had the fuel, at two there will be another, at three there will be another. Every hour from one o'clock. What time will you have the darkness you want, Mr Webster? Eight hours after we start?

Nine, perhaps? Before it is dark and your troops can come for us, how many will you be able to count down there beside the present one? There is no reason for you to stand there; you gain nothing from it. We will not allow you to repeat what you did earlier.'

The answer was faint and hard for him to hear. 'Isaac, there is much to talk about. It has been a long fight for you, and your cause has been heard. But there is nothing further to be gained for you.'

'There is fuel for the aircraft, that has yet to be gained. If you do not bring it then you must stand there and you must watch, and discover whether you like what you see. Understand this, Mr Webster: we have nothing against you, we want little of you, we want only the petrol. It is a small thing for you, it will not cost you much, not set against the lives you play with.'

Isaac crawled away from the door, and then stood up, brushed the grime from his trousers, and seemed to Rebecca to be laughing.

'If they shout again, you talk to them, let them hear you, let them see you. Perhaps David went too early.' He walked past her, not with haste, but casually, cosseting his gun. Before he reached the drinks trolley where he would again take up his stance he was whistling: a song from the Ukraine, of his people, a cheerful tune.

Behind Charlie's back Arie said, 'You told me he was the hard one, this Isaac. You knew your man.'

'All over it's the same, in every group you find one..'

'Can we talk to him, Charlie, can you get him back?'

Never looking behind, watching all the time the windows and the door, Charlie said, 'The little bastard thinks he can win. He doesn't believe in us, doesn't believe we have the will to beat him.

That's where he has to be convinced…'

'You must tell him I am here, Charlie. This is what I was sent for. It was for this moment.'

'You feel something for the kid, right?' A slow smile at Charlie's mouth.

'As you do, Charlie.'

'And what do you want of him now. a

That he should not be ashamed.'

'And nothing else?'

If he does as I ask of him then he will not be disgraced, and no more harm will come to the passengers. Your masters will be happy with you, Charlie, and will talk of a great victory. For us there can be no victory, only defeat, and if I cannot talk to Isaac then there will be defeat for us, but you will share in it.'

'That's a long old speech, Benitz. Let's cut the crap and get on with it*

Charlie walked forward three or four paces, isolating himself from the Israeli. Then he raised his voice