Flight 2038 took off into the prevailing winds, to the west. As the plane gained altitude over the Everglades, Justin banked left, making a long, slow turn until he was heading almost due east, toward downtown Miami, with Biscayne Bay beyond, then the southern end of Miami Beach, then the Atlantic. Justin was praying that air traffic control was telling the other air traffic where he was, since without his radio he had no way to get flight instructions.
Justin glanced over at Frank, and what he saw was not good: Frank was a zombie. It was up to Justin, the captain, alone, to handle this maniac with the gun. He figured the main thing was don't piss him off, do what he said, fly him to Freeport. They'd be tracked on radar; the authorities would be alerted; rescuers would be sent.
Justin clung to that thought. Help was coming.
15:06
As he ran, Greer was talking into his special phone. Baker was behind him and missed most of what he said. The only word he heard clearly was 'fighters.'
thirteen
14:16
The security personnel had heard Eliot running down the concourse toward them, shouting for the police. They were looking his way, and as he approached the checkpoint, they recognized him as one of the perpetrators who had violated their scanning procedures a few minutes earlier.
'STOP HIM!' shouted the rotund man, pointing at Eliot.
'STOP HIM!' echoed the X-ray woman, the stern conveyor-belt woman, and the other checkpoint personnel. 'STOP HIM!'
As Eliot veered to his right toward the checkpoint exit, three young men, on their way home to Pittsburgh after a week in South Beach, jumped in front of him. All three of them lifted weights regularly, focusing especially on biceps development. All three were wearing tank tops. They always wore tank tops, unless the ambient temperature dropped below forty degrees.
'Out of the way!' shouted Eliot, trying to push past the biceps men. 'I need to find a police officer.'
'GET HIM!' shouted the rotund security man. One of the biceps men grabbed Eliot by the arm. 'Hold it, buddy,' he said. 'Listen,' said Eliot, fighting to sound calm. 'I need to find a cop now. There's a man shooting back there.' He yanked his arm free.
'HOLD HIM THERE!' shouted the rotund man. The biceps men were inclined to follow orders from the rotund man, because he was wearing an official blazer. All three of them grabbed Eliot.
'NO!' Eliot shouted, struggling. 'I HAVE TO GET ooof.'
Eliot's breath was knocked out of him as he went down hard onto the carpet, with the three biceps men on top of him. They had been knocked over by Anna, who had hit the struggling huddle running and was now pounding one of the biceps men on the back of the head.
'Let him GO, you idiots!' she shouted. 'He's trying to get help!'
'GRAB HER!' shouted the rotund man. 'SHE'S ONE OF THEM!'
One of the biceps men threw a hard elbow that caught Anna in the gut and sent her rolling off the pile, moaning. The other two each had one of Eliot's arms and were pressing him hard, face-first, to the floor. Eliot could no longer open his mouth to yell, and his right arm felt as though it were coming out of its socket. Knowing it was hopeless, he gave one last, desperate heave, and ...
... and one of the biceps men was gone. And then another one. Eliot rolled to his right and saw the third biceps man flying through the air, hitting the concourse wall, and landing next to the other two.
The thrower was Puggy, who had never lifted a weight in his life, but had always had a knack for picking up heavy objects. He reached down—he did not have to reach far—and raised Eliot easily to his feet. Nina was helping Anna, who was still gasping for air.
'SOMEBODY GRAB THEM!' shouted the rotund man, not making any moves in their direction personally.
'We gotta get outta here,' Eliot said to Anna, who nodded I'm OK and waved him forward. The four of them, Eliot in the lead, ran out of the checkpoint area and turned right. A couple of security people trailed behind, still shouting for somebody to stop them. As he ran, Eliot frantically scanned the gawking crowd; where the hell were the cops?
13:36
When Greer, Seitz, and Baker reached the Air Impact! counter, it was abandoned; there were no more flights that night, and Sheila had gone home to her sick child.
'Now what?' asked Baker.
Greer was looking at the Air Impact! schedule on the wall behind the counter.
'I'm thinkin' we go to the gate,' he said. 'Find whoever loaded the plane, find out who was on it.'
'This way,' said Seitz.
13:00
Flight 2038 was crossing Miami Beach now, the vast glowing blob of Dade County behind it, the blackness of the Atlantic ahead, dotted with the lights of a few seemingly motionless northbound freighters out in the Gulf Stream shipping lanes. Justin was feeling very lonely. Next to him, Frank was catatonic with fear. Immediately behind him, the postal-retiree couples were huddled in their seats, both women sobbing, both men staring at the floor. Behind them, the maniac was still standing in the aisle, holding the gun, watching. He had spoken to Justin only once, shouting over the noise of the plane.
'Two things, zitface,' he'd said. 'You touch that radio, you're dead. This plane don't come down in the fuckin' Bahamas, you're dead.'
Justin knew the guy would be crazy to shoot him, because then who would fly the plane? But he also knew that the guy was crazy, because why else would he be doing this?
