Big Trouble (33 page)

“Mrs. Herk!” he shouted. The man and woman both stopped, looked at him.

“I'm Detective Baker,” he said, “Miami PD.”

“Oh, thank God!” Anna said, grabbing Baker's arm. “You have to . . .”

“Hold it,” said Baker. He shouted ahead to Greer and Seitz, who were disappearing in the crowd ahead, “Agent Greer! Back here!”

Greer turned and trotted back, impatient.
“What?”
he said.

“This is Mrs. Herk,” said Baker. “It was her house. Where the suitcase was.”

In an instant, Greer had his hand on Anna's arm.

“Mrs. Greer,” he said, “I'm with the FBI. I need you to . . .”

“My daughter,” said Anna. “She's in the plane with that man, and he shot at us, and you have to . . .”

“
Listen,
Mrs. Herk,” said Greer, now gripping her arms with both his hands. “We're concerned about your daughter, but we have to know,
where is that metal suitcase now?
”

Anna shook her head. “I don't know, ” she said. “They had it, they took it when they left the house . . .”

“Is it on the plane?” asked Greer. “Did they take the metal suitcase on the plane?”

“I don't
know
,” said Anna, starting to cry. “I don't
know
about the suitcase.”

“Mrs. Herk,” said Greer, shaking her, “you have to . . .”

Eliot pulled Anna away and stepped right in front of Greer. Their noses were a half inch apart.

“She says she doesn't
know
where the goddamn suitcase is, OK?” Eliot said. “She wants her
daughter
. She doesn't care about your fucking suitcase.”

“Who're you?” asked Greer.

“I'm her friend,” said Eliot.

“Well,
friend
,” said Greer, “if you want to help her daughter, you better care about the fucking suitcase.”

“She wasn't with the suitcase,” said Eliot. “She was with me.
This
guy was with the suitcase.” Eliot pointed to Puggy, who had just trotted up.

Greer turned to Puggy.

“Who're you?” he asked.

“Puggy,” said Puggy.

“You were with the suitcase?” asked Greer. “A metal suitcase? You saw it?”

“I carried it,” said Puggy. “It's heavy.”

“You
carried
it?” asked Greer.
“Where?”

“To the plane,” said Puggy.

“It's on the plane?”

“Yeah,” said Puggy.

Greer thought for a second, then said, “Did anybody open the suitcase?”

“Over there,” said Puggy, pointing toward the security checkpoint.

“They opened it there?” asked Greer.

“Yeah,” said Puggy. “They made him turn it on.”

Greer's face went pale.

“How did he turn it on?” he asked.

“There was these, like, switches, that he . . .” Puggy made a hand motion, flipping up imaginary switches.

“Then what happened?” asked Greer. “Did anything happen when he did that?”

“Lights,” said Puggy. “Little numbers.”

Greer glanced at Seitz and Baker, who were both listening. Seitz's face was blank. Baker looked sick.

Greer looked back at Puggy. “When did this happen?” he asked. “How long ago did he turn it on?”

Puggy thought about it.

“It's been a while now,” he said.

 

 

 

Monica's legs ached from crouching in the tiny space allotted for legroom in front of the seat. She was trying to think, but it was hard with the horrendous roar of wind and engines coming through the open door.

Twice, very carefully, she'd moved her head just enough to look around the seat in front of her toward the front of the plane. Both times, Snake was facing forward. Once she'd heard him say something to the pilot, but she couldn't make out what it was.

From time to time, she made eye contact with Matt, crouching across the aisle. She tried to look confident, but she definitely didn't feel confident. She had no plan. The only thing she'd thought of was to jump Snake from behind, but he'd almost certainly fire his gun, and there were passengers—Monica didn't know how many—in front of him. And of course the pilots. If he shot them, everybody would die. On the other hand, if she didn't try to grab him, he might kill everybody anyway. He was definitely crazy.

Monica looked over at Matt, gave him another confident expression. He stared back. He was clearly scared.

Monica thought,
He's right
.

 

 

 

Greer was standing at the edge of the main concourse traffic, next to an abandoned airline counter, talking into his special phone. Seitz and Baker were next to him. A few feet away were Eliot, who had his arm around Anna, and Puggy, who was holding hands with Nina.

“Still nothing from the pilot?” Greer said to the phone. “OK, and his location is . . . OK. How about Homestead? They're . . . right, OK, good.” Greer looked at his watch. “Right, that's affirmative.”

“I don't understand,” Anna said to Baker. “Why aren't you going out to the plane? Why aren't there police out there?”

“Mrs. Herk,” said Baker, “the plane took off.”

“Oh my God,” she said, putting her hand to her face. Eliot hugged her tight, imagining how awful he'd feel if Matt were in that plane.

“But they're tracking it,” said Baker. “They have it on radar. That's what he's talking to them about now.”

“So what happens?” asked Eliot. “When the plane lands, they arrest him?”

Baker looked at Seitz.

Seitz said, “They'll do whatever it takes.”

 

 

 

The noise was driving Snake crazy. He decided to try to close the door. Facing the cockpit, he walked backward slowly toward the rear of the plane.

 

 

 

Baker pulled Seitz aside, close to where Greer was talking on the special phone.

“What do you mean, ‘Whatever it takes'?” asked Baker.

“Just what I said.”

Baker stared at Seitz. A few feet away, Greer was saying, “Has that been cleared? Can I talk to . . . Sorry, I didn't realize. Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Yes, sir, they've acquired it.”

“Who's acquired what?” Baker asked Seitz.

“Keep it down,” said Seitz, nodding toward Anna.

“It's fighter jets, isn't it?” said Baker, his voice low. “From Homestead. You're gonna shoot this plane down, aren't you?”

Seitz said, “Whatever it takes.”

 

 

 

Snake was backing slowly toward the rear of the plane, keeping his eye on the pilot. He was now even with the third row from the last. And now he was even with the second from the last. One more step, and he'd be right next to Monica and Matt; he'd see them for sure. Monica saw she was going to have no choice.

 

 

 

“We got no choice,” said Greer. Baker was right in his face. They were talking quietly, so Anna and Eliot couldn't hear.

“There are innocent people on that plane,” said Baker. “This woman's
daughter
is on there.”

“With a nuclear weapon that's gonna go off,” said Greer. “If it goes off in Freeport,
many
innocent people die, you understand?
Many
. We have to get it
now
.”

A man wearing an official Greg Norman golf shirt, official Greg Norman hat, and official Greg Norman slacks tapped Baker on the shoulder. He tapped several times before Baker turned to him.

“What?” Baker said.

“Which way is Northwest Airlines?” the man asked.

“I don't know,” Baker said. He turned back to Greer. “Can't you signal to them somehow?” he asked. “Tell them to . . .”

The man tapped Baker's shoulder again, and said, “Is there some kind of . . .”

“NOT NOW,” Baker said.

“Well, you don't have to
shout
,” the man said. He went back over to his wife, who was wearing a muumuu the size of a wedding tent, to tell her how rude this jerk was.

“Can't you tell 'em the situation?” Baker said to Greer. “Tell 'em throw the suitcase out of the plane?”

“We tried,” said Greer. “We're still trying. Pilot doesn't respond.”

“But how can you just . . .” Baker held up his hands, let them drop.

“We
have
to,” Greer said. “We fucking
have
to, that's how. Listen, nobody likes this. Nobody wants this. But this has been discussed, belive me, as high as it can be, every scenario, and this is the only way outta this.”

Baker looked over at Anna. She was watching him and Greer, the representatives of Law and Order, waiting for them to tell her that her daughter was OK. Baker looked back at Greer.

“When does this happen?” he asked.

“When the plane's over the middle of the Gulf Stream,” said Greer. “Over deep water.”

“How long is that?” Baker asked.

Greer looked at his watch.

“Three minutes,” he said.

 

 

 

Snake had stopped one row in front of where Monica crouched. She could see the back of his legs; he still hadn't turned. He was yelling something Monica couldn't quite hear to the pilot, something about the radio.

Monica looked across the aisle at Matt, nodded her head toward Snake, and made a grabbing gesture with both hands, to indicate,
We're gonna jump him
. Matt nodded. Monica held her right hand out with the forefinger and middle finger pointed down, like legs, then tapped upward between the legs with the forefinger of her left hand, to indicate
Kick him in the balls
. Matt puzzled over that one for a moment, then got it and nodded again. The thought flashed through Monica's mind, just for an instant, that Matt was a lot quicker on the uptake than her partner, Walter.

 

 

 

The F-16s carried both the AIM-9M heat-seeking missile, known as the “Sidewinder,” and the AIM-120 AMRAAM, or advanced medium-range air-to-air missile, which is radar-guided. Because they were at close range, and because Flight 2038 had turbo-prop engines that generated enough heat, the pilots had elected to go with the Sidewinders. They radioed this decision in and were told to go ahead and arm.

 

 

 

Snake took another step back. He was right next to Monica and turning to his left, toward the door, which meant his gun was turning toward Matt. Monica came up out of her crouch and grabbed for his right arm, the one with the gun in it. She gripped it for an instant, but then a cramp sent a vicious jolt of pain through her right hamstring, buckling her leg. As she fell sideways, Snake shook off her arm and whirled, pulling the trigger. Monica's body jerked violently backward into the window, then crumpled to the floor. There was a softball-sized hole in the window, its edges spattered with blood.

As she went down, Matt came up, wrapping his arms around Snake, trying to pin him; but Snake was stronger, and he twisted quickly back to his left inside Matt's arms, whipping the gun around hard into the side of Matt's head. Matt lurched to his right and went down onto the plane seat.

In the front of the plane, the postal retirees had gone to the floor at the sound of the gunshot, as had Frank the copilot. Justin had turned around and seen that the maniac was fighting somebody—Justin had no idea who it was—back there. Turning forward again, Justin quickly reached for his radio headset.

 

“Yes,” said Greer, into his special phone. He was looking at his watch. “That's affirmative. I repeat, affirmative. When you're ready.”

 

 

 

Snake was furious.
The cop bitch and the punk! How the fuck did they get here?
He looked down at the bitch; her eyes were open, but he couldn't tell if she was seeing anything. He turned back toward the punk, who was groaning, moving a little. Definitely alive.
Not for long, punk
.

 

 

 

Greer had his ear pressed tight to the special phone.
“What?”
he said, his voice rising.
“What'd he say?”

“What?” asked Baker, pressing close to Greer.
“What?”

“They heard from the pilot,” said Greer. “He's . . . hold it.” He listened on the phone. “OK,” he said, looking at his watch. “Ask him is the suitcase on the airplane. Got that? Ask him can he get the suitcase off the airplane right now.” He looked at his watch.
Shit
.

 

 

 

Snake raised the gun, aimed it at Matt's head.

“Snake!” a voice shouted. Snake jerked his head right. It was Eddie, standing in the aisle.

Snake, still aiming the gun at Matt, shouted, “The fuck you want?”

“Snake, Jesus,” shouted Eddie, pointing down at Monica. “You shot a cop.”

“That's right,” shouted Snake. “Now I'm gonna shoot this punk.”