Skyjack: The Hunt for D. B. Cooper (12 page)

“305, this is Al.”

“Go ahead, Al.”

“I just talked to the stews here [Flo and Alice] and if you’ll call back there and tell him everything is under control then he’ll let this other one [Tina] off.”

“Whose word is that? Whose idea is that?”

“This is the two stews that got off. They were saying the guy don’t really care if she stays on or not, but they suggested to call back and tell him everything is under control and that he’ll let that third stew off.”

“That’s contrary to what’s going on up here, Al. He’s not going to let her come off right now and we’re trying to work out a way that we can get her up here somehow before we go. Right now he wants her to sit back there with him during takeoff.”

“Okay, I was just wondering, you know. About the fuel, how much do you want on board or how much more can you take?”

“Well, we got a long way to go and he’s getting antsy and that’s our problem right now.”

“Have you been able to get in the back end of that cockpit or won’t he come out?”

“He doesn’t want any of us in the aisle. The only one he negotiates with is the stewardess and he doesn’t want anybody beyond that first curtain. We’ve never left the cockpit.”

“Did you get the maps I sent out there?”

“Yeah, we got all that stuff.”

“And you got that deal from Boeing on how to get out of there?”

Inside the cockpit is a rope ladder. To exit the plane and escape, the pilots and flight engineer can open the cockpit windshield and shimmy down the rope onto the tarmac.

“Yeah, we got that. If we could get the gal out, well, we could make tracks ourselves.”

“Is it possible to communicate with her to have her come forward to get food?”

“No, we tried that.… We don’t want to try that kind of stuff.”

“Seattle-Tacoma Tower now for one—stand by. Fuel truck just crossed in front of Northwest hangar.”

“Alpha Two, go on.”

“Stand by.”

“What did he say now?”

“He was giving instructions there.”

“We’re going to Mexico City,” the hijacker tells Tina. “Or anyplace in Mexico. Gear down, flaps down. You can trim the flaps to fifteen. You can stop anywhere in Mexico to refuel, but not here in
the United States. Cabin lights out—no one behind the first-class curtain.”

The pilots must also keep an altitude of 10,000 feet. No higher.

There is more.

“The aft door must be open and the stairs must be down.”

Tina picks up the interphone and relays the instructions to the Northwest pilots: Mexico City, gear down, flaps at fifteen degrees, altitude of 10,000 feet, no higher.

In the cockpit, the pilots are talking to the feds. There’s an update.

“305, is the individual in the back? He can’t hear?”

“You can have all the conversations you want.”

“Okay. 305, did you hear the message from Washington, D.C., from the FAA’s chief psychiatrist? He believes the second parachute is for the stewardess to use with him to go out, and after he leaves the airplane will be blown up.”

On the tarmac, a bus approaches. The name on the bus is Western Tours. The passengers file in. The bus drives the passengers across the airfield to the SEA-TAC terminal. Here, two federal agents board. One says he’s going to take a roll call and if you hear your name on the list, say something or raise your hand.

Menendez. Minsch. Pollart.

The hands go up. Larry Finegold raises his hand. George Kurata raises his hand. Cliff McDonald, a real estate salesman, raises his hand. George Labissoniere raises his hand.

Cooper?

Dan Cooper?

The bus is dark. The agents look for a hand, a face. They wait for a sound.

Dan Cooper?

In Portland, reporters hear the news of the hijacking over police scanners. Clyde Jabin, a stringer for United Press International wire service, asks a Bureau agent in Portland if they have any suspects. As a matter fact, they do.

“D. Cooper,” the agent says.

Jabin does not hear what the agent says.

“ ‘D’ as in dog, ‘B’ as in boy?” Jabin says.

“Right,” the agent says.

Jabin scribbles down the “D” and “B” and the name “Cooper.”

He calls in the story. The name of the hijacker—D.B. Cooper—hits the wires.

Mexico City?

In Portland, Special Agent Ralph Himmelsbach goes over the flight path in his mind. As a pilot, he knows the most sensible route south at the low altitude of 10,000 feet is Vector 23. The flight path would follow the Interstate 5 freeway and take the hijacked plane back to Portland.

“What do you think?” his boss, Mattson, asks. “Do you think he’s coming back to us?”

“I sure hope so,” Himmelsbach says. “I’d like to take him here.”

Himmelsbach calls around. He learns there is a Huey helicopter at the National Guard hangar at Portland International. His idea is to chase the hijacked plane in the helicopter. He races over to the hangar, where the on-duty Guard pilots are waiting.

Himmelsbach also considers another detail. The request to have the plane flown at the altitude of 10,000 feet was telling. At 10,000 feet, the cabin would not be pressurized. If Cooper cracked the rear door of
the jet, he would not get sucked out. Clearly, the man the agents were after knew airplanes.

In the cockpit of Northwest 305, pilots consult with the company’s engineers. The hijacker wants to take off with the aftstairs in the down position. Is that even possible?

It isn’t, the engineers tell them.

And what about the aftstairs down? Can they fly that way?

Northwest calls Boeing. Engineers there inform them that the Boeing 727 was used by Air America, the CIA cutout, in Vietnam.

“The plane has been flown this way. There’s been large boxes of two to three thousand pounds dropped through the door in this configuration.”

Another concern is fuel. Under the configurations the hijacker wants—flaps at fifteen degrees, landing gear down—the jet will be moving extremely slowly. The fuel burn will be tremendous. The Northwest pilots will need to land several times to make it to the Mexican border.

“Reno makes a better choice for a wise hijacker.”

“Roger. Will plan Reno first stop.”

“Roger. A second stop would be Yuma, Arizona.”

“Roger. Fuel truck has left. Stairs removed. Forward door has been closed. He has agreed to let us take off with the stairs in the full upright position.”

“Okay, we’ll start you out here heading toward Portland and then we’ll get you clearance.”

“Okay, fine. And we’ve got the company working on the flight plan, so if we don’t answer you right away, we’re trying to work a couple of free frequencies.”

The interphone is ringing. The pilots pick up. It’s
him
.

“Let’s get the show on the road,” he hollers.

In the rear, Tina hands him a piece of paper: instructions on how to use a parachute.

“I don’t need that,” he says.

She wants to know why she is still with him. Why won’t he let her go to the cockpit?

He doesn’t know how to release the aftstairs. He needs her help.

She is scared. She imagines herself getting sucked out of the plane once the door is opened and the pressure seal is cracked. She asks him if she can secure herself to something in the cabin. Perhaps the pilots’ escape rope in the cockpit?

No. He doesn’t want her going to the cockpit.

She asks about the flight engineer. He can bring it back.

“Nobody behind the curtain,” he says.

Tina looks at the cannibalized parachute. He cut shroud lines to tie up the money bag. Can he cut a shroud line for her?

“Never mind,” he says.

He’ll lower the aftstairs himself. He asks her to show him how to use them. Then she can leave.

She goes to the panel. Push the lever this way, the stairs go down. Easy. They have oxygen on board, too, she says.

“Yes, I know where it is. If I need it I will get it.”

He looks around the cabin. It’s too bright. He wants the lights off.

The switches are hit. The cabin turns as dark as the inside of a glove. He reaches for the reading light above his seat. He turns it on and the light spills onto his hands.