when I needed to cut the grass and couldn’t for the life of me work out how the new mower worked. I can’t see it, I kept saying, and he’d patiently go back to the beginning and talk me through it again. Charlie’s using the same voice: slow and clear, patient but not patronizing.
“I see it.” I realize that Charlie didn’t answer my question about the fuel level.
“Push it in, then turn it to three. Tell me when it’s done.”
“Done.”
“Great job. Now, we’ve got some time before we start our descent, so I’ll give you a tour of the instruments you’re going to be needing. Things are going to get a little busy later.” He tells me how to extend the flaps and change the speed and where the lever is for the landing gear. Each time, I reach out and touch the relevant control, trying to commit it to memory. It’s so different from a light aircraft, like learning to ride a motorbike, then getting in a car. I look at Rowan, who nods, silently noting the location of the switches.
I look through the window, but my head starts to spin, and I shut my eyes to quell the feelings of nausea it prompts.
“Are you okay?” Rowan asks.
I nod, although it couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Shall I take over?”
“It’s okay.”
He touches my arm. “Your daughter will be okay. I’m sure of it.”
“You don’t know that!” A painful sob erupts through the words, everything I’ve been trying to keep at bay forcing its way to the surface. I’ve been trying hard to keep Sophia and Adam out of my head, to concentrate on getting us down safely. I can’t think about how much I love them—how much I need them—until I know for certain we’re coming out of this alive.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Please! Just—” I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my fingertips to my head as though they have the power to change what’s inside. Rowan falls silent. I let out a slow, juddering breath, then press the button to speak to air traffic control. “World 79.”
“Go ahead, Mina.”
“We’re going to need an ambulance the second we land. One of our pilots is in a bad way.”
“Ambulance, fire, police, military—you’re getting the full cavalry, Mina.”
“We have a number of fatalities on board as well. Two hijackers, one passenger, and four staff.”
Only the briefest of pauses indicates the implications of my transmission have hit home. “Copy that.”
“Charlie?”
“Go ahead, Mina.”
I swallow. “The hijackers made threats against my family.”
I leave the sentence hanging, waiting for Charlie to jump in, to tell me that he knows all about it, that Adam and Sophia are safe, have been safe since the moment I did as I was told. Waiting to hear I did the right thing.
“If I didn’t comply with their demands,” I say, when it’s clear Charlie needs me to finish, “they said my daughter would be hurt. I need—I need—”
I let go of the radio button, pressing my head into the back of my seat and squeezing shut my eyes, my chest burning with the tears I’m holding back.
“You need to know she’s okay.” He can’t see my nod, and a second later, he speaks again. “We’ll get on it.” I let out a breath. “Right now, I need you to change frequencies. I’m going to send you over to Approach—”
“Please don’t leave!”
Hysteria laces my words, but Charlie doesn’t waver. “You don’t get rid of me that easily. I’m walking from one desk to another, that’s all, and when you hear my voice again, I’ll be able to see you on close radar.”
The promise is reassuring, and I follow his instructions to change the channel, but nevertheless, it’s the longest thirty seconds of my life—as though I’ve been cut loose from my moorings and am drifting out to sea.
“Ready to start our descent?”
Relief makes me smile. “Ready.”
He talks me through each step, and we drop first to twenty-five thousand feet, then to fifteen thousand. Charlie guides me to a button marked IAS MACH, and I drop our speed to two hundred and fifty knots. I manage to keep my breathing steady, but I can’t look outside, and each time Rowan moves or Charlie breaks the silence, my pulse gallops.
The flight deck smells of coffee and cleaning products, of sweat and plastic-coated seats. My vision blurs, black spots around the edges, and my head spins.
Eleven years since it happened.
“What do you mean, you’re dropping out?” My father was angry, my mother confused. “You’ve got