but as I do so, the intercom crackles. Everyone freezes.
Ladies and gentlemen, this flight is under new management. My name is Amazon, and I am now your pilot. Only full cooperation will ensure your safety.
The stunned silence is broken by a terrified scream ringing out from somewhere near the back of the plane. It triggers a huge swell of noise, like a dam bursting, as passengers scramble across seats and down the aisles.
“Tell them to sit down,” Cesca says, and Carmel rushes to comply, but half the passengers are crowding around the galley already, snatching open the curtains and demanding to know what’s going on. Is this some kind of joke? Are we being hijacked? Is this a terrorist attack? At the end of the seven business-class rows, framed in the doorway to the bar, Hassan stands with a cloth hanging from one hand, the glass he was drying in the other. Behind him, on the opposite side of the bar, the crew in economy is fighting to keep control. All around, there are people crying and clutching one another, hysteria rising like a tidal force.
Erik and Carmel take an aisle each, and I hear the undercurrent of fear in their voices as they tell people to please take your seats and try not to panic. The passengers already in their seats are gripping their armrests. Some have assumed the brace position. Several are praying.
I find my voice. “The hijacker is a man who was sitting in seat 7G.”
Cesca drags me out of view, pushing me against the lockers. Her fingers handcuff my arms either side of me, the metal doors hard against my wrist bones. “How do you know that?”
I take a breath. Release it in a sob. “Because I let him into the flight deck.”
“You’re working with him?”
“No!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“He threatened my daughter. He knew things about her. He knew her school. He had a photograph of her—taken this morning. He had something from her bag. He said if I didn’t do it, she’d be killed. What else could I do?” My voice rises, ending with a plea that would be heard in the cabin were it not for the noise already being made there.
“You could have called it in!” Specks of wetness hit my face as Cesca screams at me. “You’ve put everyone’s lives in danger!”
“He said if we cooperate—”
“And you believe him?” Cesca gives a harsh laugh. “I can’t decide if you’re dangerous or just stupid, Mina.”
“My daughter’s name is Sophia.” I drop my voice.
“I don’t c—”
“She’s five years old. Just started school. She’s really bright, and she remembers everything. She’s incredible.” I’m speaking so fast, there’s no space between words, and I’m not seeing Cesca; I’m seeing Sophia’s crazy curly hair and her big, brown eyes. I’m feeling her soft hand in mine, the weight of her embrace in my arms. “She was born to a woman who didn’t care whether she lived or died, and she was given to us because we did care.” Tears choke my words, but I carry on regardless, and I feel Cesca’s grip on my wrists slacken a little. “And I swore I’d keep her safe, no matter what.”
Cesca lets my hands fall, but she doesn’t move. My wrists throb.
“Do you have children?”
There’s a long pause, then Cesca nods. “Three.”
“Wouldn’t you have done the same?”
She doesn’t answer. She takes a step back, shaking herself into action. “We need to calm everyone down. Panic isn’t going to help anyone. We’ll go through the cabin, speaking to everyone individually, okay?”
I nod.
“We tell them we’ll be doing everything we can to ensure their safety; that yes, the flight deck has been breached, but that we will be attempting to communicate with the hijacker in order to regain control of the plane. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“And, Mina?” Cesca lifts her chin, her eyes drilling into me. “Stay where I can see you.”
Beds have been changed back into seats, headsets dangling from abandoned films. Blankets and pillows litter the floor as passengers cluster in small groups, panic written on their faces. Finley has crawled onto his mother’s lap, his face buried in her neck.
At the front of the cabin, Leah Talbot holds baby Lachlan, silent sobs darkening the comforter she’s wrapped around him. I crouch by their seats, scrabbling for words.
“It’ll be okay,” I hear myself saying, and I despise myself for the lie.
Leah looks at me, her mouth twisting as she tries to talk. “Ten years, I’ve been trying for a baby.” She rocks back