I look up at the hijacker guarding the front of our aisle. He looks almost as shaken by Doug’s revelation as poor Ginny, and I wonder if it’s served to show him that we’re people, not just hostages. I manage a smile. “What’s your name?”
“Ganges.”
“Your real name.”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“I’m Mina. Short for Amina, but everyone’s always called me Mina.” I remember that much from the scenario debrief: Use your name as much as possible. Tell them details about your life; make them think of you as a real person. I try to hold Ganges’s gaze, but his eyes slide away. “Can you tell us what’s happening?”
He glances at the opposite aisle. I’m too low to the ground to see who he’s looking at, but it’s clear Ganges feels out of his depth. “Cooperate, and you won’t be hurt.” He has the faintest of accents—the barely there intonation of someone who’s lived in their second country far longer than their first.
“Where are you from?”
“You don’t need to know that either.”
“How come you’ve never met one another before?” I’m met with stony silence, but I persevere. “She knows you, though, right? Missouri? That doesn’t seem fair. She knows you, but you’re not allowed to know—”
“She knows our positions, that’s all.” His response is muttered, a dart of his eyes checking to make sure Missouri isn’t listening. “She knows our names from where we’re standing.”
“I see. So you guys have only chatted online, right?”
Cesca shuffles forward, into the gap to my right. “It isn’t too late to back out, you know,” she says quickly. Too soon, I think, turning to her, trying to convey through my eyes alone that she needs to be quiet, that I was sure I could get somewhere. “If you’re having second thoughts, you could help us instead, and I’m sure the police would—”
“Quiet!” He raises a clenched fist, bringing it down swiftly, then stopping a hair’s breadth from Cesca’s face.
Too soon.
“Consider that a warning.”
Cesca retreats, the others clustering around her. But I’m watching Ganges’s face and the flicker of alarm that crossed it, not when Cesca spoke but when he raised his fist. He didn’t stop because he only wanted to warn her; he stopped because he couldn’t bring himself to carry on. He doesn’t want to hurt us.
We’re too close to Ganges to talk about him. I indicate as much to Cesca and the others, and we begin to make some space. Derek kneels up and stretches, his hands still dutifully on his head. When he returns to a seated position, he is a full row behind his original spot. Alice waits until Ganges is looking away—something he does every few seconds, as though he’s searching for answers elsewhere in the cabin—then slides swiftly back into the space Derek has left. Slowly, we all move backward, and Ganges either doesn’t notice or is relieved not to be at such close quarters.
Next to me, in the central aisle seat of the third row, a pregnant woman is sobbing quietly to herself.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though she clearly isn’t. None of us are okay.
“My husband didn’t want me to fly. But he’s working over Christmas, and the baby’s not due for six weeks, and I figured it would be nice to be home and let Mum take care of me for a bit, you know? And now—”
She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t need to. I wonder if her husband knows—if any of our families know. Unless Missouri’s pilot is proficient enough to maintain comms with air traffic control, it would only have taken around half an hour for someone to notice that we were out of contact. Maybe it’s on the news already. I picture Adam in the sitting room, glued to the television; I imagine the journalists standing at the airport, the sea of holidaymakers incongruous with the solemnity of the report.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.” She directs this last to the bar, where Missouri can be seen talking to the other hijackers. “They’re insane. And climate change, for God’s sake! Of all the stupid, stupid reasons…”
“There is no climate change, you know.” The man in the next seat leans forward. “They’ve disproved it. It’s just a natural cycle. Give it another hundred years, and they’ll be moaning that we’re heading for another ice age.”
“What is this—debating society? This is real!”
“Try to stay calm,” the man says. “Increased blood pressure isn’t good for the baby.”