of it. I bet it’s never been done before. A hostage’s account of a hijacking while it’s actually happening.”
There’s a stunned silence. I wonder how long it will be before Alice’s article goes online. Might Adam read it?
“We could ask for the life jackets from business class,” Derek says. “That would be something at least.”
Cesca and I exchange glances but say nothing. We’re a little over two hours from Sydney—well over northern Australia now. If we crash now, life jackets are going to be about as much use as a spoon in a knife fight.
“Sure,” I say. There are already flashes of yellow in the seats around us. I see Alice eye up the life jacket nearest to her, worn by an ashen-faced teenager, and I picture the journalist ripping it off him, the cost of her ticket justification for increasing her own chances of survival.
“I’ll go,” Rowan says.
“No.” Cesca and I speak at once, fueled by the same feelings of duty, responsibility.
“This is my job,” I say simply, getting unsteadily to my feet, my hands raised in surrender. And my fault.
Slowly, I walk the few feet from the third row to where Ganges is standing. He’s sweating profusely now, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“I’d like to get the life jackets from business class,” I say.
“No one leaves this section of the plane.”
“It will help keep the passengers calm.” He wavers but shakes his head, clear in the instruction Missouri has given him. I change tack. “Who’s at home, waiting for you? Are you married?”
“I live with my parents.” He stops abruptly, as if he spoke by mistake. A muscle spasms by his left eye.
“They must be proud.”
Angry red spots appear, high on Ganges’s cheekbones. “They will be. They’ll be proud that I’m standing up for what I believe in.”
“By sentencing hundreds of people to death?”
“No one’s going to die!”
“They already have.” I think of Carmel, the life draining out of her in seconds. No one else, I think. No one else can die.
“That was—” Ganges flounders. “That was an accident. If you cooperate, no one will get hurt. The government will agree to our requests, and Amazon will land the plane safely.”
“You’ll go to prison.”
“We’ll have saved the planet.”
I shake my head. “How old are you? Twenty-five? Twenty-eight? Your whole life ahead of you, and you’ve been brainwashed into throwing it all away.”
“Climate change is the biggest—”
“—threat to the planet. I get it. But this isn’t the answer.”
“Then what is? Talking? Meetings? Words don’t bring about change; action does. You can be part of the problem if you want, but I’m proud to be part of the solution.”
“Sit down!”
It doesn’t come from Ganges—breathing hard now, as if he’s on the final furlong of a marathon—but from Missouri. She glares at me as I drop to the floor, then barks at Zambezi, “Stay with him.”
Zambezi rolls her eyes but complies. Behind her, Missouri is striding toward the front of the plane. I peer between Ganges’s and Zambezi’s legs and see her knock on the flight-deck door.
It opens, and Missouri disappears.
What’s happening in there?
The man flying the plane—the one calling himself Amazon—knows enough to be able to let Missouri in, but do either of them know how to override the emergency access?
“I hear you used to fly.” Cesca has moved to sit next to me, mirroring my position.
I look at her sharply. “Who told you that?”
“One of the cabin crew, sometime in the autumn. I mentioned I was doing the London–Sydney, and he said he was rostered to do it too but had swapped. Said you were mad for it.” She imitates Ryan’s accent, a small smile on her face.
“Right.” I relax a little. Ryan doesn’t know the whole story, only that I started my training, then dropped out. Trust him to pass on even that tiny bit of gossip. “I had my first lesson in a Piper Warrior. A present from my parents. I cadged a few more in my late teens, mostly in Cessna 150s.”
“He said you started commercial pilot training.” Her expression is curious but not unkind, and I think about telling her everything. I wonder how I’d feel to admit everything after all these years. Confession given to a priest, as death waits in the shadows.
The choice is taken from me by the crackle that precedes an announcement from the flight deck.