In the cramped space, the man teetered, swore. Balance gone, he made a panicky grab for the last straw—Rand, who fought off the grasping hands.
The hijacker toppled backward, bouncing off the metal arm of a seat on his way down. He landed flat on his back, his head striking the floor with a solid thump. The gun popped free, ending up at Rand’s feet. The hijacker didn’t move.
Breathing hard, Rand bent to retrieve the weapon. The plane lurched, bounced, skidded, knocking him to his hands and knees—but he had the gun. He struggled up, to find Maxine kneeling in the aisle seat. Her eyes behind the ugly glasses were wide and scared.
She gave voice to the obvious. “You could have been killed!”
“You wanted me to do something, didn’t you?”
The insurance guy, back from the rest room, pointed to the unconscious man in the aisle. “He’s out cold. One down and one to go!”
Rand hefted the comforting weight of the pistol in his hand. He didn’t give a hoot in hell what the insurance guy had to say but for some reason thought Maxine’s opinion might be useful. “Now what?”
“How about this,” she responded promptly. “You stand in the entryway beside the cockpit.” She’d obviously given their situation some thought. “I’ll scream my head off, and when the other hijacker comes out to see what’s going on, you get the drop on him.”
Rand groaned. This sounded like a recipe for disaster. “There’s gotta be an easier way.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “You think of it, then. This plane is going to stop soon and when the guy up front sees what you’ve done to his partner—” She made an appropriate slashing motion across her own throat, complete with sound effects.
Her point was well taken. A gun battle inside an airplane would not be a good idea. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “You sure this’ll work?”
“As sure as you were that we’d be off this plane three hours ago.”
She had him there. “Lacking a better idea…”
The level of hysterical wailing in tourist class steadily increased, although first-class passengers appeared too stunned to join in. Jessica’s shrieks soared above all else, but he deliberately shut out the racket. “You.” He indicated the insurance agent. “Keep an eye on that guy. If he so much as blinks, slug him.”
“Hard enough to make him see stars for a month,” the man promised. He dragged a heavy hardcover book out of his seat pocket and held it at the ready.
“All set?” Rand looked at Maxine.
She took a deep breath and nodded. The woman wasn’t short on nerve.
Satisfied, Rand stepped over the unconscious hijacker, then crept toward the front of the airplane. The revolver gave him confidence, although he hadn’t held one in years. His father and great-grandfather had taken pains to teach him how to handle firearms when he was just a kid, before the days of political correctness.
The plane came to a final grinding stop. Holding his breath, Rand placed an ear flat against the cockpit door and strained to hear. Nothing. He turned and positioned himself to the side, where he’d be hidden when the door opened. Maxine, standing near the flight attendants’ galley on the left, looked to him for a signal.
He nodded and she nearly split his eardrums.
“Eeeee…! No! Stop! Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you! Aaargh! Eeeeee…!”
The cockpit door slammed open so hard that it banged against the barrel of Rand’s pistol. For a moment he couldn’t see Maxine and terror swamped him. If he screwed up and she was the one who got hurt—
“Dammit, what’s goin’ on out here? I’ve had just about enough of—”
Rand shoved the door with all his strength and raised the pistol, fully prepared to shoot the crap out of the hijacker. Instead, he looked into the blank face of a man who didn’t know what had hit him…a man slowly crumpling, knocked silly when the heavy door connected solidly with his head.
The insurance salesman rushed up “We got him!”
The pilot barged through the door, rumpled and a bit crazed. Dried blood crusted his forehead, but he didn’t appear to be seriously hurt. He stopped short at the sight of his tormentor sprawled on the floor. “What the hell!”
The co-pilot joined them, taking everything in at a glance. “Where’s the other one?” he demanded.
“In first class, dead to the world.” The insurance guy pointed.
Rand finally got a word in edgewise. “Where are we?”
“Mexico,” the pilot said. “It’s a miracle we’re still alive. Those guys wanted to go to Argentina. By the time they finally agreed to a fuel stop, things were getting desperate.” He slapped the other pilot on the shoulder. “It’s a damn good thing you remembered this old airport, Joe.”
The co-pilot shrugged. “My dad used to fly in and out of here in the fifties. This place was an early Cancún, apparently.” He didn’t look as if he fully believed what had happened, even now. “We’d better get the door open and see what the hell we’ve landed in.”
Rand had more immediate concerns. Where was Maxine? Still hiding in the galley? “Here.” He thrust the revolver into the salesman’s hand. “Take over.”
Turning away, he finally spotted Maxine struggling up the rapidly filling aisle. She was lugging her suitcase and his, his briefcase slung over her shoulder. He pushed his way to meet her, so relieved that he nearly put an arm around her.
She leaned close to be heard. “I don’t know about you, but I want out of here.”
“You and me both.” But now new worries set in. Neither friends nor family were aware he was on this plane and publicity was the last thing he wanted. Was there a way to avoid all the hoopla surrounding a hijacking?
“When the door opens…” she began.
“Just part of the crowd.” He tried to shield her from the press of frantic passengers stumbling over the unconscious man in the aisle as if they didn’t even know who he was.
Suddenly the airplane door blew. Instead of leading the charge to escape, Rand stepped aside, drawing Maxine with him. A dozen or so passengers rushed to the opening where the door had been.
No jetway awaited them, just a too-short metal stairway leading down to a graveled field. The first step was a good six feet below the door, but that merely slowed the stampede instead of stopping it.
Two Mexican officials trying to climb into the plane were instead shoved out of the way by the mob. At the first break in the exodus, they tried again with better results. Shouting in a mixture of Spanish and broken English, gesturing grandly, they forced the passengers back until they could drag the two still-unconscious hijackers to the door and pass them down to colleagues waiting on the stairs.
By then, the flight attendants had gained the upper hand, and
