Jennifer, her daughter Stephanie, and her husband Joe were beat as they boarded the plane from New York. They had spent an exciting week visiting all the sights. They had stayed in the huge Victorian house on the northwest corner of Central Park for a fraction of what a hotel would have cost. Stephanie had made lots of friends from Israel, France, Japan and China. There was a new group there every day at the Hostel. She and her husband more or less became fortuitous chaperones. It wasn't planned, but if they were having a good time, nothing else mattered.
They had been shown the hidden cache of New York Police Department T-shirts in Chinatown and bought all they could hold to pass out when they got home. Joe had bought the two women purses at the New York Met that had been made out of cloth from the dress she wore in "L'Assedio di Corinto."
When they got on the flight, they had to walk past and through the first class seating section. Jenny admired the fine suits of the five black men sitting on each side of the last aisle for first class. They were obviously from Nigeria. They were huge men with short kinky hair and tribal tattoos on their cheeks that almost resembled the lamp black football players used to keep the sun out of their eyes; maybe more like the war paint they used to see on old westerns.
She had not seen the men put their travel bags in the overhead storage bins, but she did notice the thin briefcases they all had on their laps; portable computers no doubt.
She had no way of knowing that the thin briefcases carried a number of puzzling pieces of equipment. Three-D printers are in their infancy. The thin strands of carbon fiber that had been used in them were undetectable in the airport scanners. When parts of automatic pistols are made, disassembled and stored in backpacks, hip pockets, inside computers and suit pockets they are not recognized as such by the airport security. The ammunition also had been assembled without the use of metal. The shells were part of the combustion so there were no cartridges to eject and potentially jamb the automatic mechanism.
To Stephanie's pleasant surprise, the coach class had been overbooked and she and her mother would be reassigned to the first class section. Joe was stuck in the back with the stewardesses, or using the politically correct term; flight attendants.
Stewardesses are what they have in Spain. The girls are in their early twenties; wear very short dresses, gloves and some kind of sexy cap. Flight attendants are about half men and half women who are there because of the legal system and cannot be fired without due cause. They often have white hair, are paunchy and are not compelled to smile because they cannot be fired. It is easy to tell when you are on a flight originating in the U.S. or one from Europe.
This one was obviously an American flight. Stephanie had her reddish brown hair curled and in a pony tail that flowed down her back to just past her waist. She had ridiculously short denim cut-off shorts; one of her fathers too-long blue oxford cloth dress shirts with the button-down collars. The shirt was tucked into her shorts. She had high-heeled cork sandals that were held on with thong-like straps.
Her mother wore a short green summer dress that buttoned down the front. The dress came to about mid thigh and was long enough to get the job done among strangers. She had carelessly left the top and bottom buttons undone. Jennifer's long reddish brown hair was woven into a fishtail braid from the top of her head down to the beginning of her neck. From there, the long curly hair hung loosely past her waist. Her green eyes matched her dress and were a perfect complement to her hair.
The two women often were mistaken for quarreling sisters, rather than mother and defiant daughter. They had no choice but to sit on opposite sides of the aisle from each other in front of the two monsters from Nigeria. The two women had grown up in small towns in the Midwest and had not been around black people except if they went to a football game.
The flight was from Kennedy to Chicago, then a connecting flight to MCI, in Kansas City. They were expecting Jenny's sister to pick them up and take them to Tonganoxie, Kansas where Joe had a farm.
Jenny couldn't help but be puzzled by the abnormally large number of young couples who seemed to be snuggling up with other. Finally, when the attendant began her pre-flight discussion about seat belt safety, and exit locations, she discussed how the passengers continuing on to Aruba could stay on and did not need to change flights. She realized then, that these people were on their honeymoons.
Once the flight had been underway, and the seat belt signs went off, the black men left one at a time to the bathroom and took their back packs with them. Once they were all back, their expressions began to change.
One went to the back of the plane, one stood at the front of the coach section. One stood at the front of the first class section and two of them blasted their way through the cabin door. All of them produced their carbon fiber snub-nosed automatic weapons.
"This is a hijacking. If all of you behave, there will not be any problems." There was a vicious struggle in the cockpit, and then the door shut.
The man from the front of the coach section and the man from the front of the first class section began demanding all cell phones, laptops, and kindles. They were not going to let anybody alert authorities or family members.
They all had the Bluetooth devices and cell phones to communicate with each other. They knew they would probably ultimately have to kill somebody to let the group know they were serious, and scare the rest of the passengers into capitulation.
The biggest man was obviously the leader. His name was Marcellus Vuto. People seldom recognized him. He had been a promising football player in college. He was a quarterback who could throw either right or left handed. On defense he played cornerback. An early permanent knee injury left him with a generous signing bonus, but no long big payouts. He had become a bitter angry man who had become used to the high income and adoration of a celebrity.
He had gone back to Nigeria to live, but was very discontent with his lack of recognition in his own country. The general American public had lost sight of him for several years, and was able to travel in obscurity. He was determined to find a way to recoup the vast income he had missed out on because of his unfortunate injury.
Marcel took one of the confiscated cell phones from one of the passengers. He used the memo option from his own for a list of numbers he had stored.
"Flight 429 from New York to Chicago has been hijacked. Send an electronic deposit of five million dollars to the Bank Account number 782987 in the National Bank of Syria within ten minutes or people are going to die."
Obviously the people at the main office of the airline did not have time to confirm the information or react. Marcel handed his cell phone to a passenger to let the airline know who he was, confirm that the flight had been hijacked and the men were armed. Marcel grabbed Joe, took him to the front of the coach section, lowered him to his knees and shot him.
He told the passenger with the cell phone to pass on the information. He handed out another cell phone to let another person confirm their name, flight number and information that the man had been shot. They now had five minutes to make the electronic deposit.
Marcel searched the internet with the confiscated cell phone and was able to verify that the money had been deposited. From there, he split the money into five accounts and transferred it to accounts in several different countries. From there, he had another program to continuously move the accounts from country to country.
It was now just a matter of time for his next part of the plan to be started. They had to get to a certain spot over the country where he had stashed more cars, and money.
They had some time to kill before they got to the dense forest of the Ozark Mountains. Marcel walked down the aisle and spotted Jennifer and her daughter. He decided that two rich bitches from the first class section would be the best choice.
"We have a long flight, and I think the people are hungry. I think it is time for you two women to pass out the refreshments, peanuts and drinks. Drinks are free today. I want you women to be the attendants for the rest of the flight."
Jenny had not recovered from the horror of seeing her husband shot. She needed to do whatever it took to keep her daughter safe. If the guns were fired, it was always possible that an errant shot would depressurize the cabin. Jenny got up to go see where the food and drinks were kept.
"No you don't young lady. I didn't ask the regular attendants because they are too fuddy-duddy. I don't like their uniforms. I like the way you are dressed more. In fact I think you and this young lady can look much better with a few modifications to your uniform. We need to have a more recognizable uniform.
The two gunmen came to where Jenny and Stephanie were seated. They made the two women stand. Marcel took Jenny's hand and led her out of the first class section and stood her facing the coach passengers. As she was turned and led out of the back of the first class section, she could see that the other gunman was taking Stephanie the same way to the front of the first class section. The difference was that he already had one hand around the back of her and draped it over her right breast. Jenny was too shocked over her husband being shot to actually realize quite what was going on.
.... There is more of this story ...