CHAPTER SEVEN.
Flight OA 269, September 22nd.
The hijacked aircraft dropped down low over the Ionian Sea on its new course, heading for the open Mediterranean. In the passenger cabin the hysteria had subsided and a shocked silence prevailed as everyone wondered what the future held. All the passengers had been moved forward, filling up the previously unoccupied seats around the aircraft so as to leave a block of a couple of dozen empty seats at the rear of the aircraft. Now, under the guns of two of the hijackers, each passenger was being brought back and searched. Once searched, they were moved to the rear of the aircraft and re-seated. The hijackers were looking for weapons.
Gradually they worked their way down the aircraft. Suddenly one of the terrorists hit a passenger on the head with his gun barrel. Stunned, and bleeding profusely from a split in his scalp, the man was dragged from his seat and thrown to the floor in the aisle. He was quickly trussed up using nylon cable ties from one of the dummy meal containers. The terrorist held up a handgun. The man was a sky-marshal. He was bundled forward and strapped into one of the cleared seats directly under the eyes of the hijackers. Some passengers prayed, some muttered to themselves, others sat in terrified silence wondering what was going to happen to them. In the cockpit Abu Asifah was supervising the navigation. The course alterations he gave the captain were taking the aircraft in a great arc first to the southwest, then South, past the western edge of Crete, and on southeast, into the airspace between Crete and North Africa. Finally they turned East following the line of 34-degree latitude past Cyprus towards the coast of Lebanon. South of Cyprus a small correction southwards would take them to Beirut. The military radars had been alerted and it was not long before the plane was spotted. The Greek air force picked up a low flying blip passing the western end of Crete where none should be. They scrambled two jet fighters to have a look and vectored them in, intercepting the unknown aircraft’s course.
The people on flight OA 269 got a big lift to their morale from seeing the Greek air force come alongside, but there was nothing practical the pilots of the fighters could do.
Abu Asifah knew this. ‘Fly your course,’ he told the captain, ‘do not deviate an inch in direction or height. If you do one of your cabin staff will be killed.’
Grimly, the captain did as he was told. He had a good idea where they were headed, and he didn’t expect to get much assistance when they got there. ‘Look, they know where we are now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a good idea where we’re going and so must they have by now. They can’t do anything to stop you, so let me gain some altitude; flying at this height is dangerous.’
Abu Asifah was not stupid; he knew the risks. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you have my permission.’
Athens, September 22nd.
Andreas Kokalis’s address was in a seedy part of Athens. Paint was flaking off the poorly maintained buildings, rubbish was piled in the street, and a mangy dog lay in a patch of shade by the dirty steps. Outside in considerable force, the police had the front and back of the building covered with a fully armed detail. Entering the building quietly, Lieutenant Georgiou and the sergeant made their way, guns drawn and ready, to the door of the apartment.
Ringing the bell produced no result. Waving forward a police officer with a sledgehammer, they smashed open the door and burst in guns first.
There was no one home. It was a one-room apartment with basic cooking facilities. The bathroom was down the hall and was shared.
The noise from the smashing of the lock brought the landlord, running and out of breath, from his room on the ground floor, to see who the hell was damaging his property.
He was dismayed to find it was the police. Having no love for them and a few things he would prefer them not to know about, he was totally unhelpful.
‘No, he had not seen Mister Kokalis for some time. The rent was overdue, and he was thinking of re-letting the flat, Kokalis owed him money.’
He cursed and spat on the grimy linoleum.
‘No, he didn’t know where Kokalis worked, didn’t know if he had any friends. He didn’t spy on his tenants; he kept himself to himself.’
He failed to mention that he was holding Kokalis’s mail downstairs in his own room, reasoning that there might be a check, or something else Kokalis needed amongst the mail, something he could bargain with for the outstanding rent. He would clean out Kokalis’s things too, as soon as the police left. He knew where he could sell them.
Concerned solely with his own interests, he gave the police nothing of any use.
Flight OA 269, September 22nd.
After the search for weapons was complete Anna was moved back and seated next to the quiet stranger. He looked calm, sitting back with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. No, not closed, Anna realized, his eyes were narrowed. He was watching the hijackers every move. She risked a whispered question. ‘Are they going to fly us into a building?’
‘No, I don’t think so, we’re flying south and east, away from land; there are no buildings.’
Anna digested this. ‘What about Israel? That’s to the East.’
‘The Israelis would intercept first.’
‘And shoot us down? Oh great!’
‘Only if the plane is deliberately aimed at an Israeli target, and I don’t think that’s what these guys have in mind.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, they don’t have much to gain by allowing them-selves to be shot down by the Israeli Air Force, any more than by the Greek pilots alongside us now. My guess is that this is an old-fashioned hijacking, I think they’re going to land somewhere and make demands.’
‘Jesus, I hope you’re right. But why are they doing this to innocent people?’
‘They don’t figure us as innocent.’
‘But we’ve done nothing to them.’
‘We’ve done very little for them either.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘By any reckoning the Palestinians have had a raw deal. The problem is that two different peoples want to occupy the same land. The Israelis have taken over, first by stealth, then by force, the country that was Palestine. Several attempts by the Arab world to remove the Israelis have failed. Now the Arabs are divided. The Palestinians get some support from Arab sources but not much. The Israelis on the other hand get massive support from America. Our supporting of the Palestinian’s enemies makes them regard us as their enemy too.’
‘Well, okay, but that doesn’t give them the right to threaten innocent travelers like this.’
‘In the Middle East the gun beats the olive branch every time. It’s not rational, but it’s how it is.’
You’re on their side!’
‘No, I’m not, but you have to know your enemy.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
Mike answered obliquely. ‘The fighting in and around Israel is bad enough, taking the fight to unarmed civilian people in other countries is beyond the pale. Terrorism is designed to terrorize. That’s what it does. They have to be stopped.’
‘What’s going to happen?’
‘We’re flying due East near as I can tell, so I guess we’re heading for Beirut. The guys with the guns are Palestinians, so my guess is that this hijack will be to demand the release of prisoners somewhere.’
‘Will we be okay? I’m scared.’
‘We’ll be okay if we keep quiet and do nothing to draw their attention to us. But we’re in for an uncomfortable few days. Just remember it won’t be forever and you’ll survive.’
Anna looked doubtful.
The quiet stranger smiled at her and gently squeezed her hand in his strong brown one. ‘Believe me. The worst problem is going to be boredom.’
His smile and the friendly squeeze of the hand gave Anna the courage to smile back. ‘Right, then I guess we’re in this together.’
Tel Aviv, September 22nd.
News of the hijack soon leaked out. By microwave link to orbiting satellite and back to earth receiving dish, the information flas
hed around the world. The miracle of modern communications ensured that most of the developed world knew about it within an hour. The media went into top gear, TV crews were mobilized, reporters dispatched, and again the marvels of western technology were turned against the western nations. The demands of the Blood of Shatila movement hit every TV screen and every newspaper front page.
“The West Bank must be free of Jewish settlers to be made a completely independent Palestinian State.
The Holy Places of Jerusalem must be returned to Islam.”
John Henderson heard the news long before it reached the media networks. He checked with Mary to find out which flight it was that Mike Edge was booked on. She confirmed his worst fears.
‘Oh shit,’ he said, ‘Murphy’s Law is working overtime.’
‘I hope he’ll be okay,’ Mary said anxiously.
‘Him? He’ll be alright; it’s the information I’m worried about.’ John replied.
Mary’s temper flared, ‘You’re not human sometimes, I don’t know why I work for you,’ she yelled, stalking out of John’s office and slamming the door behind her.
‘Oh hell, I’ve put my foot in it again,’ John said ruefully to himself. He waited for a few minutes, allowing time for Mary’s anger to subside, then went and opened the connecting door and stuck his head round the doorframe.
‘Peace,’ he pleaded, putting both his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
Mary gave him a look of exasperation. She couldn’t be angry with him for long; he was too nice a guy.
‘Okay, so I said it all wrong,’ John went on, ‘what I meant was that Mike would be able to look after himself okay in that situation. If anyone can cope with it, he can. Really, he’ll be fine. But the information he’s carrying is vital. We need to get another courier en-route, preferably someone with an appreciation of the implications. Who can we spare?’
‘You,’ Mary retorted in a flash.
John grinned. ‘Okay, okay, I know I’m generally regarded as the least useful member of staff round here. But we have a hijack in progress, a possible war waiting to start, all the creeds of the Middle East going at each other hammer and tongs, South Lebanon in uproar as usual, and who knows what else about to happen. Don’t you think you might need a little help with that?’
Mary smiled, her Boston Irish temper cooled as fast as it flared, ‘Maybe some help would be useful, but I could manage.’
‘Sure you could,’ John agreed, ‘but it would look bad if the boss went on a vacation right now.’
Mary looked at him askance. ‘That never stopped you before.’
John winced.
‘We could send Bill Anderson,’ Mary continued, ‘but you’ll have to brief him first.’
‘Okay, get him in. Meanwhile I’ll see what I can find out,’ John said, and, peace restored, went back into his office.
The first call John made was to the Greek airline, to the managing director who, horrified to learn of the hijacking, was now moving heaven and earth to find out what had happened and how. He had already received calls from Olympic Catering and the police. He gave John brief details of the events leading up to the hijack as far as he could and the names of the police officers on the case. John made some rapid notes. Then he contacted the American military attaché at the embassy in Athens. ‘The aircraft has left its scheduled flight path,’ the attaché told him. ‘First it turned southwest, then South; then southeast and now it’s running due east along the line of 34 degrees latitude. That puts it on track for Beirut.’
‘That fits,’ John replied, ‘the Blood of Shatila movement is claiming responsibility and we suspect them to be a Beirut based Palestinian splinter group. Any contact with the aircraft?’
‘Greek military radar picked them up southwest of Crete, then two Air Force fighters went up, they were vectored in and made visual contact. They were still there last I heard, but the airliner is keeping radio silence.’
‘Hmmm, sounds like a very professional team of hijackers,’ John remarked and then, thanking the military attaché for his help, he rang off.
Next using a secure line he rang Ben Levy. John knew Ben well. As high ranking officers in their respective intelligence services they had known each other for many years. He told Ben that Mike was aboard the hijacked Olympic Airways flight.
Ben, knowing what he had given to Mike, didn’t take long to work out why Mike was flying via London and what he might be carrying. ‘That’s awkward,’ he commented, ‘what can I do to help?’
‘We need whatever information you have on this new splinter group, the Blood of Shatila, and we need someone on the ground in Beirut.’
‘Right, leave it with me.’
Flight OA 269, September 22nd.
The Greek air force jets could not get any response from the A300 Airbus, nor could they make it deviate from its course. They buzzed it repeatedly, flew across its front, flew parallel and made signs to the captain, flew directly at it on a collision course, breaking off only at the last possible moment, all to no avail. The airliner continued doggedly on its course. Finally, in desperation, they fired cannon shells with tracer across its nose. The airline captain kept his nerve, he knew, and Abu Asifah knew that the Greek air force would not deliberately shoot down a fully laden passenger aircraft unless it posed a serious threat. Eventually, when the aircraft reached Lebanese airspace, the fighters turned back.
Abu Asifah smiled grimly as he saw them go, then he scowled as two Israeli fighters took their place.
The captain’s feelings were mixed; his reasoning was the same as Mike Edge’s, he knew the Israeli pilots would not hesitate to shoot him down if his aircraft posed a threat to an Israeli target. Everything now depended on the course he flew.
After a while Abu Asifah spoke again. ‘When we reach the coast, turn and make an approach for Beirut airport, then switch on the radio and contact their control tower. I will speak to them.’
The captain heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Can I have your permission to tell the passengers? It will help to keep them calm.’
Abu Asifah thought quickly. It made sense. ‘You have my permission.’
The captain made the announcement and a great sigh went through the aircraft. Anna looked at the man next to her. ‘You were right.’
He merely nodded; his mind was concentrated on what might happen next.
When the plane’s Captain spoke to the tower they were expecting the call. They told him he could not land. Abu Asifah took over the radio, he spoke in Arabic, the words harsh and consonantal, ‘We are coming in to land; nothing you can do will stop us unless you shoot us down. We are ready for martyrdom; the hostages are not. Get everything out of our approach path and make sure the runway is clear. Any accidents will be your responsibility.’ He switched the radio off.
‘Go in and land,’ he said to the pilots, ‘when you are down I will tell you where to go.’ The pilots went into the familiar routine of preparation for landing. The cabin crew were strapped in to the spare dozen seats at the front of the plane and the terrorists, guns ready, sat in crew seats where they could keep control of events. Realizing that the hijackers meant every word of what they said, and having made a token show of resistance, air traffic control at Beirut cleared the way in, and the plane landed safely.
Immediately it came to a stop the hijackers sprang into action. The ready made-up explosive charges were taken from the food trolley and were positioned throughout the aircraft. The charges were strapped into place using strong, very adhesive, gaffer tape. The shot wire was uncoiled along the centre aisle and then stuck into position on the cabin roof using lengths of the same tape. The food container with the red lid was opened. The detonators were taken out, carefully inserted into the primers and were stuck into place with more black tape. The detonator wires were connected to the shot wires and the shot wires were connected finally to the clock radio carried on board by Abu Asifah. Only when this work was finished did Abu Asifah give the pilots taxi instructio
ns.
‘Go to the far side of the airport.’ He pointed out of the cockpit window. ‘Over there. Stay on the hard standing all the time and park the aircraft.’ He switched the radio on and spoke in Arabic again to the control tower. ‘If anyone, on foot or in a vehicle, comes within 500 meters of this aircraft without my permission, the aircraft and all its passengers will be blown up.’ His voice was harsh and uncompromising. Those listening in the control tower did not doubt his words. The aircraft came to a standstill on the concrete apron at the far side of the airport. The placing and connecting of the explosive charges created an atmosphere of fear and dread within the aircraft. The passengers went very quiet and remained very still.
When everything had been checked to his satisfaction Abu Asifah used the radio again.
‘I have a message; it must be recorded and broadcast to the world.’
The senior air traffic controller replied, ‘Your message will be recorded. Go ahead.’
‘This action is being carried out by the Blood of Shatila movement, on behalf of the People of Palestine and in the name of Islam. Insh Allah.’
‘These are our demands:’
‘One, we demand the release of our two brothers wounded during the glorious action against the infidel in England and held in jail there.’
‘Two, we demand the release of Palestinian prisoners held by the Jewish State.’
‘Three we demand that all the Israeli settlements in the West Bank be removed.’
‘Four, we demand that the Holy places of Jerusalem be returned to Islam.
‘Finally we demand free passage to our destination. You have twelve hours from now to agree to our demands and to give us an answer.’
‘If we have no satisfactory answer by that time one of the passengers will be shot.’
‘If any attempt to storm the plane is made I and my companions will blow it up.’
‘Such martyrdom would be a joy to us all. Allah Akhbar!’
Flight OA 269, September 22nd.
On board the hijacked aircraft the temperature was beginning to rise. The air temperature on the ground in Beirut was considerably hotter than the temperature in flight over the Mediterranean. Perspiring heavily a team of three men worked their way down the cabin methodically checking the passengers yet again. Each passenger was required to produce a passport, and the passports were carefully scrutinized. Most of the passengers were Europeans of various nationalities, but there were some Americans and a number of Israelis. The bulk of the European nationals were left where they were sitting. A few were moved further to the rear to fill empty seats left vacant by the male American nationals, including Alan Edge, the injured security guard, and the Israeli nationals who had been moved forward to seats directly under the watchful eyes of the terrorists. Once re-seated, each passenger was strapped by the ankle with a cable tie to the leg of the seat in front.
Alan Edge was a very wealthy and successful man from a country where wealth and success are accorded respect. He was not used to being manhandled and tied like an animal and he began to object. The terrorist moving Alan slapped him across the face. Alan began to shout. There was a sickening crack. He slumped in his seat stunned by a blow to his head from the pistol of the terrorist standing behind him. He lost consciousness, fell sideways, and blood from the gash in his scalp ran down his neck staining his shirt collar bright red.
Anna Sutherland cried out in protest as Alan was hit and tried to get to her feet.
Mike Edge hauled her back down with an iron hand. ‘Don’t,’ he hissed, ‘anything you say or do will make matters worse.’
Anna turned on him, tears of anger in her eyes. ‘Do something!’ Her voice began to rise, ‘somebody, anybody, do something, please!’
‘No! These guys are hyped to fever pitch, they won’t respond to reason. In a while, when they think that everything’s okay, they’ll relax a little. Then maybe someone will be allowed to fix him up.’
‘That’s a coward’s argument,’ Anna snapped back at him.
Mike looked her straight in the eye. ‘I’m a better judge of this situation than you are,’ he said flatly. ‘Now, sit back and shut up, or they will give you the same treatment they gave to Alan. Anyone who upsets them now will get more of the same. Alan shouldn’t have acted as he did, it was stupid.’
He was right, Anna realized, and then a thought triggered in Anna’s mind. ‘He does know Alan,’ she thought, ‘he knows his name, what on earth is going on?’ She sat back, puzzled and unhappy but resigned to the fact that for the moment there was nothing she could do. As her tears dried she realized the man sitting next to her was right, the terrorists had total control, and to oppose fanatical armed men at a time when they were tense and nervous would be to invite disaster.
Gradually the terrorists got the passengers secured to their satisfaction. Then they opened the aircraft doors. A blast of hot air entered; the outside temperature was in the high nineties. Inside the plane it would soar to over one hundred and twenty degrees during the afternoon. With the heat of the outside air in came the first of the flies. In their constant search for moisture they would drive the passengers half mad in the hours ahead.
The aircraft was positioned with its tail to the perimeter fence, the cockpit pointing towards the control tower. Units of the Lebanese army had taken up casual positions around a 500-metre radius and were watching the plane in a sullen fashion. They resented being deployed out in the open in the heat.
The hijackers kept well back from the doors but ensured that they had a good clear view of the surrounding area. Reluctantly everyone on board settled down to wait.
A limited number of Greek officials representing Olympic Airways were allowed into Beirut. They were given no facilities and very little assistance. They had contact with the aircraft via the aircraft radio and a telephone link with their government. The Greek government was in contact with the governments of other nationals and was coming under intense international pressure, but their intention to do anything positive was heavily influenced by another factor. The ruling party’s financial dependence on funds from Libya meant that very little would be done to oppose the terrorists. They decided to play for time and instructed the Olympic people on the ground in Beirut to act accordingly.
As the first deadline approached the Olympic representatives began to invent reasons for not being able to meet the hijackers’ demands. Abu Asifah was expecting this; to play for time was the classic first tactic in counter-hijack techniques. Confident that no action would be directed at him in this location, and fully prepared to blow up the plane if it was, he refused to accept any compromise. He stuck to his original demands and waited for the deadline to arrive. As the deadline struck he issued an order to two of his men. They grabbed the injured sky marshal and dragged him forward to the front door of the aircraft. The man was terrified; he knew what was about to happen. He begged and pleaded for his life. He was shot in the back of the head. His body fell from the aircraft, the head hitting the hard concrete with a crack. An awful silence followed.
Beirut Airport, September 22nd.
The control tower radio crackled and Abu Asifah’s voice came over the air. ‘The deadline is extended by six hours,’ he said. The radio went silent. The news was flashed around the world. Everyone felt the suspense.
Offers of assistance came in to the Greek authorities, offers to supply skilled specialists to storm the plane; offers from Britain, Israel and from America; but the Greek authorities would not take any action, and in any case the Lebanese authorities would not have let the offered assistance into the country.
Conditions on the aircraft continued to deteriorate. From time to time people were released to use the toilets. The toilets began to smell. The temperature rose inexorably, people were hot, cramped and very afraid.
Mike watched and waited for a chance to speak to one of the terrorists. When the opportunity came he spoke to him in English and asked permission for Anna and one of the stewardesses t
o go forward and attend to Alan’s injuries.
Permission was granted. ‘We are not savages,’ the terrorist said, ‘in war people get hurt, but we allow humane treatment for the injured.’
‘Good of you,’ Mike thought sardonically, but he kept the thought to himself. ‘Thank you, I appreciate that,’ he said.
Anna was released and allowed to go forward. She gave Mike a relieved look, and then joined the senior stewardess who had been released to fetch the first aid box. Between them they cleaned up Alan’s wound and made him more comfortable. Then they were taken back to their seats and re-tied.
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