“How's it going, Alex?” asked the main security guard who was operating the scanner. His gaze and concentration still flitting back and forth between the football match and his jobs-worth task at hand. “You have a good weekend?”
Alex didn’t really want to speak or reply. He wasn’t in the mood for chit chat and secretly hoped to just be grunted at, nodded to, smiled upon, or simply ignored.
“I’m here for a Sunday backshift, Mohamed.” Alex replied, trying to sound as chirpy and as normal as he possibly could. “So not exactly the greatest weekend of my life,” he duly finished, brushing aside all signs of nervousness by making a dry, witty joke. The security guard just sniggered and turned his attention back to the football.
“Yeah, I feel your pain, my friend. I feel your pain.”
“What's the score, anyway?” Alex calmly asked, feigning his interest, trying his best to further distract the security guard from inspecting the x-ray picture of his rucksack more clearly. He knew the score. He could see it on the damn screen for Christ’s sake.
“Still one nil to those Algerian bastards.”
The second security officer then motioned for Alex to walk through the human scanner. As Alex walked through, a loud buzzing noise went off. The second security guard appeared a little annoyed as he broke his eye contact with the engrossing football game. He gave Alex a light and brief patting down that seemed barely worth his while. It mattered little though; he would still have found nothing.
Alex picked up his rucksack and left the security staff search area, leaving his workmate Akmed and the other security guards to their banter, chat, and football. He was now airside in one of the largest and busiest airports in the world. The hard part was over.
***
After making his way through a maze of underground corridors, Alex finally reached the baggage hall where all of the luggage and suitcases came through from the main check-in hall on a long line of never-ending conveyor belts.
Just to the left of the first baggage belt were the staff lockers. Alex approached his locker and shoved his rucksack deep inside. Before locking it up again, he cautiously removed the bulky iPad and shoved it underneath his work jacket, tucking it in nicely against the inside waist of his belted trousers.
Filled with paranoia, he took a careful glance around just to make sure that no one else was watching him, but why on earth would they? Up until last night, his working life was about as entertaining as a bowel movement after a month of fasting.
Alex made his way over towards a small shaggy office right beside the very last line of baggage conveyor belts at the end of the hall. A short and scruffy old man with glasses and a beard sat behind the desk inside. He seemed to be constantly nattering on the radio to the other baggage handlers scattered around the airport while frantically writing down a never-ending list of flights and times onto a clipboard.
“We’re getting absolutely bloody shafted out there today,” said the scruffy old baggage controller to Alex while he continued to stay on the line. “I’ve never seen anything like it before,” finished the red-faced old man.
“You say that at the beginning of every summer.” Alex retorted with a poker face. He then picked up a clipboard with his name written upon it. It contained a list of the flights he would be supervising and delivering and loading bags for that day.
He noticed immediately that a flight to Moscow was at the very top of that list, as it usually was. Nine times out of ten he got landed with the bloody Moscow flight, come rain or shine. The Russians paid the highest price to get their flights in and out of the airport on time. So, every damn day without fail they were given a full team of the best and most experienced baggage handlers that money could buy—always with more workers than any other flight on Alex’s roster.
Alex nodded at the scruffy old man who continued to talk non-stop on his radio. He gave Alex a sturdy thumbs up as he took his job sheet and backed away.
In the middle of the baggage hall, Alex approached a driver of a fully-loaded baggage cart. He’d recently finished loading up the final few bags when Alex stopped him.
“Are these for the Moscow flight?” Alex asked.
“Yes. I’m taking the first few loads out now.”
“I'll do it, if you want to grab a coffee break. Then I’ll come back for my Madrid bags when I’m done. Agreed?”
“Are you sure? You don’t mind?”
“Not at all, my friend.”
“Oh, thank you, Alex. Thank you so much,” said the ecstatic driver. “I haven’t even sat down for a single damn cup of coffee since seven o’clock this morning. You are a saint! I owe you my friend.”
Alex climbed into the baggage cart and drove off towards the busy airfield. It took him around twenty minutes to reach the aircraft stand where the Russian plane was parked; the airport was that big and busy. When he arrived, there were another two baggage handlers standing around at the front of the plane already waiting for him and the bags to arrive.
“Where’s the rest of the team?” Alex casually asked. For a full 747 jet like this one, especially belonging to the Russians, he was used to having a full team of no less than half a dozen baggage handlers at the very least to help load the flight. Even during rush hour.
“You’re looking at them,” replied the first man with a tired grin.
Alex shook his head in dismay. Even the Russians weren’t getting any special allowances today. He feigned his disappointment, but in truth he felt glad. He knew that the fewer people around the easier his task would be to go through with that day.
“Do one of you have the load sheet?”
The first baggage handler handed the load sheet to Alex. It told him exactly how many bags were to be loaded into each aircraft hold and where. This was done to keep the weight and balance of the aircraft in check and in good and safe order for flying. As a team leader, Alex was the only person who could sign the load sheet before handing it over to the Captain or Dispatcher. Everything loaded onboard was his responsibility.
“You guys stick with loading the front holds and I’ll deal with the ones at the rear.” Alex calmly stated as his dark and disturbing task still lingered at the back of his mind. It really didn’t matter anymore how he loaded the aircraft when it came down to it. The two baggage handlers just nodded like donkeys, agreeing with everything Alex said, before getting stuck into loading the two front holds with their three-trolley loads of Russian tourists’ luggage.
Alex pulled the third baggage cart towards the rear of the plane and to the back hold of the aircraft. Wasting little time, he began loading the bags up onto the conveyor belt and into the aircraft hold, one at a time. After around ten minutes of hard physical labor, another baggage handler turned up and Alex asked him to start loading his bags onto the conveyor belt instead while he climbed up inside the hold to start safely packing the bags inside.
Once all the bags were loaded, Alex sent the three baggage handlers away to grab a pushback tug and tow bar, so the plane could eventually be pushed off the stand and out onto the runway for its departure. While they were gone, Alex sat, deep in thought, inside the aircraft hold with his legs dangling out over the side. He saw the flight crew turn up along with five flight attendants. They all boarded the aircraft in order to prepare for their departure. The Captain didn’t board just yet though, instead, he began a slow, casual walk around the plane, checking various parts of the body and wings and mentally ticking off his own checklist.
For a moment the two made eye contact, then the captain gave Alex a warm, friendly smile and nod. Alex forced a grin back and the captain went back to doing his mental checks. Alex patiently waited until the Captain had fully made his way around to the other side of the plane before climbing back inside the dark luggage hold that was now packed full to the brim with suitcases. He began crawling to the very back of the chamber where the hold was at its darkest and most unwelcoming. It was so hot and humid inside that sweat was literally dripping from every inch of h
is body.
Once he found what seemed to be a good spot, Alex gently pulled out the bulky iPad from underneath his top and stared deep and hard at its smooth exterior. He knew what needed to be done. If he wanted to save his young family and see them happy and smiling again, then there was nothing else for it. Their lives over the lives of the two hundred and fifty random passengers he would never know or ever get to meet. It was an easy choice, or was it?
Suddenly, an anxiety attack gripped Alex from the inside and he began freaking out. He grabbed a furious hold of his hair and frantically began to yank at it hard, before putting his head between his legs. Soon, he was roaring out raw, rabid cries of anguish and frustration, but lucky for him the sound of the plane’s gently humming engines easily drowned out his cries of despair. He just couldn’t stop imagining all those dead people, men, women and children, if he did indeed go through with the barbaric act. He saw them all screaming in midair right after the bomb went off before falling to their dooms and into the cold, hard landmass below.
In another quick, nightmarish flash, he saw an image of his own wife and child, both left for dead in some filthy ditch in the city slums if he didn’t go through with the tragic, dark task. After a minute, Alex finally calmed himself down and slowly but surely regained some control over his long-lost composure. He took a deep breath and attached the magnet strip side of the device onto the metal frame of the plane, careful to keep it well hidden behind a large suitcase.
Alex pressed down a small button on the side of the device, just like that fucking bitch-whore had shown him that very morning inside his own kitchen while his wife and child were tied, gagged, and held at gunpoint. Within moments a timer appeared on the screen and began counting down from two hours—fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds. Alex turned away from the device and calmly crawled back out of the hold. It was done. He expected the weighty burden to be lifted from his shoulders immediately, but it had only become heavier.
Suddenly, he stopped halfway towards the exit and glanced back, almost in slow motion, to where he’d left the destructive device. He hesitated again for another moment, stuck furiously in two twisted minds as to whether he should go through with the murderous act or not as another panic attack ripped through his entire body.
With all the panic, rage, guilt, and remorse of the consequences of his actions building up inside his body and mind like a wild tornado, he began punching uncontrollably at some of the nearby suitcases that surrounded him like token mementos of what he was doing. He groaned and sobbed, utterly frustrated and wracked with turmoil and grief. He couldn’t do it. He just could not. He would sacrifice his family after all for the lives of some three hundred strangers who meant nothing to him. Nothing at all.
Surprising even himself, Alex began crawling back towards the device he’d just planted without even thinking about it. At that moment, he’d convinced himself that he just could not go through with it. He couldn’t be held responsible for murdering all of those innocent people. Those innocent women and children and families. He was going to take down the device and just get rid of the damn thing or else hand himself over to the authorities. No matter what the cost to his family.
It was over. He’d made his decision. And he felt sure that his wife Salma would forgive him for this decision even in death. He knew in his soul what a kind, loving person his wife was at her heart’s core. He knew she would make the exact, same choice.
Out of nowhere, the aircraft dispatcher, the person responsible for getting the flight ready for takeoff—from the loading of the bags, the boarding of the passengers, attaining weather charts for the pilots to getting the fueling truck out to the aircraft on time—suddenly put his head up and into the dark and stuffy baggage hold. He saw Alex immediately crawling away from him, back into the darkness, and quickly called out.
“Is that all the bags loaded up now, Alex?”
Alex’s blood turned to ice. He froze on his hands and knees. Slowly but surely, he fully turned around, looking absolutely startled that someone had intruded his working space. All thoughts of taking back the iPad were extinguished from his mind
“Hey, yes… Yes. They're all here.” Alex cried back.
“Good stuff” replied the cheerful dispatcher. “Can you sign the load sheet for me, then? And we’ll get this baby closed up and the hell out of here. We’re just about to start boarding the passengers.”
Alex hesitated once more. There was an awkward moment of silence as the two stared at each other long and hard.
“Sure thing.” Alex finally relented before crawling back towards the exit and the impatiently waiting dispatcher.
***
Alex sat by himself inside the pushback tug at the front of the aircraft. He watched the passengers board one by one with a kind of dreamlike numbness. He glanced at a young, tanned family with three children all giggling playfully, full of excitement and mischief as they mounted the front aircraft steps, completely oblivious of their soon-to-be doom.
He glanced away. He couldn’t take it anymore. He felt utterly disgusted with himself. His face and thoughts filled with stress and dread. What had he done? What the fuck had he done? He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. At least his family would be safe, was the mantra he uttered continuously, over and over again throughout his mind.
Alex scrambled out of the tug. He approached the other two baggage handlers who were idly standing nearby and chatting amongst themselves. They appeared a little startled at how pale and sickly Alex seemed.
“Can you two manage the push back?”
“Sure, Alex. No problem. Are you okay? You look like fucking shit, man.”
“I’m fine. Maybe something I ate last night finally catching up to me.”
Alex rapidly turned and hurried away. Not wishing to chitchat any longer than necessary. He was finding it hard to breathe. He couldn’t be around the aircraft anymore.
***
Back inside the main terminal building Alex knelt down in front of a toilet bowl and vomited. When he was done, he locked himself inside a small cleaning cupboard and dialed a number on his mobile phone. His fingers were shaking violently and he had to type in the full number several times before hitting all the correct digits. He looked even more pale and sickly.
Inside an old and rundown apartment building on the other side of Cairo, a masked woman wearing jeans and a hoody held a silencer-handgun pointed at the terrified looking Salma and her young son Ali. They were both gagged and tied securely. Nobody said a word as an eerie silence filled the air.
Suddenly the masked woman’s mobile phone began buzzing out. She answered it on the third ring before speaking out real calm and slow.
“Hello, Alexander.”
On the other end of the line, Alex was at the complete opposite end of the woman’s calm scale. He was unable to control his raging emotions.
“It's done, you fucking bitch. It’s done.” He said, close to tears. “Now let my family go. Please. I beg you.”
The woman deliberately paused for an overly long moment. She had clearly been in similar situations dozens of times before in her dark, brutal past, and her emotions were clearly well in check. If she indeed had any at all.
“As soon as I see it confirmed on the news, I'll give you the address where you can pick them up.” The woman responded, still calm and composed. Still cold and emotionless.
“Let me speak to my wife. God damn you!” Alex sobbed with rage.
The woman paused again, but did not react. She would do what Alex asked, but in her own time and when she was good and damn ready.
The masked woman with the stern British accent slowly walked towards Salma and firmly placed the phone against her ear. In another split second, she violently ripped the strong, thick duct tape away from Salma’s mouth. Salma cried out. She began sobbing too.
“Salma?” Alex desperately cried, deeply alarmed and pained by the sound of his wife’s distressed cries.
“
Alex?” Salma cried.
Without further hesitation, the masked woman yanked the phone away from Salma’s ear before gently raising the speaker to her own lips.
“As soon as it’s on the news, phone me back. Do you understand?”
She then immediately hung up.
“No, wait!” Alex cried. But the line was already dead.
Alex forced himself to drive back out onto the busy airfield again. He’d been sick three times already in the past half hour, but still he had to work. What else could he do? Just as he was delivering the third trolley load of bags out to the Madrid aircraft, he saw the Russian holiday flight lining up on the runway and readying itself for takeoff.
Alex immediately stopped what he was doing and watched the surreal event. He couldn’t rip his eyes away from the doomed aircraft even if he wanted to. As the flight roared down the runway, shuddering in the calm wind as it thundered off up into the clear blue Egyptian skies, Alex couldn’t stop himself from physically shaking as tears streamed down his cheeks and he remembered the tanned family of five, especially the children, boarding the aircraft with such excitement… Especially the children.
An hour later, Alex took his short coffee break. He sat himself down in the staff cafeteria and began sipping gently away on a steaming hot mug of black coffee. He wasn’t hungry in the slightest because he couldn’t stop thinking about the flight and why there was no news yet. Had the device actually worked? Did something go wrong? If it hadn’t worked then what would happen to him and his family now?
Would that bitch make him plant another bomb? Surely there wouldn’t be any time for that now. When the flight landed in Moscow, the baggage handlers there would easily discover the faulty device once they’d cleared out all the luggage from the aircraft’s hold. It would take hours from that point onwards for the security teams and authorities to figure out who exactly put it there. It would be a very short list of names to who had access to that rear hold in Cairo.
Cold Heart Page 2