Hijacking of Flight 100: Terror at 600 miles per hour

by C. J. Stott

  The cockpit door swung open. Stan turned and saw a pleasant and very pretty woman who tentatively stood in the doorway.

  She wore the mixed colored outfit of the Inflight Services uniform, a tan and blue printed loose fitting blouse with the airline emblem woven into the fabric, dark blue slacks and a scarf of the same color tied tightly around her neck. The knot on the scarf was tied so it resembled a rose bud. The two magenta and tan diagonal stripes on her left sleeve indicated that she was a purser. She appeared to be ten years younger than Stan, probably late twenties or early thirties.

  She was energetic. She smiled and walked forward into the cockpit, “Hi. I’m Patti Mallory.” She smiled again and said, “I remember you. We’ve flown together before.”

  “You’re probably right. Somewhere in our careers we’ve flown off to some enchanted and exotic location.” He habitually played with his glasses when he talked.

  He took them off and spun then in a circle, “I’m Stan Kurtz. Glad to meet you. Again.” The glasses changed hands and spun in the opposite direction. “Are you the purser on our little safari today?”

  “No. Actually, I was only a Purser last summer. She frowned, “You know. Before the cut backs.” She smiled at him in a resigned way. “You know, in the good old days.” She shook her head slowly, “But today, I’m just a regular Flight Attendant, assigned to work Upper Deck galley. So, I’ll be your Upper Deck slave.” She smiled at him, then shrugged her shoulders again and they both knew it was not one of the choice assignments.

  Instinctively Patti said, “I really don’t mind working up here, except for all the running up and down the stairs to the galley.”

  She finally walked to the forward part of the cockpit, “Who is the Captain today?” She rested her left hand on the back of the Captain’s seat, while her fingers lightly touched his shoulder. Her height was such that she had to lean forward to keep from rubbing her hair on the overhead circuit breaker panel.

  Stan smelled her perfume, Opium or maybe Shalimar. “Man, whatever you’re wearing smells terrific.”

  She felt herself blushing. “Why Stanley. Thank you.”

  Without turning around, he spoke over his shoulder, “I’m really the Captain today, I’m just dressed as a Flight Engineer.” He gave her a sideways smile and said, “After 18 years with this outfit, I’m certainly ready to be a Captain. However, the airline is not ready for me.”

  Patti smiled at this nice person. He was not like many of the pilots, who were always on the chase, to seduce or otherwise collect Flight Attendants.

  Obviously, he was wearing a ring on his left hand, so he probably was married. From his attitude, she guessed he was very married. Some lady was probably very lucky to be married to him, “Do you have any kids?”

  Stan blinked at her and thought what an odd question from someone he hardly knew. “Yes. Yes, I do. Two. One of each. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason, I just wondered. Did you tell me the Captain’s name? If you did, I don’t remember. Oh, God, I’m losing my marbles.”

  They both laughed, “Don Webber is the skipper today. He’s sort of new on the bird. I don’t really know him. In fact, I just met him in the ramp office this morning. He seemed sort of uptight. There was some concern about the weather in New York and our fuel load. He was giving the First Officer, Fred O’Day, a hard time.”

  “Fast Freddie’s the F/O today? I remember him. He’s the one with the crazy sense of humor.” Patti chuckled and said, “Oh dear. I hope the Captain didn’t ruin Fred’s day. You know, make into one of those trips.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think there’s much that bothers Fred.”

  Stan smiled and looked at Patti. “The Captain was probably just preoccupied with the weather in New York. Beside, with that perfume you’re wearing, you’ll have him eating out of your hand in no time.”

  “Well, if I don’t get a chance to meet either of them, tell them that Patti from Upper Deck said hello.” She turned and started for the cockpit door, “Do you want any coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

  “No thanks. Not right now. I’ve got some things to do. How about an orange juice when the commissary people load your galley?”

  “That’s a deal, Stan.” She turned. Her hand was in motion toward the knob, when the door rapidly and forcefully swung open into the tiny cockpit. She stepped back quickly and allowed the door to swing through its arc and bang against the stop on the aft bulkhead.

  Standing in the doorway was one of the most handsome men Patti Mallory had seen in a long time. He stepped lightly into the cockpit with authority and quickly surveyed his tightly defined world. Don’s thin face was creased with laugh lines around his eyes. Patti looked at him carefully and could see with great clarity the smallest and finest features of his face.

  They were instantly and permanently etched in her mind.

  Don looked at Patti with an intentional and very direct stare. His eyes were a light azure color.

  She thought, the same kind of piercing and powerful blue that created opportunities for some men to become motion picture idols.

  Patti thought, “If the eyes are the mirror of the soul.”

  Her reverie stopped when Don winked at her and unceremoniously dropped his bags on the floor. He took off his raincoat and hat then extended his right hand to Patti. “Hi, I’m the Captain. Don Webber. I’ll be taking you to New York today. What’s your name?”

  She felt uncoordinated and tongue-tied, “Patricia. I’m Patricia.” She never called herself Patricia and, in fact, didn’t care for that name.

  Nervously, she attempted to correct herself, “Patti. I’m Patti.” Her voice sounded tight and strained to her. “I’m Patti Mallory. Glad to meet you.”

  She felt flushed. “Captain, I’ll be working the deck.” She felt like a fool, as she quickly said, “I mean Upper Deck.”

  Don smiled again and then very intentionally looked at her. He let his eyes linger on her face. His gaze drifted to her neck and the small throbbing artery just above her collar. With no thought or self-consciousness, he momentarily stared directly at her breasts, then slowly and provocatively, lifted his eyes back to meet her gaze.

  Don retained command of the situation and referred to the entry code that the Captain established on each flight for cockpit admission. “The secret code today for entry to the cockpit is two knocks.”

  Patti felt as nervous as a school girl. She excused herself. “I’ve got to get started sorting out the galley.”

  Don Webber smiled again. “Well, I’m glad to meet you.”

  Strangely, Patti made no attempt to leave the cockpit. Don looked at her again and said, “It’ll take us about four hours and fifty minutes to get to the New York area. I imagine we may have to hold when we get there.” Don absentmindedly added, “God knows we have enough fuel to hold for quite a while.”

  Stan turned to move out of Don’s seat. For an aircraft the size of the 747, the cockpit was extremely cramped. Pilots joked about the cockpit being an afterthought to Boeing’s aircraft design. There was precious little room for them to pass each other, as Stan moved aft toward the rear of the cockpit and Don moved toward his seat. The only way for them to pass was belly to belly. As they were pressed close to each other, Fred O’Day entered the cockpit and stood next to Patti.

  He too, stooped over to keep from rubbing his head on the circuit breakers on the overhead panel.

  Fred saw these two adult men moving as though they were involved in an ancient mating ritual. He leaned very close to Patti and loudly whispered, “I’m authorized to perform wedding ceremonies, but it looks like those two have started to celebrate the honeymoon without benefit of my blessing.” Patti failed in her attempt to stifle her laugh.

  Fred continued, “I wonder, do you think they know each other? Or is this just another one night stand?”

  Don Webber looked at his First Officer and guessed Fred probably meant no malice with his inopportune remarks.

 
Patti smiled and felt her stomach ripple as she laughed and said, “You are dreadful.”

  Fred said, “I’m dreadful? Think how they must feel being caught in a compromising situation like this.”

  Patti laughed out loud, “I’ve really got to get out of here and back to work. Do any of you want anything?”

  Fred looked at Stan and Don, then at Patti. “I’ll take a juice. Any kind is okay and bring them an Early Pregnancy Test kit.”

  Stan squeezed past Don and slid into his seat. Fred placed his bags in the baggage stowage area outboard of his copilot seat, under the side window. Patti left, but continued to chuckle to herself as she walked aft to the Upper Deck galley. She thought, “That Fred really is a character,” as she remembered his sense of humor and quick wit.

  She began the mindless task of counting the meals in the Upper Deck galley ovens and then remembered Stan and Fred wanted something to drink. Quickly Patti opened her bar drawer and took out two cold cans of orange juice. She poured juice in two Styrofoam coffee cups, opened one of the ice bags, retrieved several ice cubes with her tongs and dropped the ice in each of the cups. Orange juice splashed on her hand and she thought, “I hope this isn’t going to one of those days.”

  Patti took the two cups to the cockpit but found the door was locked. She remembered Don’s secret code and lightly kicked the bottom of the door twice. Immediately, the electrically operated solenoid clicked and the door unlocked. She pressed against the door with her hip, opened it and entered the cockpit. “Here are two cups of cold orange juice.”

  Fred looked back from his seat on the right side of the cockpit. “Did you squeeze that yourself?”

  “Right, Fred. I have an orange tree growing here in the upper galley.”

  Fred reached back toward Patti and took the juice, and looked at Don, “Don’t you want something to drink, partner? It’s going to be mighty dry out there on the trail. Better get something to wet your whistle. You know, to kill off the trail dust.”

  Don looked at Fred, who was smiling as he offered Don his cup of juice. “Maybe I’ll have a coffee when she gets a chance.”

  Fred looked at Patti. “He says he’ll have a coffee when you get a chance. If I find out how he wants it, I’ll send you a note.”

  Fred’s humor and his attempt to cheer Don failed as a long silent pause drifted over the cockpit.

  Stan looked at his instrument panel clock, 08:23. “Captain, it’s time to go to Nav Mode on the platforms. We only have seven minutes ‘til departure.” Stan thought some operational conversation might ease the tension he felt.

  “Fine, Stan. Go ahead and be sure to note the time in the log book,” Don turned in his seat and continued, “Patti, I would like some coffee, there’s no hurry.” With a flourish, Don turned back forward in his seat, looked at Fred and said, “Read me my check list.”

  Patti retreated. She actually backed out of the cockpit. As she passed Stan’s seat, she looked at him. She smiled, raised her eyebrows, looked at Don and shook her head. She mouthed the words, “Hope things smooth out up here.”

  Stan smiled, nodded and then quickly readied his instrument panel for engine start.

  Chapter 24

  08:10 Pacific Standard Time

  San Francisco International Airport

  The Jetway tunnel from the terminal to the aircraft is a coupled series of elongated boxes, eight feet wide and nine feet high. Each section is twenty feet long and telescopes one into the next. At the end of the Jetway is a ten foot diameter by ten foot high rotating cab, articulated to allow precise vertical and horizontal alignment with different aircraft. A series of powerful electric motors are used to raise and lower the cab to accommodate various aircraft door threshold height configurations.

  The Boeing 747 main cabin floor is sixteen feet above the ground. In order to reach that height, the Jetway tunnel floor is sloped upward gradually from the terminal to the 747 door threshold. This unevenness caused the hijacker to experience equilibrium and balance problems, as he was pushed and absorbed into the crowd moving toward the aircraft. He stepped into the relatively dark tunnel and carefully placed each foot in front of the other. He felt he was falling, because the incline threw off his balance. Momentarily disoriented, he felt trapped. His sense that he was falling became more acute.

  Sweat ran down his sides and his stomach continued to churn. Uncoordinated, he bumped into an elderly couple in front of him. The husband turned and looked at him with suspicion.

  He did not apologize, but instead, talked loudly to himself. “Hey man, be cool. Don’t get tricked. You’ll be OK. Take it easy.”

  Later, during investigations with several federal agencies, this couple would testify about what they had seen on this day and this flight. They would recall they had seen a disheveled Latino who appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties.

  Some remembered his shirt and front of his pants being wet. Others would recall that his hair was unruly and messed, plastered to his head. All who were interviewed individually agreed he was disoriented.

  To some, the most peculiar affect were his slow, odd rhythmic motions. His upper body and hips rotated in a very slow circle as he stood near other passengers. He circumscribed a slow deliberate arc, even though his feet were firmly planted on the rubber flooring in the Jetway.

  An elderly first-time traveler spoke to him. “Son, are you all right?”

  The women in the front of them added, “Perhaps if you take my arm, I can steady you.”

  “No lady. I’m straight. I’ll be all right. Just tired.” He giggled at humor only he could understand. “Tired and nervous. Nervous and tired.”

  Slowly the cluster of passengers moved up the Jetway. Again, nausea rolled through him and he thought he would vomit.

  Eventually, he and the passengers around him reached the cab of the Jetway, where they entered a much wider area. The light was brighter, and that made him feel less confined. He could begin to see inside the aircraft. A slight cooling breeze leaked between a thick rubber gasket and the aircraft’s aluminum exterior.

  The Jetway auto-leveling system was in Standby Mode. It waited for a signal from the floor sensor that the tunnel was out of alignment with the threshold of the aircraft. Without notice, the auto-leveler sensed a misalignment and moved the Jetway upward. The movement caused a nervous reaction from several passengers as the floor tilted under their feet.

  Valium is often given to relieve anxiety. However, some who take the drug experience troubling and paradoxical side effects. Frank had told him to take one of the stolen Valium, but only if he felt nervous or anxious. Neither Frank nor Bill had any knowledge of the many unwanted side effects from Valium. Some of include confusion, hallucinations, unusual thoughts or behavior, unusual risk-taking behavior, decreased inhibitions and most critical, no fear of danger.

  The Valium he ingested quickly passed the blood/brain barrier and reached his cerebellum. His chemical reactions should have been predicable and consistent, but were not. He felt dizzy and again suffered a sense of motion sickness.

  Even in the stuffy seventy-degree air, he was cold, but, was sweating profusely. To him, the Jetway felt like a roller coaster. He grabbed a stainless steel passenger assist handle and hung on. When he looked out a long vertical side window, he felt better. Out on the ramp, he could see the roundly formed side of the fuselage and that somehow calmed him. As long as he held tight to the railing, his stomach was more settled and the peristaltic waves of nausea diminished.

  Passengers directly ahead of him were patiently prepared to board this enormous aircraft and typically concentrated on the flight attendant who checked their boarding passes. Two elderly passengers in front of him hadn’t noticed that he had stopped moving with the rest of the crowd. However, passengers who were behind him went around him as he hung onto the assist railing, motionless. No one stopped to offer assistance. Instead, they detoured around him much like passing a stalled car on the highway.

  He looked outsi
de at the area immediately below the belly of the jet. He saw the left nose tire. A mechanic in coveralls and a set of headphones over his uniform cap walked across the ramp toward the airplane.

  He continued to stare out across the tarmac, but had no comprehension of anything he was saw. Later, passengers would comment that he appeared to be oblivious to everything around him.

  “Sir. Excuse me. Sir Are you going with us today?”

  Guerrero jerkily looked to his right. He reluctantly released his grip on the railing and faced the person who had spoken to him.

  He was very tall. A distinguished looking Mexican dressed in the standard airline issued uniform: the dark blue trousers, with a light tan shirt, magenta tie and camel colored blazer. A nametag below the emblematic airline wings bore his name: Amelio Perez—Purser.

  Perez spoke to Guerrero for the second time, first in English and then in Spanish; “Sir, it is departure time. If you are going with us today, you better board now.” “Sir, es el momento de la salida. Si usted va con nosotros hoy en día, es mejor abordar ahora.”

  In a thickening voice, “I am going to New York. What time does the flight get there?” His voice sounded as though he were speaking in slow motion and resonated with a metallic echo. His voice seemed to come through a long dark tunnel. He was puzzled by his own voice, yet the voices of those around him sounded normal.

  He thought, “I must talk normal. I don’t want to cause no attention to me.” He said, “Fine. Fine. I’m OK. I just was trying to relax. I’m good, Amigo.”

  Amelio heard these rapid phrases, spoken in a semi-falsetto voice. He initially thought this was an attempt at making a rude and tasteless comment about Amelio’s rather obvious feminine characteristics.