Hijacking of Flight 100: Terror at 600 miles per hour

by C. J. Stott

  On reflection, Amelio later concluded the passenger was probably strung out on something and that he certainly needed to be watched.

  “Come along with me, sir. Let’s see your boarding pass, please.”

  Bill froze. He couldn’t remember where his ticket or boarding pass was. He knew he was asking for his paperwork in order to get on the plane. He was inert, he could not think or move. He was unable to do anything other than stare at Amelio Perez.

  “Do you have your boarding pass? We need that if you are flying to New York with us today.”

  Bill stood with his back to the window in the Jetway.

  Amelio again asked him for his boarding pass, but he could only stare blankly at the flight attendant.

  Guerrero abruptly raised his arm, his elbow hyper-extended. He was holding his black bag in his right hand. The bag came to rest chest high.

  Amelio was taken aback by his sudden lurching motion. Obviously, this odd duck was trying to offer his carry-on bag to him. Amelio assumed the bag contained his boarding pass for today’s flight.

  Guerrero knew he was in trouble. This steward would not let him board without a ticket. In his slowed, compromised and diminished mental state, Bill knew if he did not let him on the airplane, he would end up back in the terminal. If that happened and tried to retrace his steps through the terminal, he knew he would get caught.

  His sense of panic increased. “Just a minute.”

  He thought to himself, “Concentrate, that’s what I got to do, “Concentrate. Get control. Look straight and act right.”

  “Hey man, I’m sorry. I’m all messed up. I took a pain pill.” Bill implored Amelio to understand. “See, I was at the dentist and he done a tooth canal. He gave me these pills for the pain. I guess they really knock you on your ass.”

  Quickly, in what seemed like a perfectly normal voice to him Guerrero said, “I’ll be OK.” To Amelio, he sounded strung out.

  His voice became much louder. “I’m FINE. I’ll just get on and go to sleep.”

  “I am sorry for your discomfort sir. But it is departure time. I need your boarding pass. Now.” Then in Spanish, “Necesito su tarjeta de embarque. Ahora.”

  “Here. Here it is. It’s in my bag here. I’ll get it.”

  With both hands, Bill clutched the bag to his stomach as though it were a giant beach ball. Carefully, he wrapped his right hand and arm around it, then slowly and clumsily pulled at the zipper. Eventually, the zipper parted. Both men could hear each individual zipper tooth on the track. For some reason, Bill found this hilarious and started to laugh.

  Guerrero felt the sharp, hard edge of the gun through the shirt as he rifled through the bag looking for his ticket. His laughter stopped, and was replaced by panic that rolled over him.

  He had to remain calm. He could not get caught. He had come this far. He had to keep their plan going. With forced concentration he ignored the gun in his bag. Then with much fanfare and flourish, produced his rumpled and disheveled boarding pass. “Yo, man. Here you go. Got it right here. I wouldn’t shit you.” Amelio was not impressed.

  “No hay problema para usted o para mí,” “No problem for you or me.”

  Quickly, Amelio examined the bent pasteboard boarding pass. He took a long, experienced and objective look at Guerrero then said, “Listen to me very carefully. Go through this door to the other side of the aircraft. Then turn right and walk back three cabins. Your seat is in the middle of the third cabin. Please hurry. If you need any assistance, one of my Main Cabin Flight Attendants will assist you.”

  Bill retrieved his boarding card, walked passed Amelio and said, “Hey, Compadre. No sweat. I’ll be a good passenger.” He thought of his plan to take control of the aircraft again and he started to giggle again.

  Chapter 25

  08:25 Pacific Standard Time

  San Francisco International Airport

  Bill took several steps. To Amelio, they appeared normal. But to Bill, they seemed to be huge, high, slow-motion strides. He felt like he was wearing swim fins.

  Amelio watched him. The comment about being a good passenger and then the inappropriate giggling set off another alarm. “I’ll have to remember to tell whoever is working E-Zone to keep an eye on this character. It’s a shame that he is so screwed up. He really is quite attractive.”

  Bill slowly walked through the mid-ship galley and became confused. He could not remember which way to turn. He looked for a sign, found none and turned left toward First Class.

  One of three Flight Attendants who were busy handing out menus looked at him. Instinctively, she knew he did not belong in First Class. “Sir. Where are you sitting?”

  His voice was thick, “I don’t ‘member exactly.”

  “Do you have your boarding pass? May I see it, please?”

  He still had the rumpled, rolled and damp boarding pass in his hand. “Sure, Chica. Right here.” For the forth or fifth time this morning, he produced his beat up boarding card.

  She took a quick practiced glance at the lower right hand corner of his boarding pass. With a firm hand on Bill’s left shoulder, she turned him around and forcefully aimed him toward the tail section and said, “Walk almost to the end of the airplane. Your seat is in the third cabin. If you get lost, or need help, ask one of the Attendants in the back.”

  He slowly turned back toward her, “Thanks, Chica.”

  A quiet fury overtook her. “Don’t refer to me as ‘Chica’. I don’t like it and I won’t put up with your Mexican-macho bullshit. Got it?” Then instantly, her look changed, she smiled her most enchanting and radiant smile, “Have a nice day, Sir.”

  Confused, he turned and disappeared into the crowded aisle. The cabins were filled with passengers putting their belongings under, over, or on the floor by their assigned seats.

  A rather large woman in a yellow dress blocked the aisle as she attempted to put her Pullman-sized suitcase in the overhead. Seven or eight passengers stood between him and the woman, waiting.

  She looked back at the growing line of people. In frustration, she tried to shove her bag in the overhead. A third of the bag stuck out into the aisle, head-high. Pleased with herself, she brushed her hands together as though she were wiping toast crumbs from her palms. With a triumphant smile and look of satisfaction, she took her seat immediately beneath the precariously balanced bag.

  While Bill waited for the people in the aisle to move, then looked down at the aisle seat next to him and saw 37-7. He tried to figure how many rows from here to his seat. One of the Valium’s unanticipated consequences was it fogged his ability to do this simple calculation in his head. He mindlessly started to follow passengers toward the back end of the cabin. He reached the very end of the last section in coach, where he found nothing but a series of rest rooms and coat closets.

  Near the coat closet, he saw a male Flight Attendant hanging up a garment bag. Bill reached out and touched the very tall cabin attendant’s shoulder, who turned and looked directly at him with large, effeminate brown eyes.

  The blond haired, brown-eyed cabin attendant pursed his lips for a brief second, and then smiled. A nice smile, except for a discolored incisor. The look he gave Bill left no doubt in either of their minds that he found Bill attractive.

  Abruptly and compulsively, Bill backed away to keep his distance. He glanced at the attendant’s name badge. It read, “Carlton Marsh – Flight Attendant.” Above his name badge was a rainbow-striped ribbon with a five-sided star in the middle.

  He produced his boarding pass and asked, “Hey man. Where am I at?”

  Carlton Marsh answered in a lilting musical voice, “Well, let’s see.” He looked at Bill’s boarding pass, “It’s supposed to be back here somewhere. But, but, maybe they moved it.” Carlton laughed at his joke and held his hand over his mouth.

  Then he studied Guerrero. First, he looked at Bill’s eyes, then at his overall build. He inspected him as he would inspect a piece of meat in a butcher shop. He saw a thin, lanky per
son of Latin heritage. He wore no wedding ring. Then somewhat breathlessly, inexorably and inevitably, Carlton’s gaze drifted to the front of Bill’s pants.

  “Forgive me, Sir. I’m just being silly. You are in that seat just over there.” He waved toward an empty seat, theatrically emphasized the general direction of a vacant seat by extending a single finger from his hand held above his forehead. Quickly, he added in lush tone, “You’ll be in my section. My name’s Carlton, that’s what all my friends call me. What’s your name?”

  “Guillermo. Guillermo or Bill.” He giggled again, “Bill.”

  “No problem, Bill. I always take good care of my passengers and I’m going to good care of you; very good care.” Then with a wink and a slight nod, “Where are you staying when you get to New York?”

  Bill was shocked. His prison experiences had taught him that homosexuals, the Maricóns, were to be avoided. They were the subject of cruel jokes. He could not understand how anyone could be like that. He found this cabin attendant’s attention upsetting.

  “What’s the matter, Bill?” Carlton grinned at him. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Bill was sickened. “No. What did you say?”

  He had to get away from him, “Look, I’m sort of screwed up.” He turned in the direction of his seat. “I took some shit and it makes me weird.”

  Carlton Marsh felt a rush caused by the raw attraction he felt. It probably was the swarthy roughness and bravado. He felt awash with excitement as he thought to himself, “I’m not going to let this one get away.”

  “Where did you say you’re going to stay in New York? I didn’t hear what you said.” Another grin, followed by, “Our layover hotel is the Milford Plaza – but we call it the Mildew Plaza. It’s in Times Square.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe with my cousin. I don’t really got no place.” How could he talk to this faggot, this Maricón? He had never thought about New York. He wasn’t going to New York. He was going to Havana.

  He headed back toward the middle part of the last few rows in coach. He could barely follow Carlton’s directions. He ultimately found an empty seat in Row 56.

  He looked at his boarding pass and dimly saw he had been given row 55-seat 8. That seat was taken. He took the seat behind the one assigned to him. He did not want to make a scene. He dropped into his seat and felt incredibly tired.

  Carlton finished hanging coats and garment bags. He heard the inter-station chimes, and saw the pink blinking light that indicated his zone in the aircraft was being paged.

  He stepped several feet to the telephone handset, “E Zone, Carlton Marsh at your service.”

  When Carlton said service, the sibilance was overpowering. He literally hissed the “s” sound in the word service. “Carlton. This is Amelio. You have a young Mexican in your area. I don’t remember his name, but he’s in seat 55-8.”

  Carlton peeked around the coat compartment, looked for Bill, but was unable to see his prize.

  “I certainly do remember him. He’s just gorgeous in a rough sort of way.”

  “He seemed very disoriented and confused when he boarded. How does he seem to you?”

  “Divine.”

  Amelio’s voice tightened. “Carlton. This is serious. I want to know how he is. Is he behaving himself?”

  Carlton’s voice hardened. “I spoke with him. He seemed OK. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  With the telephone in his hand, Carlton strained and pulled himself up on his toes. He stretched the phone cord as he peered around the center aisle bulkhead. The crowd thinned out enough for Carlton to see the back of Bill’s head, “Actually, Amelio, he looks like he’s asleep.”

  “All right, Carlton. Listen, I think it’s probably a good idea that we cut him off from the liquor and wine. He seemed pretty out of it when he came by me during the boarding. In fact, I wonder how he got past the agents in the terminal.” Amelio paused. “If he gives you any trouble, let me know.”

  “Whatever you say, lover. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Carlton smiled to himself, thinking, “I’ll follow all your orders to the letter. In fact, I’ll see to it that I take extra care of Bill, to make certain he is no trouble.”

  Chapter 26

  08:35 Pacific Standard Time

  San Francisco International Airport

  Amelio Perez placed the handset back in the cradle. No sooner had he done so, than the inter-station chimes warbled several times at his station.

  “First Class, L-1 Door, Amelio.”

  “Amelio, this is Captain Webber.”

  “Yes, Captain. Is everything all right?”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. We’re about ready to go up here, but still have two cabin open door lights on. What’s the delay? Why aren’t the cabin doors closed?”

  “Well, Sir. They are still boarding the last few passengers here at L-1. Commissary is just now closing the R-1 door.”

  Amelio spoke and the R-1 cabin door light on Stan’s Auxiliary Panel went out. The extinguished light was confirmed by all three pilots. They heard the muffled “thwump” of the door being closed and confirmed the door-open light was no longer illuminated.

  Don continued, “Okay, I see it’s out now. Any idea how much longer for L-1, for the rest of the passengers?”

  “Captain, the Jetway looks clear. I do not see any others coming, Wait, here comes the agent with the final paperwork and manifest.”

  Through the intercom handset, Don could hear the agent’s conversation with Amelio, “Here you are. There are only thirty-nine empty seats in Economy Class. First and Business are full.”

  Amelio nodded, then said to the Captain, “Looks like we should be ready in a couple of minutes. I will call you when the cabin is secured for departure.”

  “Roger.”

  Don stowed the intercom handset at the rear of the center radio console.

  Stan compulsively lifted the receiver and uncoiled the tangled cord, then replaced the handset and said to no one in particular, “It never fails. We are always the last to know what’s going on. At least, on the DC-10 you could open the cockpit door and see what was happening in the cabin. With this hog, we really never know what’s doin’ unless one of the Flight Attendants tells us.”

  Fred smiled and said, “Flying this thing is like working in a branch office. Do your own thing. Nobody knows or cares.”

  The interphone chimed and then came to life with a loud crackling sound, “Ground to Cockpit. You there, Captain?”

  The mechanic by the nose gear said, “You ready to rock and roll?”

  Stan was the only one of the three pilots who had been listening for the mechanic’s call. Stan looked directly at the Captain and said, “Don. Ground’s calling on the interphone.”

  Don reached for the selector panel and brushed against his cup of coffee that rested nearby. The cup tilted and a small amount of coffee sluiced onto the forward console as the cup righted itself. Silently, he swore to himself.

  Fred added, “That was close. Hope the rest of the trip goes better than this.”

  Fred watched the miniature typhoon in the coffee cup, “It’s a good thing we have Doris Day back in the cabin.” He referred to an old Doris Day movie Julie, in which she landed a crippled airplane, damaged by spilled coffee.

  Don ignored Fred and spoke in the microphone, “Go ahead, Ground. This is the Captain.”

  “Good morning, Sir. You are cleared to check your hydraulics and flight controls.”

  Don turned to Stan. All three pilots knew the drill. Pressurize each of the four separate hydraulic systems and determine that both Auto Pilot systems integrity were secure. Quickly, Don lifted the “A” Autopilot bat-handled switch to the ON position. He disconnected the “A” autopilot with the thumb button on his control yoke. Immediately, the “A” Autoflight disconnect warning sounded. He pressed the red autopilot switch on the control column again and the warning stopped.

  Don Webber lifted the bat-handled switch for the “B”
autopilot. When he was satisfied with the system integrity, he deferred the rest of the checks to Fred. “She’s all yours.”

  Fred applied adequate pressure with the control column to verify he could override the autopilot and then disconnected the “B” Autopilot. Once again, the auto flight disconnect wailer sounded. Fred silenced the warning by pressing the autopilot disconnect button on his control column. With his left hand, he reached to the rear corner of the center console and tested both aileron and rudder trim control switches.

  Fred smiled, looked at Don and said, “I’m satisfied if you are, Doctor. I think the patient will live to fly again.”

  Don ignored his First Officer. “Finish the Engine Start Checklist.”

  Stan rolled the plastic-coated checklist in the holder attached to the seatback on Fred’s chair and read each of the items in order, to which Fred responded. Within 30 seconds, all three pilots confirmed the 747 was ready for engine start.

  Don picked up the microphone and started to call the ground mechanic, when the interphone chime sounded.

  Fred quickly reached aft and pulled the handset from its cradle, “Front office. Who is this?”

  “Amelio, Sir. The L-1 door is closed and the cabin is secured. We are ready for departure.”

  “You obviously have made a serious mistake calling me sir. You must want to talk to the Captain.”

  Don heard the conversation in his headset, selected ground interphone and spoke in his microphone, “Thank you, Amelio. I appreciate you calling us. We should be pushing back in just a couple of minutes.”

  Fred grinned and then looked to his left, “Are we ready to go?”

  Don said, “I’m ready. Call the company and tell them we’re ready to push back from Gate 67.”

  Fred said, “It’s Showtime, folks.” With microphone in hand, in a very professional voice, he said, “San Francisco Operations, 100 here. Ready to push from 67.”