That same air marshal stepped back slowly from the body of the man he had just murdered as his head slowly raised upward to allow him to look into the faces of the remaining passengers.
“Ok then, I will say this just one more time. Stay in your seats and wait for further instructions. If I have to remind just one of you of the rules again, many more will die.”
“Uh, hey, you should know that the guy in front of me, he opened up a window and looked outside too. I don’t want his screwing up to get the rest of us killed.”
Mr. American Badass was giving Mac Walker up to a just-proven killer. Even Mac couldn’t believe what he heard being spoken a few feet behind him. The black man across the aisle turned to stare at the man, his eyes indicating if he had his own gun, he’d likely kill him on the spot himself.
The air marshal made his way toward Mac, his gun pointing at the former Navy SEAL.
“Is that true? Were you looking outside too?”
Mac could feel the goateed father shifting in his seat behind him.
“I saw him do it. Just before you came back in here.”
The young boy whispered a plea to his father.
“Dad, don’t tell on the man.”
The air marshal loomed over Mac, the cold barrel of the gun held firmly against Mac’s forehead.
He wants me to try and disarm him, give him an excuse to kill more of us.
What the air marshal didn’t know was that Mac Walker’s hands and feet were no longer bound. Mac prepared himself to strike, confident his own lightning fast reflexes would in fact prove too much for the air marshal to overcome.
“Careful, he’s not tied up anymore.”
The air marshal’s eyes widened as he took several quick steps backward while keeping his gun pointed at Mac.
“Hold up your hands, army boy - NOW.”
Mac’s unbound hands rose slowly above his head. The air marshal stared at Mac Walker through narrowed, increasingly suspicious eyes.
“Who the hell are you?”
For a brief moment, Mac’s mind began replaying the infamous refrain of The Who’s Who Are You, a favorite song from one of his favorite bands. In a life lived among the chaos of military operations both great and small, music had always been Mac’s calming retreat, particularly when the difference between life and death was at its most precarious. So as he looked back into the eyes of the air marshal, and the business end of his gun, Mac Walker heard the defiant howl of Pete Townsend’s guitar, the belligerent pounding of Keith Moon’s drums, the ominous rumble of John Entwistle’s bass, and the aggressive, growling snarl of Roger Daltry’s voice.
“I’m the guy you don’t want to mess with. But for now, you got the gun – your move asshole.”
8.
The marshal stood staring back at Mac for several seconds, his eyes clearly communicating his desire to simply kill Mac and be done with it.
“Turn around.”
Mac paused, contemplating his chances of rushing the air marshal and disarming him. The risk was too great. He would likely be shot, wounded, and possibly unable to then help the passengers with the other rogue members of the flight crew.
The air marshal smiled, sensing Mac was considering making a move.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
As much as part of him wanted to do just that, the more rational and experienced part of Mac Walker knew now was not the time for action. He turned around.
The air marshal walked slowly behind Mac and then paused. Mac knew what was coming.
This is gonna hurt – again.
One well placed crack to the back of his skull with the butt of the air marshal’s gun, and Mac’s world once again went dark.
“Why you want to be a sailor, son? And talk straight – no bullshit.”
After being knocked out, Mac’s mind retreated to the memory of his initial recruitment into the U.S. military. The Navy recruiting officer’s name was Lieutenant George Mackey, a tall, broad shouldered black man whose large brown eyes seemed to bore into Mac’s soul, pushing past the layers of pretense and carefully constructed arrogance so common to young men still trying to figure out the world, and their place in it.
“I want to serve my country.”
Lieutenant Mackey folded his arms across his large chest and stared back at the just turned twenty years old, Mac Walker.
“Son, I just told you not to bullshit me. Now you see, there’s some recruiters, well, they’ll take on just about anyone. I’m not that kind of recruiter though, understand? So I’m gonna ask you one more time, why do you want to be a sailor? And before you answer take a moment to really think about it before you open your mouth.”
Mac’s initial instinct was to spout off another cliché for wanting to join the military, but something in Lieutenant Mackey’s eyes gave him pause. Mac didn’t really know the man but he already wanted to prove himself to him, so he remained quiet as he gave genuine consideration to the question.
“The thing is, sir, I’ve always had a need to prove myself. I want to be challenged. It drove my momma crazy when I was a boy. Always getting scraped up, broken arm, cut open leg, it’s just my nature. If there’s a challenge, I want to face it. I’ve done a couple years of junior college since graduating high school, and I know that living my life through books, or sitting at some desk, ain’t for me. I want to be out there actually doing the kinds of things a person reads about in books. I’m a good athlete, always handled myself well in a fight. It’s not that I go looking for trouble, but I’ll take it on if trouble comes looking for me, and do what’s got to be done to kick its ass. So I figure maybe I have what it takes, you know? At least I’d like the opportunity to find out.”
It was Lieutenant Mackey’s turn to sit silently and consider Mac’s words. Nearly a minute passed before his deep, Bayou-drenched voice followed up with another question.
“What scares you, Mr. Walker?”
Mac sat up in his chair and felt his mouth breaking into a small, knowing smile.
“I used to think nothing in this world scared me, sir, and I mean nothin’. Could be ten other guys wanting to do me harm, and I’d happily take ‘em on and give as good as I got. My momma says I get that from my daddy. He’s stern, don’t tolerate foolishness, but for the most part is a quiet, solitary kind of man, but Mom says if he feels him or the ones he loves have been wronged, watch out. Something powerful, like some unquenchable righteous fire is in my daddy that will rise up and demand those who done that wrong be held accountable. Lately, as I sat in those junior college classrooms and looked out the windows watching the days turn to weeks and then the months turn to years, for the first time in my life I knew what it was to really be afraid.”
The recruiting officer leaned forward, his arms now folded atop the small, metallic desk that was among the few pieces of furniture inside of the small, Dauphine Street Navy recruiting office in the heart of New Orleans. Lieutenant Mackey’s face had softened as he nodded slowly back at the young Mac Walker, seeming to know exactly what the hopeful recruit was speaking of.
“Go on, tell me what scares you.”
Mac’s eyes wandered toward the street outside the recruiting office window, watching as the cars drove quickly by, reminding him of how one’s own life seemed to pass by just as quickly as well.
“The thing that really scares me is living a life that ends without having any real meaning. I want to do something, and I think that starts right here right now in this office. Sir, you can help me to do something that has meaning. I want to see the world, and help others. I do love this country, and that’s no bullshit. I love America, I love the freedom we have and I want to protect it for me, my family, and anyone else who feels the same.”
Mac Walker grinned and then tilted his head toward the door.
“Besides, if I can’t convince you to take me on, there’s always the Army recruiting office down the road.”
Lieutenant Mackey threw his head back and laughed before standing up and extend
ing his right hand across the desk toward Mac.
“Welcome to the Navy, son.”
As Mac took the recruiting officer’s hand into his own, he found himself pulled forward toward Lieutenant Mackey, who again grew serious.
“I’ve always had a sense about people, Mr. Walker and I got a real sense about you. You will be living a life with meaning. I just hope to God there’s enough people like you around when it’s really needed.”
Mac Walker didn’t fully understand, or appreciate those words then, but that understanding would eventually come to him years later.
More than he could ever have imagined.
9.
Who’s staring at me? What is this?
Mac Walker’s mind was somewhat slow to recover from the blow to the back of his head, but a moment later he remembered his confrontation with the air marshal, the order to turn around, and now found himself bound to another body, crammed inside of one of the 767 bathroom stalls.
“Don’t worry, I’m alive. They didn’t tie you up to a dead person.”
Mac’s eyes slowly adjusted to the face directly in front of his own. It was the male flight attendant who had been staring at him earlier.
The flight attendant smiled, and attempted a shrug, though his arms were locked around Mac so tightly it made it difficult to do so.
“They used a bunch of duct tape. The air marshal said you were some kind of escape artist. Got us wrapped up pretty good here.”
Mac shifted on his feet as he tried to tilt his head as far away as possible from the other man’s face – a face he noted had a significant gash under the left eye and a deep bruise on the right cheek.
“My name’s Walter, Walter Hill. I tried to fight them when I saw what was going on in the cargo hold. They were getting ready to open up the cargo door! Why would they do that? These people are crazy you know. I mean, obviously you know that already, right? I think they’re planning to use the plane for something horrible. Like another 9-11 or something. I came out swinging but between the two other attendants, and then that air marshal with his gun, they knocked me out. I woke up inside of here, and then about an hour later, they brought you in and tied us up together. Now I’m thinking to myself, well Walter, you sure got yourself into a pickle this time, but at least the fella you’re tied up to is a good looking hunk of a man!”
Oh God, just kill me now.
Walter, seemingly undeterred by Mac’s attempt to push his face even further away from his, continued talking as if they were already the best of friends catching up on old times.
“Anyways, I don’t know if it’s the whole flight crew that’s in on this thing, or just the other attendants and the air marshal, but I figure at least one of the pilots has to be with them too, right? I mean, they need someone to fly the plane. And did I hear gunfire out there? I wasn’t sure, but it sounded like a gun went off, and I figured it had something to do with the air marshal, because believe me, I already know how he likes to go waving that thing all around. Then they brought you in here and I was worried they had shot you, but you seem to be fine, so---“
The pounding in Mac’s head seemed to increase with every word spoken by Walter.
“Yes, a passenger was killed, a young man sitting a few rows up from me.”
Walter tilted his head to the right as he mentally revisited where the passengers had been seated just before take-off.
“Oh, not the nice young couple, he’s dead? They killed him? Why would they do something like that? My god this is awful! Why are these people doing this?”
Mac fought the urge to head-butt Walter into oblivion.
“Because that air marshal is a killer, and he wanted to make a point to the rest of the passengers. Keep them scared enough they won’t put up a fight. It appears to be working – for now.”
Walter began to open his mouth again but Mac cut him off.
“I need you to shut up, Walter so I can think.”
Again Walter prepared to say something, and again Mac interrupted.
“No, Walter just nod that you understand you need to keep your mouth shut so I can assess the situation. Just nod your head Walter.”
Walter nodded his head slowly.
“Good boy. Thank you.”
As described by Walter, both he and Mac were bound together by several layers of duct tape. Each man’s arms were tightly wrapped around the other, as well as the lower half of their legs. Getting out of this was going to prove much tougher than the zip ties, especially since it required the help of all too talkative Walter, a man Mac knew could very well be part of the 767’s takeover.
Not impossible though. Just need some time.
“Walter, I need you to tell me everything you know about this flight crew. Have you worked with them before?”
Walter shook his head.
“No, this was my first time with them. I had just been assigned a new rotation by the airlines. I wanted to see Europe. I’ve been doing the New York to L.A. flights mostly for the last six years or so. Needed a change of scenery, but this wasn’t what I signed up for. No offense to being tied up to you of course. You haven’t told me your name by the way.”
Mac shifted his weight to the right, trying to determine just how tight the duct tape binding was.
“Name’s Mac – Mac Walker. Where you from, Walter?”
Mac could sense Walter’s smile forming before it appeared.
“Are you interrogating me, Mac? Wondering if I’m one of them? Guess I can’t blame you for that. I’d be doing the same thing if I were you. I mean, I was part of the flight crew after all.”
“What about the captain or the co-captain, Walter? Have you flown with them before?”
Again Walter shook his head.
“No, this was literally my very first flight with them. I flew from New York to Paris with a different crew then transferred to this plane for the flight back from Paris to D.C. It’s the same airline of course, but entirely different planes, different crew, and different captain. The two other attendants though, they seemed to know each other pretty well. They both have similar accents. Did you notice their accents? And now that I think about it, the captain and the air marshal sounded similar to them as well.”
Mac’s head snapped to the left, his face no more than a few inches from Walter’s.
“You sure about that? The captain had an accent similar to the two female flight attendants?”
Walter nodded back at Mac.
“Absolutely – very similar.”
“What about the co-pilot?”
Walter hesitated briefly before shaking his head.
“I don’t think he said anything to me, just nodded when I introduced myself. He seemed very quiet, kind of bored, or maybe tired actually. I remember thinking he was probably doing a multiple flight schedule without any rest. The airlines really push the pilots sometimes. I’ve known them to go two days without sleep. They’re not supposed to be doing that, it’s against regulations, but they still do.”
Mac stood quietly as he considered the information given to him by Walter, his mind creating options within options as to what might be happening.
“What about the captain? Did he look tired to you?”
Walter’s eyes widened slightly, as if he was remembering something important for the first time.
“No, not at all. In fact, he seemed kind of amped up, you know? Like he’d just shot back a triple latte or something. And his eyes, he was really looking me up and down, but not in any kind of friendly way. More like he’d just as soon see me thrown off the plane. Or…or locked up in a bathroom.”
Mac Walker managed a smile at Walter’s attempt at humor, though his mind still suggested the possibility the man’s seeming cool-under-crisis demeanor meant he was actually in on the hi-jacking, and was now engaged in trying to gleam exactly who Mac was, and how he came to be on this particular flight.
What about Stasia? What happened to her?
“There was a woman sitting beh
ind me. Attractive, dark haired, said her name was Stasia. She had a slight accent as well, similar to the others.”
Walter’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall anyone fitting the description.
“No sorry, I don’t remember anyone like that. Then again, I was kind of, well…you managed to catch my attention.”
Mac did indeed recall the flight attendant walking past him while staring intently at his crotch.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Walter and Mac stood in silence for several seconds before Mac’s voice spoke softly in Walter’s left ear.
“I need to get out of this bathroom, Walter and that means I need your help to do it. So when you feel me start to move, I want you to move in the opposite direction, ok? And then I’ll shift to the other side, and you do the same, but we have to keep it quiet. We don’t want to get the attention of that air marshal or the other flight crew, understand?”
Walter’s chin moved downward toward his chest as he grinned, his eyes staring into Mac’s.
“Why, Mr. Walker it sounds like you’re asking me to dance.”
“If that’s what you want to call it, Walter, fine, I don’t give a shit. Just move in the opposite direction I am, like a tree blowing in the wind - side to side, side to side.”
Mac shifted his weight to the left, and then to the right, pleased at how Walter shifted his own body perfectly in the opposite direction, while at the same time, Mac tried to ignore the feeling of their bodies rubbing against one another.
“You’re a wonderful dancer, Mr. Walker.”
“Walter…shut up.”
10.
Mac and Walter pulled and slid against one another for nearly twenty minutes before Mac paused to see if any progress had been made in weakening the duct tape. The 767’s engines continued to hum quietly beneath them, the plane now travelling at a leisurely pace to whatever destination the hijackers intended.
Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection... Page 4