He searched my eyes, looking to see if I was going to have another outburst, before he slid his hand away, the tips of his fingers lingering on the slightly chapped skin of my lips. Stress tended to make them dry out, and this so wasn’t the time for lip gloss.
“Then what the hell are you doing back here with me?” A million questions racing through my mind, I added, “How am I still alive?”
“Calm down,” he comforted. I hadn’t even realized my voice had been upping the volume and hysteria without my approval. “He just put you to sleep by holding your pressure point. You weren’t being a very cooperative hostage.”
No kidding. I had fucking lost my mind, making quips and carrying out rants. I was fucking taunting the terrorist.
What was wrong with me?!
“Jesus. I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid.”
“No,” he protested, his lips scarily close to my own. “It’s fine, Whit.”
“No, it’s not! I put everyone in danger!” I whisper-yelled.
Hooking his thumb toward the front of the plane, he disagreed. “He put everyone in danger. You just acted on your instincts to the best of your ability in an extremely difficult and unprecedented situation.”
“It was stupid,” I argued. “My instincts are stupid.”
“Whit,” he said, giving my pliant body a slight shake. “Stop. It was courageous. And it turned out to be smart because, look, now you’re here with me instead of up there with a nail file to your throat.”
“Is that what that was? A nail file?” He nodded. “Jesus.”
“Granted, it was modified and sharpened to the point where it cut through your smooth skin far too easily.”
He thought my skin was smooth. I guess my skincare regime was working.
I took a deep breath. Whispering, I admitted, “That wasn’t courage, Blane. I was scared to death. I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared. Still am, actually. But I have to admit this spot is better than my last one.”
“Come on, Elbow. Everyone knows that courage is the act of standing up and acting in the face of fear. The absence of fear is actually just stupidity.”
For the first time, I noticed that he was practically laying flat on top of me. How interesting and unexpected.
“Okay, well then this question definitely aids in the argument that I’m courageous.” Because I was scared he was going to react pretty negatively when I pointed this out. “What the fuck are you doing back here on top of me when you should be up there kicking terrorist ass, Mr. Air Marshall?”
I figured it was pretty obvious what he was, but I still made sure to say it super quietly, practically mouthing the words.
Just a smirk curled the end of his lips as he explained, even more quietly, “I have a partner. We usually fly in teams, and seeing as someone he loves wasn’t the one being held at knifepoint, he was smart enough to keep his cover.”
Someone he loves?
Yeah, let’s just ignore that for now.
“Oh, well that’s good. But, um, sorry for asking, because I’m sure you know how to do your job and all, but why the hell haven’t you taken this asshole down yet?”
“Something’s not right.”
I’d thought that myself. Maybe my counterterrorist instincts weren’t all that bad.
“He seems to want us to kill him. I mean, these guys are usually martyrs, but not until after they’ve carried out whatever they want to carry out.”
I nodded along. It all made sense.
“But he wanted me to shoot him. I could see it in his eyes. And I don’t know, it seemed a little preemptive since all he’d managed to do was nick your neck.”
“And ruin my shirt.”
“And that,” he agreed with a tiny chuckle.
“So what’s your theory?”
“I’m thinking he’s got some kind of dead man switch on it. You know, has it wired to go off when it stops reading a pulse. Something like that. That’s what I’d do if I were the terrorist.”
“Why? What does that do?” I asked, noting that he was still laying on top of me. My brain told me not to get excited. It was just easier to keep our voices low this way. But my vagina just wouldn’t listen. She had always been a stupid bitch. She was the one who’d spurned me by being devoid of hormones for all those years. If I’d been a little more open to men, I might have led a very different life.
“Well, for one thing, it’s a fail safe. No matter what, his mission gets carried out. But it’s also the perfect act of terror. Emphasis on terror. Say we kill him. Boom. He’s down. The threat’s eliminated, we’re all high five-ing and breathing easy. Until maybe twenty seconds later when we realize something isn’t right. Probably forty or so seconds after that, boom, we’re all dead. It’s the perfect way to lull a crowd into a false sense of safety.”
“Alright. Alright,” I muttered, trying to wrap my head around his theory. “So what do we do about it?”
“Now that’s a good question. It says a lot about you too.” He winked. “I knew I was smart to pick the only bulldog in the building all those years ago. It’s a lot easier to lean on someone who stands on her own two feet.”
“Yeah, I’m a fucking genius, asking what we should do in a situation where we clearly need to figure out what to do,” I scoffed.
“No,” he whispered with a small shake of his head. “You’re brave because you said ‘we’. You’re not just relying on me to figure it out for you.”
His head, and consequently his lips, lifted from their close proximity to mine as he peered out the small over window above my head.
He watched for only a few seconds before bringing his lips almost directly back to my mine. Only at the very last moment, he dove to the side and brought their plump pink flesh to the shell of my ear.
I could feel the moist heat of his breath on my skin as he spoke nearly silently. “The pilot knows.”
Bringing my lips to his ear, I questioned, “How do you know?”
“Because we’re over the ocean, and we’re making very big circles. The turning so slight that you almost can’t feel it. And certainly for Tommy, someone who’s very busy with other things, might not notice. He might,” he added quickly. “But he might not.”
Bringing my head back from his, I shook it slightly, confusion in my eyes. “Why would we be over the ocean?” I mouthed. “Why not land?”
His head mirrored mine, shaking back and forth in response, but I could tell it wasn’t because he didn’t know. He didn’t want to tell me.
“Why?” I whispered, adding a little force into my voice.
“Whitney,” he started, his intention clearly to avoid answering my question again.
“Tell me, Blane,” I demanded, this time the quiet completely gone. My anger made it hard to remember how important being quiet probably was.
He squeezed me tightly, his arms clenching almost painfully into the entirety of my upper body. “Shh. Listen—”
“Listen nothing!” I whisper-yelled. “Why would they have us fly over the ocean? Why isn’t it safe to land?”
“Alright,” he gave in, shaking his head slightly. Moving even closer to my ear, he spoke a little more softly. So much so that I thought I might have imagined the words he spoke.
At the very least, I was hoping I had.
“Because we don’t know exactly what he has planned. Landing somewhere hasn’t been cleared as a solution. He could be rigged to do something at lower altitude. It’s just too much of a risk at this point.”
“And the ocean?” I asked, uncertain I really wanted to know the answer.
“So, if they need to…they can shoot us down.”
God. What an eye-opening statement.
I had always been in the camp that said, “Sure, there’s a terrorist on the plane, and you’re out of other options? Shoot that thing down.”
Somehow, now that I was the one on the plane, I wasn’t so sure I’d thought it all the way through.
I still agreed in theory, but
who decided when all the other options were spent?
I’d be willing to bet it wouldn’t be us.
So now we had even more to fear. Not only was it possible we would die at the hands of Tommy, but our government might end it just as quickly.
No matter the option, we weren’t in control. And both of them left us dead.
“Great,” I mumbled, my eyes closing in order to get away from him regardless of our close proximity.
“Whit,” he called, forcing me to open my eyes to him again. “I know what you’re thinking, but there are more than two options here.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I demanded.
“I’m not.” I couldn’t understand how he could say that without lying, but his eyes seemed earnest.
He truly believed he’d find a way to get us out of this.
So I did the stupidest thing I could think of.
I believed him.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeated, nodding his head in approval.
Honestly, it felt weird not to argue.
So I figured something out to fight about.
“So, not that I’m not enjoying this close proximity chat and all, but if you’re getting paid to save the day and all, what the hell are you waiting for?”
He smirked.
“Seems to me,” I continued, “If there’s a chance we’re gonna get shot down by our own fucking government, we might want to move the whole process of saving our asses forward a little faster.” I shrugged my shoulders with false casualness. “Just food for thought.”
“You’re something else,” he whispered as his eyes searched my face.
“I hear that all the time,” I said on a nod. “You’re different. Interesting. Quirky. All of these things are just nicer words for weird. Off-putting. Bitchy.”
He chuckled nearly silently, but I could see his throat move with the motion of a laugh. “I can’t argue with that.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re all of those things.”
“Thanks,” I snapped sarcastically.
His lips dipped all the way to my ear. “But I didn’t mean any of those things. I meant to say that you’re something special.”
“Thanks, Blane,” I said softly, my surprise evident in the tone of my voice.
He moved his face back to look at me, and then, taking me completely off guard, he gently touched his lips just once to mine. My eyes nearly bugged all the way out of my head, but he ignored them.
Rather, he ordered, “Stay here.” And it was obvious he meant it.
I hadn’t fully decided whether or not to listen yet, when he picked himself up off of me and moved slow and low back towards the front of the plane.
I glanced down at the dried blood on my chest and the rest of it soaked into my shirt and decided staying put was at least worth a shot.
But at the very least, I wanted a view. Sitting up to move to the aisle seat and lean out where I could see, the blood rushed to my still sore head, and I fell back against the back of the seat in a daze.
Not to self: Don’t move so fucking fast.
As I watched Blane move stealthily, like he was so obviously trained to do, I had the most ridiculous thought for someone in the midst of a terrorist attack.
I really loved to watch him work.
“YOU’RE STILL WHERE I TOLD you to stay,” Blane said sounding pleased.
I’d watched him watch Tommy for the last thirty minutes without making any moves, and as my nerves ramped up, my patience took a nosedive.
“Yeah, timer’s about to ring on that one, buddy. What the hell is taking you so long? Did I or did I not explain the whole we’re on a fucking timeline thing?” I huffed and spoke without giving him time answer. “I’m pretty sure I did.”
“Do you want to actually hear what I’ve figured out or do you wanna just keep on spouting nonsensical bullshit until the end of time?” he asked, his words only half-teasing.
“I guess I’ll save the bullshit for afterward.”
“Good plan.”
“I thought so.”
“Jesus. No wonder he knocked you out.”
It was childish, but I shot him two big, fat birds in response.
He chuckled.
He slid into the row with me, picking me up and lifting me into the seat beside it.
“You up for being a little bit of a distraction?”
“Not really,” I answered honestly. “But I’m even less up for dying today, so let’s do it.”
“You’re not going to die today,” he whispered fiercely, stopping me from making a move to climb over him and grabbing my chin with his thumb and forefinger to get my attention.
I spoke, the words slightly muffled by the grip he had on my chin. “Your confidence is touching, really. But let’s actually do something to prevent it.”
“Always such a smart ass.”
I almost told him the truth, admitting that I’m only really a smart ass when I’m scared of being something else.
He seemed to see it, or at the very least something else that made his features soften and his eyes light with understanding and compassion. His thumb moved from its tight hold to a gentle stroke, and for a couple of seconds, I actually forgot where I was.
Breaking the magic of his spell, I went to move again. Pushing me back into my seat, his voice warred with his dwindling patience. “Do you actually want to know the plan before you just waltz up there?”
Once again, I answered him honestly. “Not really. If you have something specific you want me to do, tell me now.” Otherwise, I just wanted it to be over. I’m sure most people would be eager for the details, but I wasn’t that good of a poker player. If I had an inkling about what was coming, I feared I’d somehow give it away before it happened.
And the last thing I wanted to do was put Blane, or myself, really, in any extra danger.
His chin jerked in surprise, but he didn’t let it control him for long.
“Just do whatever I say. If I tell you to move, you move. Run, you run. Duck, you duck. Get down, you get down.”
“I think I get it.”
“Most people don’t actually do what their told, Whit. Actually following my command, and ducking instead of running, could be the difference between something happening to you that I won’t accept and it not.”
He was serious, so I took it the same way. I had an obvious habit of using humor as an escape. Just call me Chandler Bing. But I knew this was important to him, and quiet frankly, me too. So I learned to take orders, and I learned to do it in a hurry.
With a nod I moved out of the row, careful to keep the attention off of myself until the time was right, but he called me back with just my name. “Whitney.”
My name had never sounded more like the words ‘Be careful’.
“You be even more careful,” I said in response, taking a gamble on his meaning, but at the same time not taking one at all. Hoping Blane would protect himself would never be out of place.
AT THE SIGHT OF ME coming quickly up the aisle, Tommy Terrorist became agitated, pacing and looking downright twitchy with his anger.
Whatever Blane was planning, I hoped to Jesus it was well thought out and quick acting. I feared it wouldn’t be long before Tommy became fed up and decided to cut his losses. And ours.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and an overbearing sense of dread settled into the furthest pit of my stomach.
I felt like the end was near, and desperation made me willing to be stupid. Taking my eyes off of Tommy, I turned back to see Blane one last time, to let my soul find comfort in his.
My eyes bounced, with no tall hunk in sight to settle on, and the world exploded. At least, the pounding of my heart and head made it feel that way.
“Get down!” Blane commanded from somewhere, and my body, thank Jesus, was more attuned to the moment than I was, immediately obeying and pancaking to the carpet aisle runner of our plane.
The instinct to cover my head was strong, but the one to wa
tch Blane was stronger.
He seemed to pop up from nowhere, his gun in his hand already pointed at Tommy with his finger already skillfully squeezing the trigger.
The sound made my ears ring, the pressure almost unbearable in the confined space. Tommy’s cry of pain wasn’t far behind, the damage to his left arm a bloody, obvious mess.
Exploiting his obvious pain and shock, Blane’s anonymous partner launched himself at Tommy, pulling the manual switch to the bomb from his mangled arm and twisting the other behind his back with a knee to his spine to subdue him.
Blane leapt over me, pulling a set of cuffs from God knows where and bringing his injured arm around to meet the other one.
Tommy let out a howl of agony, but from what I could tell Blane moved almost gently. If it had been me, I probably would have dug my knee into his wound out of spite.
I guess that’s why nobody gave me the power or authority to carry a gun or official government position.
Once Tommy was secure and I’d crawled my way off the floor, almost more disgusted by what I’d surely been laying in than the blood coating my tank top, Blane’s attention came back to me.
“That’s two times you actually did what I told you,” he joked with a relieved smirk.
“I hope the memories will carry you through because it probably won’t ever happen again.”
Tommy, despite his captivity, humphed in agreement.
Terrorist asshole.
“That’s okay,” Blane allowed. “This was the time that counted.”
Me forgotten, Blane got back to his job, rolling Tommy over with little to no regard for his cuffed arms and ripping open the front of his shirt.
Meanwhile his still nameless (to me) colleague, ran down his read on the situation. “Manual switch that I’ve recovered, none other on the rest of his extremities.”
Blane joined in, giving a sit rep of his own and confirming our earlier suspicions. “Electrodes on his chest, suggests the dead man switch. Probably got it through security passed off as a heart monitor.”
I watched as he worked diligently, his voice calm and controlled as the rest of the passengers looked on from the back of the plane. Apparently, before he’d left, Blane had given them specific instructions to stay put in the back of the plane until they were told otherwise. And they were all better listeners than I was.
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