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Flight WAC 1403A

By: sahebji



New York, Wednesday 24th April, 1974.

After a severe winter the spring had set in. Sun rays bathed Central Park in New York. Birds chirped happily. Senior citizens greeted each other, happy to have survived the cold weather. Children played noisily while their mothers gossiped. It seemed that the world was at peace with itself but not everyone was happy. 

Mr. Graham Hussley, Chief Editor of 'The Crime Watch', was a worried man. He looked out from his office window, which overlooked the Central Park, but he didn't see the scene below. His mind was wrestling with an important problem; he had called his Senior Crime Editor, Mr. James Rally, to discuss it. 

Mr. Hussley was short and tubby, with a receding hairline. He had the habit of biting his nails when he was worried. He could be very nice and pleasant but he had successfully hidden this part of his character from his staff...except from Mr. James Rally, with whom he went out for a drink once a week. 

"Good afternoon, Graham," James Rally said, entering the small office. 

"Good afternoon, Jim," Mr. Hussley responded gruffly. 

Mr. James Rally, unlike Mr. Hussley, as tall and slim with a pleasant smile and graying sideburns. 

"What's eating you?" James Rally asked, sitting down. 

"I'll tell you," Mr. Hussley replied, walking back to his desk and sitting down. 

"Jim, our circulation is going down day by day. If something is not done about it immediately then we'll soon lose our jobs," Mr. Hussley said dramatically.

His statement had the desired effect. "Is it that bad?" Jim asked, shocked. 

"Yes, it couldn't have been worse," Mr. Hussley said, attacking his nails afresh.

"What can we do about it?" Jim Rally said. 

"People buy our paper to read about the crime in the city," Mr. Hussley said, "Apparently we are not doing our job." 

"Graham, my boys report only those crimes which are committed," Jim said, "We can't manufacture them, can we?"

"Of course not," Mr. Hussley said, getting to his feet, "but we must do something. Think, Jim, think." 

Jim Rally sat thinking, his eyebrows knitted in deep thought, while Mr. Hussley walked nervously up and down the length of his small cubicle. "I suggest we call in Mary Pullman," Jim said. "Sometimes she comes up with good ideas." 

"Call anyone you like," Mr. Hussley growled, "but I want results and quickly." 

Jim got up and, sticking his head out of the door, yelled, "MAAARRRY." 

A few minutes later, Mary Pullman walked in. "Good morning, sir," she said, greeting Mr. Hussley.

"Good morning, Mary," Mr. Hussley replied gruffly. 

Mary Pullman was not a beauty. She was charming with a sunny smile. She stood 5' 7" in her nylons, slim with an attractive figure and shoulder- length light brown hair. She was no spring chicken. At thirty - five she had been a crime reporter for fifteen years, out of which she had spent the last ten years on the rolls of 'The Crime Watch'. 

"Boss, you yelled," Mary said smiling good naturedly at Jim Rally. Jim looked at Mr. Hussley, who waved his hand to go ahead. 

"Mary, the circulation of the paper is going down. We have been brainstorming as to what can we do to make the paper more interesting," Jim Rally said, "Any ideas?" 

"Yes sir, I've several of them," Mary said after thinking for a while. "One of them is that we could take up an unsolved crime which had generated a lot of interest in its time."

"What good would it do for us?" Mr. Hussley asked. 

"Sir, we could write about it and jolt the memory of the public. We could remind the police that the public is watching their performance. We could write about any love angle, its investigations, etc., etc.," Mary said. 

"Hmmm, not bad," Mr. Hussley said. "What do you say, Jim?" 

"A prize winning idea," Jim said enthusiastically, "Mary, have you any such crime in mind?"

"As a matter of fact I have," Mary chuckled, "Only yesterday I was browsing through unsolved crimes in the archives. I found the hijacking of Flight WAC 1403A very interesting." 

"I think the New Orleans murders or the serial rapist of Frisco would be more interesting," Jim said and grinning added, "Nowadays the public goes gaga over the sex angle."

"Those crimes are quite recent. People would still remember the details," Mr. Hussley said, "Murders and rapes are order of the day but not hijacking."

"I was visiting my ailing mother when the hijacking took place but I seem to recall that the police had arrested all six or seven persons involved in it," Jim said.

"No Jim, if my memory serves me correctly," Mr. Hussley said, "not all persons Involved could be apprehended."

"You are right, sir, the Washington Post had several times hinted that the kingpin Is still at large," Mary said. 

"Come on Mary, you know that is an old ploy to sell newspapers," Jim chuckled, chiding Mary. 

"No Jim, we all may do it but not the Post. There must be some truth in it," Mr. Hussley said.

"Sir, we could interview these witnesses again," Mary said excitedly, "Maybe we'll come up with something that the police overlooked."

"Oh, an exclusive for our paper," Mr. Hussley said, dreamily counting his chickens before they were hatched.

"Graham, think about the expense," Jim said, "We can't have a team flying all round the globe interviewing people. It could run into thousands of dollars."

"Mary, Jim has a point there," Mr. Hussley said, coming down to earth. "We don't have that kind of money." 

"No, it won't cost that much. I've given it a lot of thought," Mary said, "The flight originated in New York. Therefore we can safely assume that sixty to seventy percent of the passengers were residents of America. We could interrogate them at minimal expense."

"Mary is right," Mr. Hussley said, "It is decided that our first project will be the hijacking of Flight WAC 1403A. We'll call it "Save Crime Watch" project."

"Sir, there is one problem," Mary said.

"What is it?" Mr. Hussley asked.

"We might have trouble with CIA, the investigating agency in this case," Mary said. 

"Don't worry, I know a few guys in Langley," Mr. Hussley said, "Do you know who was in charge?" 

"Agent Greg Bradley," Mary said. 

"I know Greg very well," Mr. Hussley said, "He'll cooperate as long as we keep him informed. All right, Jim, go ahead. You're in charge of the project." 

Washington, Wednesday 30th October 1963.

"Oh darling, I am terribly sorry to have kept you waiting," Susan Higgins said, apologizing as she kissed the man waiting for her in a booth of a bar and slipped into a chair behind the table. "My boss wanted me to finish something important that came up late in the afternoon." 

"That's all right, I was not alone. Mr. Scotch was keeping me company," the man chuckled, pointing to his drink, "Susan, what's your poison?" 

"What are you drinking? Whisky on the rocks...I'll have the same please," Susan said, patting her blonde hair in place, "God knows I need it." 

Susan was a typical blonde, beautiful but not overly intelligent. She was thirty - seven, 5' 6" tall, with sea green eyes. Her legs were lean and long, her ass high and hard. She had an hourglass figure with big firm breasts. 

The waiter brought her drink and taking a large sip, Susan said, "Darling, how are you? I haven't seen you in months."

"I have been very busy," he said, "I missed you. How have you been?" 

Susan started talking. Giving him details of all that had happened to her since they had met last. He listened to her attentively, encouraging her with monosyllables. 

After dinner they walked arm in arm to Susan's apartment. They had a nightcap and went to bed. The man took Susan in his arms and while kissing her passionately, undressed her. When she was naked he climbed on top of her. 

"Oh, darling," she moaned as his hard shaft penetrated the wetness of her soft pussy.

He began thrusting his hard shaft in and out in a rhythmic pattern. Soon her hips were moving in rhythm with his strokes. He continued to drill her hot pussy and licked and suckled both her heaving tits as she humped from beneath. 

He was about to come. He stroked her pussy faster and faster. Then with a loud grunt he pushed his hardness deep inside her and began pouring his life-giving seed at the mouth of her womb. This triggered off her orgasm.

"OH MY DAAAARRRRRLINNNNNGGGGGggg," she yelled, bucking wildly, as she drenched his man root with her love juices. Their lips were locked in a passionate kiss. When the kiss broke he rolled off her.

"Oh darling, it was wonderful," she moaned. 

He lit two cigarettes and gave one to Susan. 

"Darling, what was the flap in your office about?" the man asked casually. 

"Hughes Aircraft wanted the Agency to ship anti-tank missiles to Germany and Japan for field testing," Susan replied, drawing on her cigarette. 

"Anti-tank missiles, what is new about them? The army has been using them for years," the man replied. 

"I don't know the details but Hughes called them 'Prototype 'A' production' of tube-launched, optically- tracked, wire-guided missiles. They wanted it done in a hurry as they had developed them at a huge cost," Susan replied. 

"What was the urgency?" the man asked, kissing Susan's ample breasts. 

"My boss said that some bloody bureaucrat in the ministry had been sitting on the file too long. The army is clamoring for the new anti- tank missiles. There is going to be an inquiry to pinpoint the delay and he didn't want anyone pointing a finger at us," Susan explained. 

"And you were able to send this "precious" cargo?" the man laughed. 

"Yes, dear," Susan chuckled, "We rang up our shipping agents. The earliest they could ship this "precious" cargo was on World Airways and Charters," Susan said.

"TOW, or whatever you call it, may be "precious" to Hughes Aircraft and your boss but you are more precious to me than all the gold in Fort Knox," he said, hugging her. 

"Oh darling, you say the cutest of things. Come to mama and let her take the starch out of your stiffness," Susan giggled, spreading her legs.

In the morning they made love again. When the man was leaving, he asked casually, "Susan, on which flight did you say the cargo was booked?"

"Flight WAC 1403A on 9th December," she replied, "Darling, when will I see you again?"

"Maybe next Saturday but I'll call you to confirm," he said, kissing her goodbye.

New York, Monday 4th November 1963

"May I speak with Col. Mokolov," he said.

"Who is on the line?" the telephone operator enquired in English. 

"My name is Sparrow," he said. 

"Hold on please," the operator said. A few minutes later Col. Mokolov of the KGB came on the line.

"Yes, Sparrow," he said. 

"Good morning sir, it is Sparrow here," he said. 

"Yes, yes," Col. Mokolov said impatiently, "What news do you have for me?" 

"Sir, are you interested in tube-launched, optically-tracked, wire-guided anti-tank missiles?" he said. 

"You are slipping. That is old stuff," Col. Mokolov asked. 

"No sir. It is a new development. The TOW missiles are still in their Prototype 'A' production stage ready for field testing," Sparrow replied.

"How much," Col Mokolov asked.

"Ten million US dollars... cash," he said. 

"Too much," Col. Mokolov stated. 

"It isn't sir. I'll have to hijack the plane carrying the shipment; for that I'll require help," Sparrow replied.

"Hmmm, I see, payment terms?" Col. Mokolov enquired. 

"One million advance and balance on delivery," Sparrow said.

There was no reply. "Sir, are you still on the line?" Sparrow asked. 

"Yes, yes," Col. Mokolov said, "When will you deliver the goods?"

"Before Christmas this year, Sir, one more thing," Sparrow said. 

"Of course, as is always," Col. Mokolov responded sarcastically. 

"Sir, no harm should come to my men, the passengers and the crew of the aircraft," Sparrow said,

"You Americans are all heart," Col. Mokolov laughed cynically, "Call me tomorrow at the same time." 

Russia had recently suffered humiliation at the hands of America in the Cuba blockade matter and KGB required something to counter it. The good will Russia could earn by rescuing hundreds of passenger—the majority of them are bound to be Americans—, from the clutches of the hijackers and returning the aircraft to the U.S. was worth more than the ten million dollars. 

Next day Sparrow contacted Col. Mokolov again.

"Okay, I'll take it," Col. Mokolov confirmed, "You'll receive one million in the next few days."

"The rest on delivery," Sparrow said. 

"Yes, the rest on delivery," Col. Mokolov confirmed. 

"Merry Christmas, Col. Mokolov," Sparrow said. 

"Merry Christmas," Col. Mokolov said, laughing loudly. 

Somewhere on the outskirts of New York, Sunday 8TH December 1963

Seven persons had assembled in room 312 of a seedy hotel in the outskirts of New York. Two of them lived in America and the other five had reached America by different routes and on different dates. They were staying in separate hotels. They were from varied background with one thing in common; i.e. they were prepared to do anything for money.

They were Peter Ivanovic, a professional criminal; Joe Roach, a pilot who liked blondes; Thomas Leighton, a gay British Professor; Asif Hussain and Ali Mohammed, two petty criminals from Egypt; and Miss Helga Zolner and her boy friend, Karl Herman of West Germany.

Their leader, Peter Ivanovic, forty-five years old, had arrived from Madrid. He was born of a German mother and a Yugoslav father. He had started his criminal career at the tender age of fifteen by taking part in an armed robbery led by his own father. Since then he had tried his hand at various crimes and spent nearly half his life in different prisons of Europe.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Joe Roach, forty, lived in San Francisco. He was a 6' 2" tall; broad-shouldered, muscularly, built black American. He was an expert pilot and could fly any plane. He was an ex pilot of Pan Universal Airways. 

Ten years ago he had landed an aircraft with 106 passengers and six crew members on board in very difficult cyclonic weather conditions and became a national hero overnight. The Media nominated him for the "Pilot of the Year" award for two consecutive years.

His weakness was women, blondes in particular. Nearly three years ago Sabrina Kelly, a natural blonde with sea blue eyes, joined his crew. One evening he arrived unannounced at her apartment.

During the visit he suddenly unzipped his fly and taking out his massive erection said, "Sabrina, have dinner with me and I'll let you have this for dessert." 

Sabrina screamed. The neighbors, hearing the blood curdling scream, called the police. Joe was arrested.

During the trial an onlooker commented to Joe's colleague, "He must be mad to expose himself like that."

"Maybe, but I hear he has screwed nearly all the hostesses who have worked with him by this direct approach," the colleague chuckled. 

"Really? I still think it was sheer madness," insisted the onlooker.

"I would say that he was unlucky," Joe's colleague said. 

"Why do you say this?" the onlooker asked. 

"This was not the first time he did this. Two hostesses had complained earlier to the Company. The Company didn't want to lose a good pilot, so they made Joe apologize and persuaded the hostesses to withdraw their complaints. This case would have gone the same way if the neighbors had not called the police so promptly," the colleague responded. 

The judge found Joe guilty and sent him to prison. The Company fired him. When he was released from jail he tried to get a job as a pilot but no Company was willing to employ a pilot with a criminal record. 

One morning in November, Joe received a phone call. 

"Joe, do you want to earn half a million dollars?" Peter Ivanovic asked.

"Maan, do I get to fly?" Joe asked. 

"Yes, but it is very dangerous," Peter said. 

"I don't care as long as it involves flying," Joe said. 

"If we fail you could be jailed for umpteen years," Peter said. 

"I told ya maan if it is a flying job, I'm in," Joe said. 

"Okay, I'll call you later with more details," Peter said. 

"Hey, man, what's the job?" Joe probed. 

"I can't tell you now but rest assured it is a flying job. You'll be receiving an advance in few days. Be ready to leave town anytime," Peter said and the line went dead.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Both Ali Mohammed and Asif Hussain were around thirty years of age; they flew in from Salzburg, Austria. They were partners since they had met in a Cairo lock up at the age of fifteen.

Ali was the fifth of the ten children spawned by his parents. The parents were too busy earning money to feed and clothe their family to pay attention to individual child. Ali dropped out of school at the age of ten and took to the streets. Soon he was an expert pickpocket. His primary target was tourists. 

At the age of fifteen, the police nabbed him and threw him in jail. There he met Asif Hussain. Asif's background was similar to Ali's. They became fast friends. On release they worked together. 

They often dreamt about going to Europe where, they had read, women were easy and wine flowed like water. They had their passports ready waiting for a chance to travel. Then their chance came. 

One evening ten years ago on their way home they saw a young foreign girl standing alone by the roadside.

"You lost," Ali asked in broken English. The girl did not reply and looked away. 

"Miss," Asif repeated what Ali had said, "You lost." 

"No, go away and do not bother me," she replied snootily, "I am waiting for my parents." 

They looked at each other. It was dark. No one was in sight. Asif grabbed her from behind and placing his hand over her mouth, pinched her nose with his thumb and forefinger till she lost consciousness. Ali threw a gunny sack over the unconscious girl and carried her to their room. 

They lived in a ten foot by ten foot room with a large closet and a small toilet. There was a tap in one corner; a kerosene stove with two dirty enamel plates and a few cooking utensils in another corner and a mattress in the third corner. A stale smell from their last meal hung in the air. 

The girl was still unconscious. 

They tied her hands and stuffed a dirty-smelling sock in her mouth. They undressed her and when she regained consciousness they raped her virgin body. They ravished her in all conceivable ways several times that night. In the morning they tied her hands behind her back and after stuffing a dirty sock in her mouth they locked her naked in the closet.

"We call your parents," Asif told her in broken English "You be comfortable here. We be back soon." 

They made a beeline for the docks. Their luck was in. The freighter "Bonnie Lass" was anchored on dock number six. They knew Captain Angus Mcgee very well. They had been drinking partners on many occasions. 

"Bonnie Lass" was their escape route. After hard bargaining Captain Mcgee agreed to take them to Naples, to smuggle them on land and write an introductory letter to Mario, a master forger, from whom they could procure a visa and a work permit, for five thousand American dollars each. It was daylight robbery but they had no choice and the deal was struck. 

"I weigh anchor at six p.m. on Saturday," Skipper Mcgee warned. "Be here on time, otherwise will sail without you." 

"We'll be here," Ali said, and they left. 

Then Asif and Ali phoned the girl's parents. They demanded fifty thousand American dollars in used notes of small denomination by noon on Saturday. Her parents agreed to pay. They hung up after threatening the parents that if they went to the police then their daughter would be returned t them piece by piece. 


Flight WAC 1403A



They bought some food and returned to their room. 

"We have asked for fifty thousand dollars," Ali said, giving the girl bread and thick soup. 

The girl was famished and gulped down her food. "My parents will pay," the girl said, confidently with her mouth full. 

"They better! Otherwise otherwise you'll have to earn it for us by whoring for the rest of your life," Asif chuckled. 

Till Saturday noon they did nothing but eat, sleep and screw the hapless girl. On Saturday they locked her in the closet again. 

"We'll let you know where to find her after we have checked the money," Asif told her father, after taking delivery of the money at the appointed time and place. They returned with the money to their room. The money was in order. They banged the girl till five and then locked her in the closet again. 

"Good bye. Thank you for a good time," Ali laughed, "Don't worry, they'll find you. I'll place this note reading, "She in here" on the closet door."

Shortly before the clock struck six they telephoned the girl's parents from the docks telling them where to find their daughter and boarded the freighter. By the time the parents and the police found the girl, "Bonnie Lass" was steaming westward in international waters.

After procuring their visa and work permit from Mario they celebrated. For fifteen days they drank and visited prostitutes. Then they returned to their old work of stealing from tourists. They worked in Naples for two years before shifting to Rome. 

A couple of years later they met Peter Ivanovic in Rome's prison. There was a fight and Peter Ivanovic saved their lives. "Sir, we are very grateful to you for saving our lives," Asif had said, with folded hands. 

"Our worthless lives belong to you," Ali had said, "Please call us if we can be of any service to you." Since then they had kept in touch with Peter Ivanovic. 

Ten days ago Peter called them, "I require help in a job. Can I count on you?" 

"Yes, we are in," they said. 

"Don't you want to know what the job is? What your share is going to be, etc.?" Peter asked. 

"No, you saved our neck once. This life belongs to you," they said. 

"It is very dangerous. If we succeed, then you get half a million dollars each and if we fail then a long stretch in jail," Peter said. "Money is no consideration. You need us we are ready," they said. "I'll be sending some money for expenses with instructions. Be ready to leave on short notice," Peter said. 

________________________________________________________________

Thomas Leighton, around fifty, was an Englishman. His father worked in the British Embassy in Moscow for nearly ten years. Thomas finished his schooling there and joined the Moscow University. When his father was posted back to England he stayed back to complete the course of Russian language at Moscow University. On his return to England he found a job in the School of Languages in Liverpool but the pay was not good. He changed several jobs but was not satisfied. 

One day he received a letter from a friend telling him that the School of Languages, University of Maryland, U.S.A., required someone to teach the Russian language. After some correspondence Thomas landed the job and relocated to the States. 

Everything was fine till one day, on a tip off, the police raided his apartment. They found young Harry Wilkinson with his pants down inside Thomas's apartment and Thomas's stiff tool inside young Harry's backside.

Harry was the only son of a local politician. Mr. Wilkinson put all his weight and resources behind Thomas's prosecution. Thomas went to jail and on his release he shifted to New Orleans.

"Mr. Leighton, you don't know me but you have been highly recommended to me by someone," Peter Ivanovic said on phone. "Are you interested in earning half a million dollars?"

"Who isn't?" Thomas laughed. 

"If we fail then you can look forward to a long stretch in jail," Peter said.

"I enjoy prison life," he chuckled.

"You'll be paid half a million for the job," Peter said.

I'll be sending money for expenses and instructions in a few days."

________________________________________________________________

Helga Zolner was born in Dortmund, West Germany. She was not overly pretty but had a pleasant face. She had thick brown hair that fell past her shoulders. She was around thirty years of age and about 5'6" tall. What she lacked in beauty she made up in brains and guts. Even as a child she had a criminal bend of mind.

One afternoon she allowed her neighbor, Herr Helmut Halter, a fifty year old widower, to seduce her. She enjoyed what he did. 

When she was leaving, she said, dropping a few crocodile tears, "Herr Halter, soll ich meine mutti erzaehlen was Sie mit mir getan haben? (Herr Halter, shall I tell my mother what you did with me?)" 

"Nein, bestimmt nicht. Lass es unseres Geheimnis sein (No, definitely not. Let it be our secret)," Herr Halter begged, pressing a couple of ten mark notes in her hand. "Kauf dir Eis oder Schokolade (Buy yourself ice cream or chocolate)." 

"Danke schoen. Ich werde meine mutti nichts sagen (Thank you, I won't tell my mother)," she said. 

"Gutes maedel. Komm wieder, ich werde dir mehr geld geben (Good girl. Come again, I'll give you more money)," Herr Halter said, kissing her. 

Helga did not spend the money but hid it in a shoe box in her cupboard. In the next few weeks she seduced two more of her neighbors. Then she started milking them systematically. Helga was not greedy. She made reasonable demands which they paid happily in exchange for services she gladly rendered. 

Three years later she took all her money and without telling anyone left home for Hamburg where she planned to stow away on a ship to a place far away from home but in Hamburg she met Herr Manfred Schneider.

She liked him and in matter of days moved into his flat. Manfred was a non- conformist. He was willing to lay down his life for a cause if he believed in it. There were many causes he felt very strongly about like the atomic bomb, Jews, Communism, etc., to name a few.

He traveled with Helga all over Europe giving speeches, leading rallies and holding demonstrations. A couple of years later a peaceful rally in Lisbon turned violent and the police opened fire. Manfred was among the twenty-seven activists killed.

Helga returned to Hamburg. Some years later she joined the Hamburg arm of a militant outfit. Peter Ivanovic was second-in-command of this arm. She slept with Peter and he recommended her for higher training. She became an expert in unarmed combat and a crack shot with small arms.

The Hamburg arm of the group was on stand by. After two years of inactivity Helga got bored and left it.

Six months later she met Karl Herman in a pub. Karl Herman was the only son of his parents. He was twenty four years old and studying at the Hamburg Universitaet. His professors once told his parents that Karl was a 'Summa cum Laude' student. 

Helga and Karl were attracted to each other like the opposite poles of a magnet. After a couple of beers Helga took Karl to her flat. They emerged three days later.

Karl was very enamored of Helga. Gradually, he stopped attending classes. His parents and well-wishers tried their best to bring him back on track but Karl was adamant and continued to follow Helga around. Helga was equally smitten by Karl. She went out of her way to fulfill his every wish. 

One morning she received a call from Peter Ivanovic. 

"Helga, I would like you to join me on a job," Peter said. 

"How much will you pay?" Helga asked, in her usual forthright manner. 

"Half a million dollars," Peter said. Helga whistled. 

"American?" she asked. 

"Yes, plus reasonable expenses," Peter laughed.

"Alright but only if you take my partner also," she said. Peter kept quiet. After a minute Helga said, "Hello...Peter are you still on the line?"

"Yes," Peter said, "Can your partner handle a gun?"

"He is a better shot than me," Helga laughed. 

"Okay, be prepared to travel to America. I'll wire the money soon," Peter said. 

"Peter, how much will my partner be paid?" Helga persisted. 

"Same as you," Peter said and hung up. 

"ENDLICH (AT LAST)," Helga shouted replacing the receiver. Karl looked up from the book he was reading and raised an eyebrow.

"Schatz, wir werden bald sehr reich sein (Darling, we will be very rich soon)," Helga said with a broad smile.

Karl smiled and returned to his book.

________________________________________________________________

"Welcome to the United States of America. I trust you all had a good flight," Peter said, "My name is Peter Ivanovic. I am going to be your leader on this caper." 

"What is the job?" Joe Roach asked impatiently. 

"All in good time," Peter laughed, "First things first. What will you like to drink?" 

Joe Roach ordered a beer. Thomas, Ali, and Asif ordered tea. "Nothing for me, but a beer for Karl," Helga said. Karl looked at her and smiled. When the waiter had left after serving, Joe again repeated his query.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are going to hijack a plane," Peter said dramatically. 

His statement had the desired effect. At first there was a stunned silence followed by buzz of disbelief and then vocal protest. 

"Isn't it going to be dangerous?" Thomas Leighton asked. 

"Do you think I'm paying you half a million dollars each to suck eggs?" Peter said. 

"Oh, sorry," Thomas Leighton said blushing," I didn't mean it that way." 

"For half a million bucks I'd hijack the whole fucking squadron," Joe said belligerently.

"What is the plan?" Helga asked calmly coming to brass tracks.

"I'll explain, but first take these bags containing your tickets, your ski masks and some more money for expenses," Peter said, "Check if the data matches your passports." 

For the next ten minutes there was silence. Then one by one they indicated that the data was correct." 

We'll reach JFK airport separately like we came here. We will pretend to be strangers, absolutely no greetings are to be exchanged, not even a smile of recognition. We'll wait separately at the airport. You must have noticed that the seats on the aircraft have already been earmarked." 

"When we are approaching the mainland of Europe I'll give a signal and we'll pull on our ski masks. Joe, Thomas and I will take over the cockpit. Helga will relocate the passengers from the first two rows for the crew and watch over them. Karl will keep guard at the rear and Ali and Asif will keep an eye on the passengers from the centre. Are there any questions?"

"How will we know when we have to wear our masks?" Ali asked. 

"When you see us go into the cockpit," Peter said. 

"Where will we land?" Thomas asked, "Just curious, not that it matters." 

"Moscow," Peter said, "That is why you are here." 

"In Russia," Asif said, "Won't they arrest us?" 

"No, we'll be perfectly safe," Peter said.

"When do we get our half a million dollars?" Helga asked.

"I'll pay the money when we land. You'll leave Russian soil within hours to a place of your choice and I hope we never see each other again. Is there anything else?" Peter chuckled.

Everyone shook their heads in the negative. 

"Good, now that I've got money, I'll find myself a nice blonde and fuck her silly," Joe said getting up.

"Best of luck," Peter smiled, "Please don't get into a fight or do anything silly tonight and get arrested."

"Peter, we will leave as soon as Karl has finished his beer," Helga said.

"Girlie, come with me to the bathroom," Joe said, opening his fly and taking out his massive tool and added, "you can enjoy this while the wimp finishes his beer." 

Everyone gasped in awe at the size of Joe's tool. Three things happened simultaneously; Helga's eyes widened, her jaw dropped and her panties became wet. For a fraction of a second she was tempted to accompany Joe to the bathroom but controlled herself. 

"You dirty nigger, put that thing away before I make you a eunuch," Helga said waving a .32 pistol, which appeared in her hand from nowhere. 

"Eunuch, my ass," Joe laughed, slamming his erection on the table with a bang. 

"Joe, I'd put it away if I were you," Peter advised, "Helga is a crack shot. I've seen her take out a bird's eye at fifty yards. 

Joe paled and put his cock away in his trousers quickly. Karl laughed taking his hand out from his jacket pocket slowly.

"I think we'll leave," Asif and Ali said, "See you guys tomorrow."

"Joe, let's go and have drink," Thomas said waving to the rest, "I know just the place."

Helga and Karl were last to leave. When Peter was alone then the phone rang. 

"Yes sir, Peter speaking," Peter said, picking up the receiver. The phone crackled. 

"Yes sir, I've gone over the plan with them...They have understood the plan...Yes sir, they think I am the boss...Will you be on board?...Oh I see...Good night, sir," Peter said, replacing the receiver. 

Peter looked skyward and muttered a small prayer before leaving. 

Somewhere in the suburbs of New York, Monday9thDecember 1963 

"Mike, it is time to get up," Mrs. Sarah Scott said shaking her sleeping son.

"Mom, please just a few minutes more then I'll get up," Mike said, turning over. 

"Get up or you'll miss your flight," Mrs. Scott repeated.

"I am awake," Mike said, yawning, "I'll be with you in a minute.

"No, I know you. If I leave you'll go back to sleep. I'll stay here till you go in for a shower," mom said, smiling warily." 

"You win, mom," Mike said, and dashed into the bathroom.

"You win, mom," Mike said, and dashed into the bathroom. Mrs. Sarah Scott, fifty-five, had lost her husband two years ago in a road accident. Mike was her only child. He was 25 years old, 6'2" tall and weighed 170lbs of solid muscle. He worked out regularly and was fit as a fiddle. He looked quite handsome with his dark hair and skin.

Mike was an electrical engineer. He had finished his studies a month ago and before taking up a job he wanted to fulfill his childhood dream. He had read so much about India that he was very keen to visit this country. Today his dream was about to become a reality. He was flying to India for a month's holiday by flight WAC 1403A.

Fifteen minutes later he was munching his egg and toast.

"I didn't sleep very well last night," Mike said, yawning. 

"Excited," mom smiled, knowingly. 

"Yes, mom, I was so excited that I couldn't sleep and when I finally did, it was time to get up," he sighed. 

"Don't worry; you can sleep on the flight," mom said. 

After breakfast he said goodbye to his mother and, promising to write, he left for the airport.

Hotel Plaza, New York, 9th December 1963

Sally was lying in bed. She smiled to herself recalling how she had met her husband, Stanley Holworth.

It was a Saturday afternoon nearly six months ago. She was standing in the checkout line of Walmart. Sally, twenty-five, was a school teacher. She was 5'3", pretty, good figure with shoulder-length auburn hair. She was fashionably dressed in a body hugging light blue blouse and a navy blue skirt.

Stan Holworth, thirty, was before her in the line. Stan Holworth stood six feet in his socks. He was handsome, well-built with broad shoulders. 

"Excuse me," she said tapping him on the shoulder, "Aren't you the father of one of my children?"

There was pin drop silence. All persons in hearing distance gaped at them with shameless interest. Even the cashier stopped ringing up a sale and stared at Sally with open mouth. For the first time Stan Holworth, a promising trial lawyer, was at a loss for words. 

"I...I...I..." he stammered. 

"Danny is a bright lad," Sally said brightly, "You should be proud of him." 

By now Stan had recovered his composure. "Ma'am," he said tersely, "I don't even know you." 

"Oh my mistake, let me introduce myself. I am Sally Blake, Danny's teacher," she said extending her hand, not realizing her faux pas. 

"Ma'am, you are mistaken. I don't have a son named Danny," he said, ignoring her outstretched hand, "As a matter of fact, I am not even married." 

"Oh I am sorry," Sally said calmly, "But Danny looks so much like you." 

The crowd which had collected to watch a scandal dispersed with a disappointed laugh but Stan Holworth was not finished with her. For the next five minutes he gave her a large piece of his legal mind and then turning on his heels left her sobbing quietly into her hanky. 

A week later as Sally stepped out of Walmart, she heard someone calling her name. She stopped and seeing that it was Stan Holworth she turned and hurried on. 

"Sally, please stop," Stan said, "I want to say something to you." 

She stopped and facing him, said icily, "Haven't you said enough already?" 

"Please don't be angry. I want to apologize for my rudeness the other day," Stan said, placing his hand on her arm, "I have been hovering around Walmart for the last week to meet you. I had a bad day in court that day but it is no excuse for my rude behavior." 

"Apology accepted. Now may I go?" she said looking at her arm. 

"Please, if you are not in a hurry, then can I buy you a cup of coffee?" Stan asked, smiling, "It will give me an opportunity to make amends." 

"On one condition," Sally said impishly.

"What may that be?" he said cautiously.

"That you do not apologize anymore," she giggled.

After that they started seeing each other regularly. Four months later Stan popped the question and Sally accepted happily. Sally's parents approved of Stan. Then one Friday evening Stan took Sally to meet his parents. They gave their consent also. 

After dinner, while saying goodbye to his parents, Stan said, "It is getting late. I'll drop Sally home." 

Stan drove her straight to his apartment. After a couple of drinks Sally asked Stan to drop her home.

"No, you'll stay here tonight," Stan said.

"W...W...What?" Sally stammered. 

"Darling, I am going to make wild and violent love to you," he said, embracing her.

"B...B...But..." Sally stammered. 

"No buts. I listened to you before, but not tonight," he said firmly, and carried her into the bedroom.

That night Sally lost her virginity. They made love several times that night. On Saturday and Sunday they ate, slept and made love. On Sunday afternoon Stan drove her to her apartment. They made love again several times and Stan went to work from Sally's apartment on Monday morning.

Sally had wanted a May wedding but they couldn't wait that long. They were married on 8th December, 1963. After the wedding they flew to New York and checked in the honeymoon suite of the Hotel Plaza. After a romantic candlelight dinner with wine and champagne they returned to their suite.

It was their wedding night. Stan changed into his pajama suit and got into bed. After fifteen minutes Sally, wearing a nearly transparent black baby-doll nightie and black panties, emerged from the bathroom.

"Darling, take off your nightie and get into bed. I am ready," Stan said, pointing to his pajama suit lying on the floor.

"No, first switch off the light," she said, coyly. 

"Sally, don't be so bashful," Stan chuckled, "I've seen you naked before."

"Sir, you have seen Miss Sally Blake naked but not Mrs. Stanley Holworth," Sally announced, with a straight face. 

"Oh alright," Stan laughed, and switched off the light. 

Sally slipped into bed. Stan took her into his arms and kissed her tenderly, then passionately. His tongue sought her tongue. They sucked each other's tongue lips.

While they kissed Stan pushed her flimsy nightie above her breasts. His hand caressed her body and squeezed her breast. Sally moaned. Stan pushed his hand inside her panties. He pressed her lump of pleasure.

"Oh darling, take me," Sally moaned. 

Stan pushed her panties down. She shifted her weight strategically to help him. Her panties fell on the floor as Stan straddled her. She spread her legs, making room for him. Sally put her hand between her legs and, gripping his erection, aimed it in the right direction. 




Flight WAC 1403A



Stan moved forward slowly, inserting the hard tool into her hot slippery wetness.

"Oh darling, it feels sooo good," she moaned. 

Stan started to thrust his lance back and forth with practiced regularity. 

"Oh darling, oh darling," she moaned, humping from below. 

He increased his speed and the intensity of his strokes. Her hips moved up and down in rhythm of his strokes. Her body arched.

"OH YES, OH YESSS. I'M NEARLY THERE. OH OHHH I AAMMMM CUMMMMINNNG," she shouted, and fell back panting on the bed. A few strokes later Stan, with a loud grunt, pushed deep inside her and spurted his seed at the mouth of her womb.

Their mouths sought each other. They kissed passionately, savoring the intense feeling they had just experienced. The kiss broke and Stan rolled of her. They made love two more times before falling asleep in each others arms.

"Sally, stop dreaming and get ready. We have to be at the airport in one hour," Stan said. 

"Where are you going?" she asked getting up.

"To pay our bill, why?" Stan said. 

"Oh nothing," she said, pouting, and walked to the bathroom dragging her baby doll nightie behind her.

Holiday Inn, New York, Monday 9th December 1963

"Jaldi karo na (Please hurry up)," Mr. Mannubhai Patel said to his wife Kokilaben, "Otherwise we'll miss our flight." 

"Main tayyar hoon lakin aapki lardli beti ko time lag raha hai (I am ready but your darling daughter is taking her time)," Kokilaben Patel replied. 

"I am also ready," Arti announced emerging from the bathroom wearing tight jeans and body hugging sweater. 

Arti was twenty years old. She was very pretty with a gorgeous figure. Her parents had brought her to the States in the hope that they will find a suitable match for her in the large Guajarati community living here but after three months she was still unmarried. Now they were returning home.

"Oh my God," Kokilaben said slapping her forehead. 

"What is the matter?" Arti said, "Is something wrong?" 

"Look at yourself," Kokilaben said, "If a decent Gujarati boy sees you in these clothes he'll reject you right away." 

"What is wrong with them? They are very comfortable," Arti said. 

"So is a sari," Kokilaben said. 

"Mama, it is only for the flight," Arti said. 

"Many Indians will be returning home on this flight. Some on them will have marriageable sons at home. Why take a chance," Kokilaben said, "Best is that you speak with your father. Mannubhai, look how your daughter is dressed." 

Mr. Patel saw her and said, "Your mother is right; wear a sari. I suggest that you wear the red sari which you bought just before coming to the States." 

"Oh papa, I have already packed it," Arti said. 

"Don't worry I'll help you unpack," Kokilaben said quickly. Arti took the sari and went into the bathroom leaving her mother to repack the suitcase. 

"I'm ready," Arti said ten minutes later. 

"Arti, my dear, I bet you'll be the prettiest girl on the flight," Mr. Patel said, hugging his daughter.

Convent of Sacred Heart, New Jersey, Monday 9th December 1963

"Sister Abigail, are the children ready?" Mother Superior of the Convent of Sacred Heart asked. 

"Yes, Mother Superior," Sister Abigail replied. 

"All right, ask them to stand in line next to their suitcases," Mother Superior said. 

"Sister Bernadine, Sister Augusta, get the girls to stand in a line," Sister Abigail said, "Girls, stand in one line next to your suitcase." 

The girls scampered and, amid lots of giggling and jousting, they stood in one line. When order was restored one suitcase stood unattended. 

"Whose suitcase is this?" Mother Superior said, pointing to the case in question. Everyone bent forward to see who was missing. 

"Mother Superior, I think it is Rosaline's," Angela said. 

Just then six-year-old Rosaline came running, hugging a doll. "Where were you?" Sister Augusta asked sternly. 

"I went to get my dolly. Please can I take her with me?" Rosaline said pouting, "Will the Pope shake her hand also?" Some of the girls giggled. 

"Quiet. Of course Rosaline you can take her. The Pope will be very happy to shake her hand," Mother Superior said touching her cheeks. 

"The bus is ready," Sister Constantine announced. 

"All right girls, remember what I told you. Older girls keep an eye on the younger ones sitting next to them. Now get on the bus," Mother Superior said, "Angela, take special care of Rosaline. Make sure she doesn't get into trouble or wander off." 

"Yes, Mother Superior," Angela said obediently. Angela was a beauty. She was fourteen with long blonde hair, blue eyes and shapely boobs.

"Have a nice trip," Mother Superior said, as the bus started to move. 

"Bye, bye," the girls shouted excitedly, waving wildly to all who were not so lucky to go with them.

Twelve girls of the Convent of Sacred Heart were visiting Rome for fifteen days. Sister Abigail was in charge with Sister Bernadine and Sister Augusta to help her. The Pope had graciously agreed to receive them in The Vatican on the 13th of December.

JFK Airport, Monday 9th December 1963. 

The departure lounge for flight WAC 1403A at JFK Airport was overflowing with passengers like any other lounge. The seats were not enough to accommodate all the passengers.

Among the passengers there were eight priests in cassocks and three monks dressed in frocks on the flight that day. Two priests stood by the large windows watching the movement of the planes, two browsed through books/magazines at the book stall, and the balance of four sat sprinkled around the lounge reading newspapers, etc. The three monks were busy talking among themselves.

Helga sat at the bar drinking tea and Karl stood by her side imbibing beer. Helga was talking and Karl listened to her attentively.

Joe Roach sat at a table with a glass of beer. He was watching Helga covertly. There was something about this woman that excited him. 

"May I join you," Thomas Leighton said to Joe.

"Sure," Joe replied. 

Immediately a waitress approached the table to take his order. Thomas ordered a cup of tea.

"Bewitching, isn't she?" Thomas chuckled.

"I have fucked a few hundred girls. Most of them were air hostesses and much prettier than she is. But there is something about her which excites me," Joe replied, without taking his eyes off Helga, "Doesn't she do something to you also?" 

"You want to know what excites me?" Thomas Leighton chuckled, surveying the lounge. Joe nodded.

"Do you see the woman in the far corner wearing a red dress?" Thomas asked. Joe nodded again. 

"Look past her then you'll see two school boys," Thomas said. 

"Yeah, I see them," Joe confirmed. 

"I like that type of virgin material," Thomas laughed. 

"Oh, I see," Joe said, "I didn't know you were gay." 

"When I have the half a million bucks then I'll get myself a different boy of different nationality for each day of the week," Thomas said dreamily. 

"Best of luck," Joe laughed and moved off. 

Peter Ivanovic kept an eye on his flock. He saw Thomas joining Joe at his table and frowned. I'll have to talk to them to follow his orders strictly in future. He nodded his approval when he saw Joe move off.

The Patel's waited patiently for their flight to be announced. Arti Patel was the prettiest girl in the lounge drawing glances of admiration from one and all. Arti was enjoying the attention she was getting.

"Arti, wearing the red sari was the right decision," Mrs. Patel chuckled, "You are the center of attraction." Arti smiled happily. 

"Why not? Our daughter is beautiful, but the pity is that the Indian families on our flight have only small children," Mr. Patel lamented.

They missed one admirer of Arti. Mike Scott sat facing Arti four rows away. He could not keep his eyes away from Arti's beautiful face and her hourglass figure. He stared brazenly at her. For a fraction of a second their eyes met. He smiled at her. Arti returned his smile shyly and lowered her eyes. 

"She is lovely," he thought, "Why can't I meet girls like her?"

Stan and Sally sat in the last row oblivious to what was going on around them.

The girls from the Convent chattered excitedly with each other. They ran around playing games. The nuns kept an eye on them and called them back if they wandered off too far. 

Ali and Asif watched the young girls from the convent particularly Angela. 

"Asif, look at the blonde girl," Ali said, "Doesn't she remind you of the blonde we had in Cairo?" 

"Yes, she was hot," Ali said, "Remember she had promised to come back. Maybe we should have waited for her." 

"You idiot, if we had waited then we would have been behind bars for kidnapping that American girl," Ali said tersely. 

"Yes, that is so, but I miss her," Asif replied, "Maybe we can have some fun with her when this caper is over."

"Yeah, that is the first good idea you have had all day," Ali drooled.

Mr. and Mrs. Alex Smith were also flying to Frankfurt by WAC 1403A. Alex and Martha had migrated to the United States from Germany shortly after they got married. 

For thirty years they had worked hard and ten years ago, when the owner of the Hardware store in which Alex worked was put up for sale, they bought it. For the last ten years they had not gone on a vacation of more than a few days. 

When Alex turned sixty they decided to sell the store and enjoy life in general. This was their first trip home since they had emigrated.

"Oh, oh," Martha said. 

"What is the matter, honey," Alex asked. 

"Do you see those two men staring at the blonde girl?" Martha asked. 

"Of course, she is young and very beautiful," Alex chuckled, "Any red-blooded American would admire such a beauty."

Alex and Martha were more American than the most of the Americans. They had even changed their name to Smith from Schmidt to blend better with them.

"Yes, but they are foreigners," Martha said, in a confidential tone. 

"Let them enjoy also," Alex laughed. 

"Alex, mark my words," Martha prophesied, shaking her forefinger at Alex, "There will be trouble on the flight." 

"Martha, relax and enjoy," Alex advised, "Shall I get you something to drink?" 

"No, thank you," Martha said stiffly.

Other seats were occupied by three families, two Indian and one American, a group of Hare Krishna Hare Rama sect, and several single men of different age groups who looked like students and business men. 

Few minutes later the loudspeaker crackled announcing the departure of Flight WAC 1403A. 

Flight WAC 1403A was a combi flight i.e. only half the flight was meant for passengers and the rest for cargo. 

The passenger cabin was located immediately after the cockpit in the front half of the aircraft and was partitioned off from the rest of the aircraft. This flight had only one class i.e. economy. Most of the seats in the passenger cabin were occupied but some seats were still available. 

The priests and the monks occupied the first two rows. 

Mr. Patel, his wife Kokilaben and Arti sat in the thirteenth row on the left of the front as you enter the aircraft. Mr. Patel occupied the window seat, his wife Kokilaben sat in the center and Arti sat in the aisle seat. 

Mike sat in an aisle seat in eleventh row. Mr. and Mrs. Alex Smith occupied two seats in the fifteenth row on the right and Sally and Stan Holworth sat in the eighteenth row but on the opposite side of the Smiths. 

The girls from the convent and the nuns occupied three rows - seventh, eighth and ninth. Sister Bernadine occupied the aisle seat in front of Mike, Sister Augusta sat on the aisle seat of eighth row but on the other side and Sister Abigail occupied aisle seat on the same side as Sister Bernadine but in the seventh row. In this way one nun kept tabs on five girls. Angela sat next to Sister Augusta. Rosaline, glued to the window, sat next to Sister Augusta.

Out of the other seats about ninety percent were occupied by the three families, Hare Krishna Hare Rama clan, students and business men and the rest were vacant. 

The flight took off punctually and proceeded smoothly towards its destination. During the flight the children chattered noisily and ran up and down the aisle playing games. The nuns caught them and led them back to their seats in case they ran too far. Angela, the oldest of the girls, changed places with Sister Augusta as Sister Augusta was feeling airsick. 

The Hare Krishna Hare Rama clan strummed the strings of a guitar and sang songs softly. Some read and others slept. After meals the lights were dimmed and the stewardesses got time to relax. 

The passengers dozed as the plane unerringly flew towards the mainland of Europe. As the plane flew over the mainland of Europe three figures rose from their seats and covering their faces with ski masks, entered the flight deck. A few minutes later four others got up and wearing their ski masks took their positions as decided earlier.

Peter and Thomas emerged a few minutes later with the flight crew in tow. In the meanwhile, Helga and Karl had rounded up the other three air hostesses and handcuffed them. 

"Gentlemen, please find other seats," Peter said respectfully to the clergymen occupying the first two rows, "because the crew members are going to sit here." 

The clergymen vacated their seats post haste and found alternate seats. The crew was handcuffed to the seats. The process went so smoothly that the rest of the passengers did not have any inkling of it. 

Then Peter announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the plane has been hijacked and we are in control now. One stewardess will be available to look after your immediate needs." Helga freed a hostess named Mimi.

Suddenly there was panic. Some passengers screamed, some protested loudly and some looked towards the sky seeking Divine help.

"Please remain seated. No one will get hurt if you obey us," Peter Ivanovic announced. 

"Where are you taking us?" someone asked. 

"There are many possibilities," Peter replied patiently, "I'll let you know as soon as it is finalized."

Peter returned to the flight deck after making the announcement. 

The next two hours the aircraft flew towards its new destination. The hijackers stood guard while Mimi attended to the passenger's immediate needs.

"Brother," Ali said, "get me something to drink. I am very thirsty." 

"I saw just the thing for you," Asif replied laughing.

Few minutes later he returned with two bottles of wine. "Drink this with the compliments of the management," Asif laughed, taking a swig out of his bottle. They drank in silence for a while.

"She looks like an angel with her fair skin, blue eyes and golden hair, doesn't she?" Ali said, nudging Asif with his elbow.

"You are right," Asif replied, "Beautiful girl, what is your name?"

"Angela, sir," she replied shyly.

"What an appropriate name," Ali laughed, "She looks like an angel...Angela." 

This exchange was followed by silence. 

Suddenly Ali said impulsively, "Listen Angela, forget the nuns. Come with us. We'll show you how to have fun...real fun." 

"Yeah, each night will be your wedding night," Asif elaborated, and laughing added, "some nights you will celebrate your wedding night two or three times."

"Please don't," Angela blushed, and hid her face in Sister Augusta's big bosom. 

"Please sir, this is no way to talk," Sister Augusta said, "She is very young." 

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize that she was a virgin," Ali chuckled. 

"Yeah, talk about her wedding night must be embarrassing for her," Asif laughed. 

"I know what pretty girls like," Ali said, pocketing the gun and pointing to her blouse, "undo the buttons of your blouse and give us a glimpse of your beautiful boobs." 

"No...no," Angela screeched, cringing deeper into her seat. 

"Don't touch her," Sister Augusta said tersely, pushing Ali's hand away. 

"You bloody black bitch how dare you touch me? If you touch me again then I'll fuck you so hard in your ass hole that you won't be able to sit or shit for several days, understood?" Ali said, glaring angrily at Sister Augusta.

Everyone was shocked, shocked at the ferocity and profanity of the threat. Sister Augusta cringed back in her seat under the Ali's angry stare. Suddenly Ali smiled, displaying his dirty yellow teeth, and turning to Angela said, "Now where was I...oh yes...open the buttons of your blouse, little girl, and show us your shapely tits...or I'll open them for you."

"NO, NO PLEASE DON'T TOUCH ME," Angela yelped, and cringed back. 

Asif laughed. 

Mike could no longer take it. He sprang to his feet and caught Ali's hand moving towards the buttons of Angela's blouse and said menacingly, "You bastard, can't you understand English? She said not to touch her," and punched Ali squarely on his nose. 

Ali staggered back into Asif, unbalancing him and they fell to the floor of the plane. 

"Let us have a look at your face," Mike said, and bent down to unmask the hijacker. 

Just as Mike was about to pull off the ski mask another hijacker attacked him from behind. Mike turned to face him. They both grappled. Soon Mike had wrestled the hijacker to the floor and ripped off his mask but at that very moment someone gun whipped him. 

"OH," Mike cried, and holding his head fell on the floor unconscious. 

The second hijacker took this opportunity to turn his face around towards the plane's floor and stood up after adjusting his mask. 

"You barbarians, you have killed him," Arti screamed, and getting up from her seat, sat on the floor of the plane, holding Mike's bleeding head on her lap. She appealed to the passengers, "Is there a doctor on board?"

There was no response.

"Oh, is there a doctor on board?" she begged again, with tears running down her cheeks. 

A man of forty-five with a middle-age belly and thinning hairline stood up. "I am a doctor but I don't have my bag with me," he said apologetically.

"Oh Lord, please don't let this brave man die," Arti pleaded, looking upwards. 

"We have a first aid kit on board," Mini the hostess whispered, hesitatingly. 

"What are you waiting for? Go get it girl," the hijacker, whom Mike had unmasked, said. 

The doctor worked with practiced ease. A quarter of an hour later he announced, "He'll be okay. The wound is not deep and the bleeding has stopped. I've bandaged it for the present but he requires to be kept under observation for at least forty-eight hours." 

"Papa, you occupy this brave gentleman's seat, mama you shift to papa's seat and I'll sit with him in case he requires something," Arti said.

When they were seated, Kokilaben Patel said, "Arti, your sari is ruined. You'll never be able to get rid of these blood stains."

"Oh, mama, you are worried about the damned sari when a man's life is at stake," Arti responded. Kokilaben blushed at this rebuke and looked out of the window.

An hour later a hijacker announced, "We'll be landing in Moscow shortly. An ambulance will be waiting at the tarmac to take this young man to the hospital." 

When the plane landed the paramedics boarded the plane. As they carried Mike out, Arti followed. 

"Arti, stop," Kokilaben said, "the doctors will now take care of him." 

"No, mama, I want to be with him till he is okay," Arti said, and sat in the ambulance with Mike. 

Next morning the world media went wild. 

"FLIGHT WAC 1403A HIJACKED TO MOSCOW" read one headline. 

"RUSSIA PERMITS U.S. PLANE TO LAND ON ITS SOIL" screamed the headline of another paper. 

"PLANE HIJACKED. ALL PASSENGERS SAFE," read the headlines of the third newspaper and so on. 

There was a lot of speculation attached to the hijacking. Some papers in the U.S. even insinuated that USSR had engineered it because of the Cuba blockade. 

In the afternoon Col. Molokov read out a prepared statement to the press.