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of her cracked open like a giant clamshell. Blinding light streamed through the slit. Jordan’s hand closed convulsively around the control yoke. She was too scared to scream, too fascinated to run. No longer was the airplane drowned in total blackness; no longer was there a question as to whether it was flying or not. The 747 was quite clearly locked in place on a giant platform in a featureless chamber of a size that defied comprehension.
    Ben rushed into the cockpit. He stopped dead when he saw that the wall had split open, flooding the cockpit and the upper deck with a light so bright that he and Jordan had to squint. “What is that?”
    Jordan’s voice was still hoarse from shouting above the noise downstairs. “Whoever captured us has decided to say hi.”
    “We can’t let them onboard,” he said.
    “You got that right.” She jumped out of her seat. “Batten down the hatches!”
    They bolted downstairs to the main cabin. Their urgency caught everyone’s attention. “Phase two, people!” Jordan shouted. “They’re coming, and we’re going to keep them out!”
    Ben and the other flight attendants spread the call to action through the plane. Passengers scrambled like ants as the flight attendants barked orders: “Pull the carts in front of the doors! Lower the shades so they can’t see inside!”
    There were enough military personnel to station one individual at each door. They were unarmed, yes, but three were young Marines—admin types, not combat soldiers, unfortunately. The others were reservists of various shapes, sizes, and ages. Jordan hoped that zeal would make up for any lack of experience and proficiency.
    Natalie brought Jordan a straw breadbasket filled with an assortment of objects including several scissors, a pocketknife,two oversized nail files, and a set of brass knuckles. “Our arsenal,” she said sarcastically.
    The bounty of an eternally faulty security system, Jordan thought with equal cynicism.
    “And of course there’s me,” Natalie said.
    “You?”
    “I’m a cardio-kickbox instructor. I guarantee I can kick some butt if you need me to.”
    Now Natalie’s sleekly muscular body made sense. Jordan smiled for the first time in hours. “I have no doubt you can.”
    She grinned back. “Should we let the military folks have first pick?” she asked, lifting the basket of weapons.
    “And give the civilian volunteers what’s left over.” Jordan peered into the darkness. “You never found any law-enforcement types onboard?”
    “Not a one. Aside from that mall security guard.”
    “Well, I still say that the hijackers are going to have their work cut out for them if they think they can get inside this airplane.” Jordan pondered something she hadn’t considered. “Of course, they could use explosives. . . .”
    Natalie pursed her glossed lips. “Why go through all the trouble to capture the plane whole only to blow it to bits?”
    “It doesn’t make sense, I know. I’m going to assume the hijackers wanted to keep us in one piece, and that’s how I’m going to play my hand.” She might not be a GI Joe, but she was a pretty mean poker player. Play her cards right and she’d see Boo again. Fold and—she winced. She didn’t want to go there.
    Jordan made her way back to the cockpit, supervising the well-orchestrated progress of readying the airplane for assault as she went. Ben, the purser and chief flight attendant, walked with her. Though he wore a brave face, his expressive dark brown eyes reflected the worry eating at him. She avoided meeting those eyes, or she might remember herown fear. His fingernails were freshly gnawed, and she saw him biting them whenever he thought no one was looking. And his once stylishly gelled black hair was a mess. Jordan realized then that her own hair had spilled out of her French braid. Corkscrew tendrils sprouted everywhere. Where the curls touched her skin, they were stuck to her damp cheeks and neck. She pulled off the blue