Twister by Chris Ryan Read Free Book Online

Angelo asked in panic, his voice wavering. 'He's got a gun . . . he's locked in there . . . he's—'
     
' Calm down, Angelo! ' Ben hissed. 'Just calm down, all right? Let me think.'
     
Ben fell silent and tried to work his way through their options. It didn't help that Angelo was looking at him, his eyes wide with terror and his body shaking. And it didn't help, either, that Ben's mind didn't want to work. It was frozen by fear.
     
He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.
     
There had to be a way out of this.
     
There had to be.
     
 
     
'Flight GXR1689, this is Miami International. Do you read me? Over.'
     
The hijacker stared at the radio. His lip curled. For a brief moment he thought about answering the call, but he quickly decided not to.
     
'Flight GXR1689, this is Miami International. Do you read me? Over.'
     
He stared resolutely at the instruments in front of him. Inwardly, he cursed. He had hoped to be able to get closer to the target before they contacted him. Now the alert would have been raised. There was a good chance that the military would be called in, and that before long he'd have US attack planes flying alongside him. The moment he started going off course, and if they couldn't identify the nature of the threat, they'd shoot him down. But maybe, just maybe, if he increased his airspeed and headed straight for the refinery now, he'd have a chance.
     
Decision made. He altered the throttle setting and reduced the drag on the wings. He watched in satisfaction as the instruments before him showed a substantial increase in velocity, and then he manoeuvred the control stick to head towards the coordinates he wanted.
     
Not long now, he told himself calmly.
     
Just hold your nerve and it won't be long now.
     
 
     
Ben opened his eyes suddenly. There had been a lurch in the aircraft's movements, as though they had suddenly increased their speed. Angelo had clearly noticed it too: his face had gone from pale to ghostly white.
     
Further up the aisle, the voices of the group of people standing around Brad's body had grown louder. Ben stood up. 'Let's find out what's happening,' he said. 'See if anyone else has any bright ideas.' They stepped hurriedly into the aisle.
     
Two passengers, both men, were arguing. They were both tall and broad-shouldered, with bulging stomachs and American accents, though one was a good deal older than the other. They were both sweating profusely. 'He must have been in the hold,' the older man said. 'He must have been. How else could he get into the cockpit?'
     
'He can't have been,' the other one replied. 'The hold's depressurized. Takeoff would have killed him.'
     
'Not necessarily,' Ben interrupted, remembering something he'd learned at school. 'Aircraft holds are often pressurized. The only problem would have been the cold. It'll be freezing down there.'
     
The two men looked at him and blinked, as if surprised that someone as young as Ben might know more than them. 'Whatever, kid,' the younger man said dismissively. 'Bottom line is we're done for. This nutcase is taking the plane down, and we're going with him.'
     
The group fell silent. Some of them nodded their heads in agreement.
     
'So that's it, is it?' Ben demanded. 'We just sit here and let it happen?'
     
'None of us want to, son,' the older of the two men told him. 'But it doesn't look to us like we've got a whole load of options. Try and break through to the cockpit and we get shot; go through the hold and we freeze to death, and if we don't we still get shot.'
     
Ben looked at them each in turn, amazed that they seemed to have given up so quickly. 'But – we've got to do something ,' he announced. 'If we're all going to die anyway, surely anything's worth a try.' He realized he was shouting slightly. 'Come on – better for one of us to get shot than for all of us to burn to death in some oil refinery!'
     
'Look, son,' the older man continued. 'You're scared, and that's OK. But unless you've