Intercom
Matthew Cooper
Matthew had watched people being shot before. He was a homicide cop; it came with the territory. Sure, it never got any easier, but he could now hold the contents of his stomach when he heard the rip of metal through flesh. He had learned to compartmentalise images of terror and gore. It was part of the reason as to why his ex-wife divorced him — she didn’t think he had any ounce of humanity left in his body. He just didn’t care enough, or so she said. He just thought it the mark of a good cop.
This, however, was completely different. The entire thing seemed to happen so quickly. One second, the plane was cruising at a perfect altitude with absolutely no problems. A few seconds later, the pilot was lying on the ground and a rather menacing-looking man was standing with the murder weapon in hand, grinning manically at the passengers — all who seemed in a state of complete disbelief at what had just played out in front of their very eyes.
There were years of training kicking into action in the few precious seconds of silence. Hostage negotiation had never been his strong point, however, and even as several intricate plans began to form in his head, he realised that none of them were able to be executed by a grumpy forty-something year old detective with a bit of extra baggage around the waist. Besides, criminal activity against a plane of this size wasn’t just something carried out by one man and a handgun.
People were panicking now. There had been a few screams, some gasps and a handful of shocked cries when the pilot had gone down, but the noise was rising. Matthew was even sure he heard a laugh; a brazen, loud guffaw that seemed to carry across every other noise echoing around the fuselage.
“Shut up, all of you!” the man growled, nudging the pilot with his toe. No movement. “You saw what happens to people who don’t cooperate. I need all of you to shut the hell up. We’re in charge now. You do as we say.”
The authoritative tone that the man was taking, coupled with the fact that he was still waving around the gun that he had just used to end the life of the pilot slumped at his feet seemed to do the trick. The plane didn’t go silent, but most of the noise died down instantly, leaving only a few muffled sobs behind to break the silence.
“Now, we’ve got some things we need to do,” the man started, the sadistic smirk still plastered across his features, “and you’re all going to help us achieve those goals. We’ll try not to disrupt you all too much, but rest assured that your travels aren’t going to be exactly plain sailing from here. I’d suggest that you contact your loved ones, but I’m afraid that we have to ask you all to ensure that your various electronic devices are on flight mode, just to prevent any bumps or issues.”
The sarcastic and mocking remarks were doing absolutely nothing for Matthew’s demeanour. For the first time in a long while, he was beginning to feel slightly panicked. They were stuck god knows how many miles up in the air with one visible psychopath, a gun and god knows how many others hiding in the woodwork. There was absolutely no way that Matthew could think of to try and edge away or to alert someone on the ground to what was happening. Matthew had seen films like this — they never did end well. The last thing that he wanted was to be turned into a piece of chargrilled human floating on the bottom of the ocean floor for months.
The man was pacing back and forth through the first two rows now, the gun held loosely in his hands. Every time he passed the occupant of the aisle seat, he would swing it forward a little, trying to elicit a response from them. A group of girls, the same girls that Matthew had complained about earlier, were spread across the seats closest to the man, cringing in fear every time he came near them. One of them was crying in earnest, silent tears streaming down her face. She kept looking towards the body on the floor, her eyes worried that she would suffer the same fate.
“I’d like to say that me and my colleagues would want you to enjoy your flight,” the man concluded, returning to his original position and crossing his arms, “but we really don’t.”
It was at that very second that Matthew realised that the calm young man that had been sitting beside him previously hadn’t returned from his trip to the toilet.
This, however, was completely different. The entire thing seemed to happen so quickly. One second, the plane was cruising at a perfect altitude with absolutely no problems. A few seconds later, the pilot was lying on the ground and a rather menacing-looking man was standing with the murder weapon in hand, grinning manically at the passengers — all who seemed in a state of complete disbelief at what had just played out in front of their very eyes.
There were years of training kicking into action in the few precious seconds of silence. Hostage negotiation had never been his strong point, however, and even as several intricate plans began to form in his head, he realised that none of them were able to be executed by a grumpy forty-something year old detective with a bit of extra baggage around the waist. Besides, criminal activity against a plane of this size wasn’t just something carried out by one man and a handgun.
People were panicking now. There had been a few screams, some gasps and a handful of shocked cries when the pilot had gone down, but the noise was rising. Matthew was even sure he heard a laugh; a brazen, loud guffaw that seemed to carry across every other noise echoing around the fuselage.
“Shut up, all of you!” the man growled, nudging the pilot with his toe. No movement. “You saw what happens to people who don’t cooperate. I need all of you to shut the hell up. We’re in charge now. You do as we say.”
The authoritative tone that the man was taking, coupled with the fact that he was still waving around the gun that he had just used to end the life of the pilot slumped at his feet seemed to do the trick. The plane didn’t go silent, but most of the noise died down instantly, leaving only a few muffled sobs behind to break the silence.
“Now, we’ve got some things we need to do,” the man started, the sadistic smirk still plastered across his features, “and you’re all going to help us achieve those goals. We’ll try not to disrupt you all too much, but rest assured that your travels aren’t going to be exactly plain sailing from here. I’d suggest that you contact your loved ones, but I’m afraid that we have to ask you all to ensure that your various electronic devices are on flight mode, just to prevent any bumps or issues.”
The sarcastic and mocking remarks were doing absolutely nothing for Matthew’s demeanour. For the first time in a long while, he was beginning to feel slightly panicked. They were stuck god knows how many miles up in the air with one visible psychopath, a gun and god knows how many others hiding in the woodwork. There was absolutely no way that Matthew could think of to try and edge away or to alert someone on the ground to what was happening. Matthew had seen films like this — they never did end well. The last thing that he wanted was to be turned into a piece of chargrilled human floating on the bottom of the ocean floor for months.
The man was pacing back and forth through the first two rows now, the gun held loosely in his hands. Every time he passed the occupant of the aisle seat, he would swing it forward a little, trying to elicit a response from them. A group of girls, the same girls that Matthew had complained about earlier, were spread across the seats closest to the man, cringing in fear every time he came near them. One of them was crying in earnest, silent tears streaming down her face. She kept looking towards the body on the floor, her eyes worried that she would suffer the same fate.
“I’d like to say that me and my colleagues would want you to enjoy your flight,” the man concluded, returning to his original position and crossing his arms, “but we really don’t.”
It was at that very second that Matthew realised that the calm young man that had been sitting beside him previously hadn’t returned from his trip to the toilet.