Frazer Lee - Panic Button

“He’s telling the truth,” he said finally, with a sigh.

Dave put the passport back into the inside pocket of Max’s jacket, returning it to his seat.

Max almost imploded with relief, his identity still a secret from Alligator. Jo and Gwen were still staring at him, dumbfounded.

“Are we done here?” Max said.

Before anyone could answer, Max deftly grabbed the crash axe and marched up the aisle toward the cockpit door.

Dave’s voice could barely contain his vitriol.

“Stubborn prick!” he said under his breath.

Fixing Jo and Gwen with a momentary look of abject frustration, he turned on his heel and marched to the rear of the jet.

“I need a piss,” he grumbled as he went.

Jo felt relieved the two men were apart — for now. She glanced at Gwen, who was rocking back and forth in her seat, her sanity on a knife’s edge. Jo was about to offer some placatory words when she heard a deafening clatter from the front of the aircraft — an axe hitting the cockpit door.

Max .

Jo listened to him raining blows on the cockpit door, then strode up to the bar area with grim intent. She glanced over her shoulder at Gwen — she wasn’t looking.

Jo took a deep breath, steadying herself on the edge of the bar. She then popped open a fresh bottle of champagne — and poured four glasses.

Dave sat down on the closed toilet lid, clamping the headset to his ears.

He felt breathless, elated even, to have completed his task so easily. And he’d had the added pleasure of planting one on that annoying little prick’s nose — pretty boys like him never had it in them to step up to the plate. He’d shown Jo and Gwen who the real man was onboard the plane, Dave felt sure of that. Maybe now Jo wouldn’t be so picky with him all the time, giving him the high-and-mighty just because he’d watched some porno when he was bored.

Then, the TV screen on the wall opposite him flickered to life and the Alligator appeared.

“I said no conferring Dave,” the voice boomed in his ears, “and yet you’ve all been chatting away…”

“I’ve done what you asked,” Dave countered.

“Our mystery guest.”

“Yeah, he’s not who he said he was. He’s a blagger. ‘Max’ is just some student whose account he hijacked…”

“Yes, well I’ll deal with him in good time.”

“I got his passport, his real details…”

Dave pulled the passport from the back pocket of his jeans. It had been so easy to snatch it when the girls weren’t looking.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alligator said, sounding unimpressed. “He’s in the game until the bitter end now.”

“Okay…” Dave faltered.

He put the passport back into his pocket. That was one bargaining chip, now it was time for him to try another.

“He’s going to try and break into the cockpit. With the crash axe.”

“Well, we’ll most certainly have to do something about that…” Alligator mused.

“So, I’ve done your spying — right? Now you’ll let her live, let her go?”

Dave waited, heart in mouth, as Alligator fell agonizingly silent.

The screen flickered, and the green face disappeared, replaced with a view of the dingy garage. Sarah was still stood teetering on the stool, straining to keep her balance on exhausted limbs, noose still wrapped around her neck.

“For God’s sake man, let her go. I’ll do anything. Please…”

Max swung the axe head with all his might into the cockpit door. It bounced off again with a clang, leaving barely a dent, and jolting his wrists painfully for his trouble. The door was apparently indestructible; seemingly fashioned from titanium. Wiping perspiration from his brow, Max tried a new approach and attempted to slide the tip of the axe blade into the slight gap between the door and its frame. The axe skittered down the polished surface of the door — the gap was just too narrow.

Swapping the axe over to his other hand, Max peered down at the keypad. Only ten digits, 1-9 plus a zero; how difficult could it be? His mind buzzed with equations, he’d never have enough time to methodically try them all before the plane made a final destination of the All2gethr.com headquarters. He tapped at the keypad, random sequences of numbers. Each attempt was met with a sombre ‘beep’.

Beep, fail. Game over , the keypad seemed to say.

As he stood in the hot glow of the red LED light, Max thought of the Alligator’s greeting when they’d first climbed aboard. The flight number had been D-665 — that was it. Could it really be that simple? Most people still used ‘password’ as their password despite all the warnings to come up with something less obvious, that was in part what made hacking so easy. He tapped in the numbers:

0-6-6-5.

Beep, fail. Game over.

Hacker’s instinct told him he was onto something, so Max tried again:

6-6-5-0.

Another mocking beep from the keypad.

Maybe he needed to include the ‘D’ in the equation somehow. He pictured the little keypad of his mobile phone, the numbers scratched away from the ‘9’ key through several months of use.

“Of course…” Max murmured to himself.

The ‘D’ would equate to the ‘3’ key. He took a nervous breath, and tapped in the sequence:

3-6-6-5.

Beep, fail. Game over.

“Fuck it!” Max grunted in frustration and slammed the keypad with his fist. Their only chance of salvation lay on the other side of the door, just feet away, and it was being denied them because of something as simple as a lock mechanism. He stared into the red light, picturing a pilot purring into a headset microphone in the cockpit beyond — the very voice of the Alligator.

Flustered, he turned and got the crash axe momentarily entangled in the dividing curtain. Cursing some more, he unravelled the axe from the curtain and stomped into the main cabin.

Gwen was slumped red-eyed and silent in her seat. Teetering on the edge of nervous exhaustion, she barely noticed him as he passed by.

Jo was sipping champagne from a flute glass, staring at the floor. Max could almost feel the tension in her body as he walked through the cabin carrying the axe. He looked at the nape of her neck as he passed her — the tender spot where her hairline met her back exposed. Could he do it after all; kill someone in cold blood? Swing the axe down, severing her head from her shoulders? The thought dried his mouth and made his head throb.

No.

He didn’t have it in him. Not now, not never.

Max walked to the bar and put the axe down on the counter. Three glasses of champagne were laid out there in front of him, bubbling gently along with the droning rhythm of the jet engines. He took a glass and downed it in one, then gulped down a second. Helping himself to the third and final glass, he turned and raised it to Jo in a toast.

“To getting out of this alive,” he said, and knocked back the last of the champagne.

Jo watched him in grim silence, then raised her own glass and drained it dry.

Alligator’s voiced boomed in Dave’s ears.

“You have shown aptitude for your assignment, but that’s hardly a surprise — deception is your forte, after all.”

Dave swallowed. It was a guilty sound.

“So you’re… going to let her go, right?”

“I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have an additional task for you.”

Dave shifted his weight on the closed toilet seat, trying to regain his composure, dreading to hear what the bastard wanted from him this time. He swallowed again in nervous anticipation, listening through the headphones intently.

“I want you to kill one of your fellow passengers…”

The image of Sarah on the TV screen flickered for a moment as the cameraman moved closer, stroking her cheek with the index finger of his gloved hand. She recoiled, terrified, almost losing her footing on the stool again. The noose hung heavy and deadly as an anaconda around her neck.