Warren Murphy: Terror Squad

Kathy did what she had not wished to do until it was all over. She opened her eyes. A pistol was pointed at her forehead, and a nervous, gaunt-faced young man in a business suit leaned over from the aisle holding it

The passenger who had assured her that hijacking was so improbable was sleeping through this. him eyes were closed, his hands relaxed on him lap. The tip of his tongue stuck out of him lips like a sliver of bubble gum. It was then that Kathy realized that she was still holding her drink, in the hand above her head. The passenger had dropped his and that was probably the wetness she had felt. But she did not dare look down.

"You know him?" said the gunman, nodding toward the passenger.

"No. No. We just talked," said Kathy.

"We know him," said the gunman, and let out a stream of foreign words that sounded as if he were preparing to spit.

Quickly another gunman came up behind him in support.

"May I put down my drink?" asked Kathy. The other gunman, a swarthy youth with the inner stillness of a cave, nodded that she might do so.

Kathy dropped the drink to the carpeted floor of the plane and clutched Kevin with both hands.

"What is your name, if you please?" asked the swarthy gunman.

"Miller. Mrs. Katherine Miller. My husband is an engineer for a construction firm. He's on a job in Athens. I'm flying there to meet him."

"Very good. And what did Dr. Geleth say to you while you flew next to each other?"

"Oh, just conversation. I don't know him. I mean, we just talked." She kept waiting for the passenger to wake up, to say something, to draw their attention from her onto himself.

"I see," the gunman said. "And he gave you something?"

"No, no," said Kathy, shaking her head. "He didn't give me anything."

The swarthy gunman gave a sharp command in that guttural language. The gun next to Kathy's head disappeared inside a belt. him hands free, the lighter skinned gunman removed the jacket from Dr. Geleth and in the leaden way the body responded, Kathy knew the gentle passenger next to her was dead. The pill he had held near his glass when the three men hi business suits went forward, had obviously been poison.

With swift expert hands, the lighter gunman stripped and searched Dr. Geleth.

"Nothing," he said finally.

"No matter. It was his mind that we wanted. Mrs. Miller, are you sure Dr. Geleth said nothing of importance to you?"

Kathy shook her head.

"Let us try. What were the last words he said to you?"

"He said love was stronger than hate."

"That is a lie. He told you something," said the swarthy gunman, his lips quivering.

"We have failed," said the lighter-skinned man. "What could he tell her in a minute? Besides, even if he had given her him life's work, what was important was him. him body for ransom. He knew that dead, he was worth nothing to us in an exchange. We are defeated. We failed."

Froth formed at the corner of the swarthy man's' mouth.

"We have not failed. This American helped the Jew. If the Americans didn't help, we would have succeeded. She is responsible."

"Brother, leader. She is just a housewife."

"She knows something. She is part of the capitalistic zionistic plot that cheated us of victory,"

"Dr. Geleth cheated us, not her."

The swarthy face reddened and the dark eyes heated with anger.

"You sound like an Israeli agent One more defeatist word and I will shoot you. Take her and the child to the rear. I will question them."

"Yes, brother leader."

Kathy tried to get up but something held her down. The lighter-skinned gunman reached over and she thought he was going to touch her private parts, but he merely unbuckled the seat belt.

He helped Kathy to her feet and she stumbled into the aisle over the legs of Dr. Geleth.

"I really didn't know him.," she sobbed.

"It wouldn't have made any difference if you did," said the light gunman. "He was not military. He was just valuable for what he was."

"What was he?" asked Kathy.

"Cancer research. We do not want the Israelis to be the first to discover a cure. It would be too good for their propaganda. But we would have been willing to trade back Geleth for some of our members in Israeli jails."

"Quiet!" came the command from the leader.

In the rear lounge, the leader took Kevin from Kathy.

"Search her," he said to his accomplice. There was a stream of the spitting language which Kathy now judged to be Arabic. It came from the lighter gunman. He said it with palm open, as if disputing the sanity of the order. A quick violent sentence from the leader and the other gunman bowed his head.

"Strip," he said, "I'm going to search you."

Sobbing, Kathy took off her plaid jacket and white blouse and un-zippered her skirt. She let it fall to her ankles. She averted her eyes from theirs.

"Strip, he said," barked the leader. "He did not mean leave clothing. Strip is strip."

Head bowed, Kathy reached behind her back and unhitched her bra. She was too terrified now for shame. She jimmied the panties down from her hips and let them fall along her legs over the skirt at her feet.

"Search her whole body," said the leader. "With your hands."

"Yes, Mahmoud," said the lighter gunman.

"Do not use names," said the leader, Mahmoud.

Her eyes shut, Kathy felt the hands brush her shoulder and armpits and backside. The hands were brisk.

"All the parts," said Mahmoud.

Kathy felt the hands linger over her breasts, and although she did not want it to happen, her breasts responded. The hands moved away down her sides, and then at first harshly, then softly, then not harshly enough, a hand invaded her body. And her body betrayed her. While her mind said "no," her body said "yes."

She kept her eyes closed when she was taken and in her mind told her husband that she was sorry. She felt triumphant that she was not able to move with her ravisher. She remained stiff on the lounge sofa and then the intrusion was gone, followed almost immediately by another intrusion. Another hijacker was taking her. This time it hurt. And by the third, she was in great pain.

When they were through with her, they dumped her into the bathroom and locked it. She could feel the plane hit turbulence and kept telling herself that the unsupportable outpost would have to land somewhere. It was cold in the plane's bathroom and she tried to cover herself with hand towels. She felt broken and worthless and used, yet she knew she had done nothing wrong. She couldn't help herself.

She knocked on the door. Nothing. She knocked again. Nothing.

"Please, my baby. My baby. At least give me back my baby."

Nothing. So she banged harder and then banged continuously.

"Quiet," came the harsh command.

"My baby. My baby," she whimpered.

"Quiet."

She could hear crying outside, a baby's crying. It was Kevin.

"My baby," she yelled. "Damn you bastards. Give me back my baby, you damned bastards. Animal bastards. Give me back my baby."

Suddenly the crying ceased. The door unlocked and a white object came hurtling at her head. Instinctively, she ducked it and then was immediately sorry. It hit the lavatory wall and rebounded down toward the toilet. Kathy desperately grabbed Kevin's chest and plucked him from the water. As soon as she saw him head wobble to the side, she knew she was too late. She had been too late when the door had opened. A large reddish welt rose from the neck and Kevin's pink head dangled crazily over his chest. They had broken his neck before they threw him in.

When the unsupportable outpost finally did land, Mrs. Kathy Miller was still hugging the body of her baby. But now Kevin was cold and her breasts were hurting, with the force of the now-unneeded milk.

The hijackers were greeted by an Arab honour guard and praised for their heroism, and their role in writing "another glorious chapter in Arab courage, honour and daring, part of a thousand years of similar achievement by the courageous Arab peoples. This wondrous act, oh heroes of the Arab liberation struggle, typifies the very spirit of the Arab peoples in their unquenchable yearning for glory and honour and justice."