Dave Barry - Big trouble

Snake took another step back. He was right next to Monica and turning to his left, toward the door, which meant his gun was turning toward Matt. Monica came up out of her crouch and grabbed for his right arm, the one with the gun in it. She gripped it for an instant, but then a cramp sent a vicious jolt of pain through her right hamstring, buckling her leg. As she fell sideways, Snake shook off her arm and whirled, pulling the trigger. Monica's body jerked violently backward into the window, then crumpled to the floor. There was a softball-sized hole in the window, its edges spattered with blood.

As she went down, Matt came up, wrapping his arms around Snake, trying to pin him; but Snake was stronger, and he twisted quickly back to his left inside Mart's arms, whipping the gun around hard into the side of Mart's head. Matt lurched to his right and went down onto the plane seat.

In the front of the plane, the postal retirees had gone to the floor at the sound of the gunshot, as had Frank the copilot. Justin had turned around and seen that the maniac was fighting somebody — Justin had no idea who it was — back there. Timing forward again, Justin quickly reached for his radio headset.

"Yes," said Greer, into his special phone. He was looking at his watch. "That's affirmative. I repeat, affirmative. When you're ready."

Snake was furious. The cop bitch and the punk! How the fuck did they get here? He looked down at the bitch; her eyes were open, but he couldn't tell if she was seeing anything. He turned back toward the punk, who was groaning, moving a little. Definitely alive. Not for long, punk.

Greer had his ear pressed tight to the special phone. "What?" he said, his voice rising. "What'd he say?"

"What?" asked Baker, pressing close to Greer. "What?"

"They heard from the pilot," said Greer. "He's… hold it." He listened on the phone. "OK," he said, looking at his watch. "Ask him is the suitcase on the airplane. Got that? Ask him can he get the suitcase off the airplane right now." He looked at his watch. Shit.

Snake raised the gun, aimed it at Matt's head.

"Snake!" a voice shouted. Snake jerked his head right. It was Eddie, standing in the aisle.

Snake, still aiming the gun at Matt, shouted, "The fuck you want?"

"Snake, Jesus," shouted Eddie, pointing down at Monica. "You shot a cop."

"That's right," shouted Snake. "Now I'm gonna shoot this punk."

"Snake," shouted Eddie, "You're fuckin' crazy. I don't wa…»

Snake grabbed Eddie by the shirt, yanked him hard, pivoting and hurling him past Matt against the wall in the rear of the plane. Eddie's back hit the wall and slumped to the floor next to the suitcase.

"DON'T CALL ME CRAZY," shouted Snake.

"Snake," shouted Eddie, "When we land, I ain't goin' with you."

Snake fired the gun. Eddie screamed and rolled sideways, grabbing his thigh.

"That's right," shouted Snake. "You ain't goin' with me." He turned back toward Matt, raising the gun.

Jenny landed on Snake chest high, wrapping her legs around his waist, grabbing his hair with one hand and furiously clawing at his eyes with the other. He raised his left hand to shove her off and she bit into it, her teeth sinking in to the bone.

The F-16s were directly behind the target, in textbook firing position. The target was slow and taking no evasive measures. There was essentially zero chance the Sidewinders would miss.

Snake screamed and yanked his bleeding hand away from Jenny's mouth. He brought his other hand up hard, hitting Jenny with the gun barrel under her jaw. Her head snapped back and she dropped off of him, into the aisle.

"You fuckin' BITCH," he screamed, kicking at her. "I'm gonna KILL YOU, YOU FUCKIN' BITCH." Jenny, on her back, tried to scrabble away up the aisle.

"YOU AIN'T GETTTN' AWAY, BITCH," screamed Snake, raising the gun.

Then he heard it, over the plane noise, a thump behind him. He spun and looked. Eddie, blood spreading quickly over his thigh, had managed to shove the suitcase against the lower lip of the open doorway. His eyes closed, his teeth gritted, he was pushing it over the lip. It was leaning out now, into the shrieking wind.

"NO!" screamed Snake. He dove to the back of the plane. As he got there, Eddie gave the suitcase a last desperate shove, toppling it slowly over the lip. Kicking Eddie aside, Snake leaned out of the doorway and grabbed for the suitcase handle with his left hand. He caught the handle, and he almost got the suitcase pulled back. But he'd leaned forward a little too far, and the weight of the suitcase was a little too much. Snake felt it pulling him out of the plane. He grabbed for the side of the door with his right, but he still had the gun in that hand, and he couldn't get a good grip. If he'd have let go of the suitcase, he could have grabbed the stairs, could have stayed on the plane and saved himself. But he wanted that suitcase; that was his kingpin suitcase. Snake held on to it as it bounced down to the bottom of the hanging stairs, then off the last stair, dragging Snake along, into the rushing black nothingness, over the vast black ocean.

Justin heard the bumps and felt the sudden weight change at the back of the plane. He looked back where the maniac had been, where the suitcase had been. He began shouting into his headset microphone.

Greer was shouting into the special phone, now, causing airline passengers to stop on the concourse and stare at him.

"ABORT ABORT ABORT," he shouted. "DO YOU HEAR ME? ABORT ABORT ABORT."

Snake was falling, falling. He was very afraid, but he was still thinking clearly. He had not let go of the suitcase. He would not let go of the suitcase. This was his kingpin suitcase. He would hold on to it for the rest of his life.

The next day's newspaper was full of news.

The big story was the rogue wave, estimated to be somewhere between eight and twelve feet high, that hit both South Florida and the Bahamas. The wave was felt by even the big freighters; it capsized a number of smaller boats, although fortunately nobody was hurt. It was also fortunate that the wave hit at night, when there were few people on the beaches. There were some scary moments and a fair amount of damage, but nobody drowned.

The cause of the wave was, for the moment, a mystery. The best guess from the experts was that it was caused by some freak seismic event on the seafloor under the Gulf Stream. Rogue waves had hit Florida before; Daytona Beach had had one in July of 1992. As one oceanographer quoted in the newspaper put it: "Every now and then, Mother Nature throws you a curve."

There was also a dramatic story of a hijacking attempt aboard an Air Impact! turboprop flight from Miami to Freeport. A man — described by one of a group of retirees who'd been on the plane as "a complete lunatic" — managed to smuggle a gun on board and ordered the pilot to take off without clearance. A Miami police officer, Monica Ramirez, had somehow — details were not yet available — gotten on the plane and tried to apprehend the hijacker, who had shot her. Other passengers had also fought the hijacker, and during the struggle, he had apparently fallen from the plane to his certain death in the ocean. Officer Ramirez, who was described by the police chief as a hero, was still alive when the plane returned to Miami; she was in critical condition, but doctors said her chances for survival were good. A passenger identified as Edward Porter also sustained a gunshot wound to the leg; he was listed in satisfactory condition.