The Detour

Part 2: Hijacked!

We just took off from Sultan Syarif Kasim II International at Pekanbaru – next stop: Banda Aceh – and we're climbing through broken cloud past 5,000 meters, up to our cruise altitude of 8,000. Ninety seven passengers, mostly tourists. I'd just handed off the controls to my co-pilot, Martin Ramirez, when I got a call from the forward flight attendant's station.

"Captain, There's a disturbance..."

Then, I heard a lot of noise. "What's happening?" I asked.

The cockpit door suddenly burst open. It's not supposed to do that after I lock it.

A lot of screaming and yelling. A stewardess fell backward, landing hard on the cockpit floor, and three men followed, stepping over her as they barged in.

"We're taking control!" one of them said. He held up a hand grenade. That got our attention like nothing had ever before. I looked over to Martin. He was looking at the grenade as if he was watching his life count down.

"Martin!"

My co-pilot ignored me, still focused on the intruders and the weapon.

"Martin!" I yelled.

He jumped and looked back at me, his eyes wide open like saucers.

"Martin, I'll handle this. You fly the plane!"

He blinked, then nodded. "Yes, sir!" He gulped and turned to face the controls. He was scared, but doing his job.

"I give the orders here!" the leader said.

I turned to him. "Sir, I'm the Captain, and I can order everyone to cooperate with you."

"Fuck you! I give the orders! Do you hear me asshole?" He was still excited. I had to calm him down.

"Loud and clear. You give the orders. I have the authority to do whatever you want, Okay? Just tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."

The leader's demeanor seemed to relax a bit, although the other two still looked pumped to their eyeballs with adrenaline.

In the calmest voice I could, I asked, "Tell me. What do you want?"

"Take us to Mecca!"

A hijacking. I was almost relieved.

"Martin, we're going to Mecca."

We've had more than our share of radical Islamic inspired violence and terrorism, but we've been in relative peace for most of the last decade. I looked at the three again. They were certainly True Believers, but were they part of some radical group? They got a grenade on-board somehow and the door might have been weakened – was someone in the ground crew involved?

"Uhhh." The stewardess began to stir. "Sorry, Sir." She got up to her hands and knees. "I couldn't stop them."

"That's OK."

"Get her out of here," ordered the leader.

The two other men grabbed her, roughly lifted her up, and shoved her out of the cockpit. She fell on her belly and slid down the aisle. I wanted to get up and stop this – a hijacking is one thing, but nobody abuses my crew! What could I do without getting everyone killed?

The leader spotted the jump seat, and sat where he could keep an eye on us. "I've got everything under control here. You two, guard the door."
"OK" They left.

By now, even the passengers in the tail knew something was wrong.

"Good Morning. This is your Captain speaking. We've had a disturbance in the cockpit, and we're working on it, so there's no cause for alarm. In the mean time, please remain seated. Thank you."

We settled in for an uneasy ride.