THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER ONE

Athens, Greece, Wednesday, May 18, 1963.

"If anyone moves, you will die!" shrieked the hijacker. His shrill declaration resonated through the fuselage of the Boeing 707. The easy conversation of Flight 806 was instantly terminated. Dressed in faded green trousers, a wrinkled white shirt, and scuffed brown side-tie shoes, the man stood in the aisle, staring down the passengers. His wavy black hair and heavily pockmarked face framed two fanatical eyes, which surveyed his prisoners with dart-like precision.

It was the last thing Karen Taylor wanted to hear. She had been enjoying her holiday. It was supposed to be fun. Now, too terrified to move, she slowly shifted her brown eyes to stare at the steel, 45-caliber pistol clutched tightly in the hijacker's trembling hand. It was mere inches from her head. She slid her gaze to the left, directing a speechless stare at her best friend, Patti Arthur. Patti shook with the same fear.

Most of the passengers aboard Flight 806 were Jewish, carrying either U.S. or Israeli passports. They were escapees from Nazi Germany during the Second World War, and had chosen this particular time to re-visit Germany.

Karen looked past Patti to the window to her left, then beyond, until Patti's face was a blur. The azure sky was cloudless, the sun glaring down at the hot tarmac. The motionless flags of numerous nations drooped above the terminal building. Thoughts of Mike raced through her head. She desperately wished he was beside her. She remembered the bitter sweetness of their final night together.

"We are The Angels of Freedom!" the hijacker shouted. "We are in complete control of this airplane. We will shoot anyone who moves!" The terrified silence held still until cries and screams erupted at the sound of two shots fired at the front of the airplane. Silence was quickly restored when the man with the pockmarked face fired a shot through the back of an empty seat. "Do not make any more noise or I will shoot to kill!" he warned loudly. "You must all put your passports on the floor in the aisle, immediately!"

The passengers moved slowly to comply with the demand of the terrorist with muffled whispers. Some stood to remove their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments. When it appeared that all passports had been placed on the aisle floor, the terrorist pointed his pistol at the head of an old man wearing a yarmulke. "You will pick up the passports and bring them to me," he ordered.

Trembling, the old man pulled himself from his seat. "Put them on the floor at my feet," the hijacker stipulated. He waited until the old man had knelt to comply, and then struck the side of the old man's face with his pistol, screeching "Zionist pig!" with a frenzied look in his eye. He snatched the old man's skull-cap and soaked it in the blood flowing from the fresh wound, and then spit on the cap and threw it to the floor, trampling it beneath his boot.

The blue curtains to first class were flung open by a second terrorist with a thick shock of white hair. Larger and older than his companion, he wore a brown, pinstriped suit with a pale yellow shirt that was open at the neck. In one hand was a pistol, and the passports of the first class passengers were clenched tight in the other. The two terrorists whispered in muffled tones, and then sat on the floor with their backs to one another as they examined the passports.

Karen leaned to her right and stared forward in horror. The captain of the airplane was lying face down on the aisle floor of first class. His arms and legs had been bound with rope, his mouth bound with a red napkin. On the floor of the cockpit lay the lifeless body of the co-pilot. The back of his head rested in a large pool of blood.

At 12:50 p.m., a maintenance crew approached the airplane. The failure of the airplane to move once it had been cleared for takeoff alerted air traffic controllers that something was wrong with Flight 806, and they in turn had contacted Airport Security. A yellow and blue truck raced down the runway in the direction of the stalled aircraft, attracting the attention of numerous passengers on the plane's port side. The older of the two terrorists stood to look, and then dashed to the cockpit and lifted the headset of the co-pilot. "Do not approach this airplane!" he shouted. "All passengers will die if you persist!"

Given this confirmation that Flight 806 had been hijacked, Airport Security radioed the maintenance vehicle and ordered its retreat. Within minutes, numerous two-note sirens could be heard as countless police vehicles converged on the airport.

Throughout the ordeal, Karen and Patti had remained silent and frozen in their seats.

When the terrorists had completed their inspection of the passports, they stood and waved their guns at the passengers. On the floor below them were all but five of the passengers' passports. The younger terrorist held the five passports above his head and shouted the names of the owners, "Malcolm and Mary Christianson. David Alexander. Patti Arthur. Karen Taylor. Those five people will come to me now!" Again, muffled whispers erupted throughout the plane. Several passengers correctly speculated that the Jewish passengers had been segregated. The five whose names had been called were moved to first class, while the seven Jewish passengers in first class were ordered into tourist class.

At 1:15 p.m., the older of the two terrorists again lifted the co-pilot's headset. "We are the Angels of Freedom," he declared. "Please confirm that you can hear me."

"We can hear you," was the reply.

"Ten million American dollars must be brought to this airplane and our flight to Syria must be guaranteed. This must be done by three p.m., or all passengers will die."

"We'll get back to you within an hour."

Before being tied and gagged, the pilot had turned off the airplane's engines to conserve fuel. The heat inside the airplane had swelled and became unbearable. After it became clear that several passengers were in distress, the stewardesses had obtained permission to do whatever they could to comfort them. They had been warned, however, that they would be shot if they tried to do anything else.

Three o'clock passed without a response from the control tower. By four, the terrorists had begun to argue. The younger terrorist paced up and down the aisle while his partner stood at the rear exit, staring through the small window in the door.

With each passing minute, the plane only grew hotter.

Finally, the younger terrorist, his pockmarked face contorted with rage, untied the ropes binding the legs and arms of the pilot. When the pilot flinched in pain, the terrorist slapped his face and swore. He jerked the pilot to his feet and pressed the muzzle of his pistol to the pilot's temple. "In the name of freedom, you will fly the airplane to Syria!" he hissed. "You will do this now, or you will all die!" He poked his gun between the shoulder blades of the pilot and prodded him into the cockpit.

From her window seat, Patti Arthur could see the flashing red, blue, and yellow lights of numerous approaching vehicles. Then she heard the familiar whine of the airplane's engines as they roared to life. The plane shifted and started to glide forward. Then Patti's head was pressed against the seat back as they accelerated and lifted from the tarmac. The reflection of the setting sun glimmered on the waves of the Mediterranean Sea, a thousand feet below. A deafening silence filled the airplane as its passengers struggled to contain their panic.

The Boeing 707 landed at an abandoned military base located almost a hundred miles from Damascus. The older terrorist quickly opened the front door, allowing a welcome rush of fresh, cool evening air into the passenger compartment. He turned and waved his pistol at the five passengers in first class. "Come with me now!" he demanded, beckoning with his left arm. "Get up! We must go now!" he yelled, and then ushered the five passengers from the plane and into the rear section of a waiting truck.

After waiting in silence for less than a minute, they were joined by the younger terrorist. He jumped head first through the opening in the back of the truck. "Go now!" he screamed. The truck raced down the runway away from the airplane. Karen looked back at the darkened silhouette of the airplane, its lights on and its engines idling on the primitive empty air strip, feeling as though her fear would choke her.

A brilliant white light lit up the night sky and a thunderous explosion shook the truck. A ball of fire rose billowing from the spot where the airplane had come to rest.

Karen and Patti trembled in silence as a cold, nauseating sweat bathed their bodies. The passengers and crew had still been aboard.