Chelsea had never considered herself that gifted in prayer. Her mom could sit for hours with her Bible and a cup of coffee and pour out her heart to God while highlighting passages of Scripture and jotting down notes in the margins. Chelsea, on the other hand, found her mind wandering when her dad said grace before the evening meal.
Even now, Chelsea realized, she was no better at praying than when she wasn’t being held hostage thirty-thousand feet above ground by an insane murderer intent on kidnapping, hijacking, and terrorism.
Her mind wanted to pray, but she couldn’t slow down the racing of her heart long enough to focus on anything. There was nothing in her soul, no pleas for protection, no comforting passages of Scripture brought to mind at just the right time.
There was only uncertainty and fear.
Bradley was pacing up and down the aisle. Each and every time he came close to first class, Chelsea willed herself to grow even smaller. When his steps receded and he headed toward the back of the cabin, Chelsea experienced a surge of relief that left her head light and her body cold. A surge of relief that also left her feeling incredibly guilty, because it just meant his attentions were focused on some other helpless, terrorized passenger.
“I’m going to give Charles Weston five minutes to call me,” Bradley declared. “Five minutes for a little heart-to-heart with the city’s good old superintendent. We can talk about anything you like. About the elementary school you built on poison, about the grown men on the construction crew who landed in the hospital. Or maybe you’d like to talk about something else. Your daughter, maybe? I don’t want to hurt her, but I assure you I will.”
Chelsea couldn’t bring herself to look at the kidnapped teen who’d returned to her seat after being paraded in front of the cameras. From somewhere behind her, Chelsea heard muffled whimpering, but she had no idea if it was from Selena Weston or any of the other hundreds of passengers on the flight. They were all here, all captive. They had all seen Bradley shoot his first victim. And yet Chelsea felt incredibly alone in the horror of it, as if nobody else in the world could imagine the terror she was experiencing at this exact moment in time.
She tried to think of what Clark might tell her in a situation like this, but her coach’s voice in her mind was silent.
She tried to guess what her mother would do if she were stuck here on this flight. Pray. That was probably it. Mom and Dad always talked about heaven, and they were both certain about their future in the afterlife. Chelsea believed the exact same things they did, but that didn’t mean she was anywhere near ready to die.
Please, God. Chelsea couldn’t think of anything else even remotely appropriate to say.
“Five minutes,” Bradley repeated, making a show of checking on the time. “Five minutes before another hostage dies.”
Please, God. It was the only prayer Chelsea could muster.
She just hoped it would be enough.