THE RADAR ALTIMETER READ 12500 feet. Ashley tapped the Time App on Bashir’s phone and started the stopwatch. Seconds flashed on the screen until they equaled one minute. She shot a look at the altimeter; it read 12000 feet. The Awakening was flying hands free exactly as she had planned. She waited another minute–11500 feet. Twenty-two minutes to go.
She wondered if she would feel unbearable pain when the bomb exploded or would she evaporate instantly, like a suicide bomber. Thoughts of suicide made her think of Bashir. She felt obligated to tell him what was about to happen. Ashley checked her gun, grabbed a flashlight, and unlocked the cockpit door. It would be dark and cold on the other side. Bashir was tied down, but what if he had gotten free and lay waiting for her?
With the small Ruger handgun ready, she unlocked the door and kicked it open. A blast of cold air hit her as the beam of light cut through the darkness and revealed Bashir tightly bound on the deck next to the platform. Her nostril's sensed he had soiled himself. His face was drained of color, and his body trembled. She knelt down.
"We cleared Las Vegas minutes ago," she said in a level voice. "We're headed for a desolate patch of uninhabited desert where only you and I will die." She glanced at the stopwatch, "in twenty-one minutes."
Bashir's eyes opened wide darting back and both as if to find a place to escape. He tried to speak, but only a garbled sound came out. He raised his head a few inches and tried again. This time in a hoarse whisper he uttered words Ashley didn't understand.
She moved closer. "Speak English, Bashir."
He again raised his head. "Quran."
She frowned. "I don't have a Quran."
Bashir turned his head and pointed with his eyes to the rear of the plane. His voice cracked as he shouted, "In the bin."
Ashley shook her head in disbelief. This man, this evil man who would murder innocent people, wants a holy book before he dies, as if that will give him salvation. Trying to understand, she realized that in his mind he was on a holy mission to convert the world to a radical form of Islam. He didn't understand the Islam he would die for was based on a twisted and perverted version of the Muslim faith. A distorted view which would meet the needs of men who would dominate the world with their self-serving interpretation of the Quran. Men who used a clever selection of words and phrases to give them power over others.
She looked at Bashir's pleading eyes and saw a wretched and pitiful man. A misguided believer who thinks he's failed his beloved Allah. Ashley touched her Star of David medal, bowed her head, and using the flashlight, made her way to the rear of the plane.
The constant drone of the engines barely registered in her mind while the icy stream of air howled through the shattered window.
Across from the rest room were three overhead bins. She opened the first bin, pointed her light inside, and found it empty. The second held a khaki colored cloth bag. Under one side of the bag she saw a flash of gold color. She directed her light back to that object. It was a book with gilded edges. She stretched and tried to grasp the book, but it stayed lodged under the cloth bag. Frustrated, she put the small flashlight in her mouth, pointed it at the bag and pulled hard with both hands. The bag tumbled out and fell on the deck. Ashley snapped up the book. It was a copy of the Quran. Only then did she examine the bag.
Holding the book in her hand and the light still in her mouth, she ran her other hand over the oddly shaped bag that struck her as something purposeful, not random in shape. She pulled it open. It had straps and buckles protruding. She released the book and grabbed the bag and searched it with both hands. When she discovered its purpose, her body froze. She collapsed on the bag, hugged it, and almost cried with joy.
Quickly she snatched up the book, ran back to Bashir, and shined the light on the Quran so he could see it. She placed it on his chest. He raised his head and showed a flicker of appreciation. His shaking had stopped and he appeared at peace.
Her stopwatch read six minutes, leaving eighteen minutes to ground zero. Converting knots to statute miles, she calculated the distance to be thirty-one miles at this point. Not much time. She must move fast.
With the flashlight she examined the port side door. It turned out to be two doors: one for cabin entrance and another for cargo. The cabin door opened from left to right making it impossible to open against the airstream outside. The cargo door opened from right to left. Once unlocked and pushed out a few inches, the wind would catch it and slam it open maybe ripping it off its hinges.
Seventeen minutes to go.
Ashley ran to the rear and grabbed the bag–a standard Ram Air parachute with a reserve chute attached. Years ago, during flight training, she had made one jump under controlled conditions. It scared the crap out of her then. She knew it won't get any better this time, but the alternative was unacceptable. Ashley put the flashlight in her mouth again and studied the only thing that stood between her and certain death. At the center of the chute container, a small tag caught her eye. It read 'descending canapé–minimum deployment 3500'. It took her two minutes to figure out the harness design, strap it over her shoulders, and buckle the reserve chute pressed across her belly. She cinched all the connections.
Fourteen minutes, now.
One last check. She moved forward to the cockpit. The altimeter read 6700 AGL–above ground level. Right where it should be. She headed back, hesitating briefly to check on Bashir. Strangely, in the dim light, she saw him smile at her. No time to figure that one out.
Twelve minutes left.
She moved to the portside cargo door secured in place with a locked lever. To open the door she had to turn a screw assembly, swing it aside, and lift the lever out of its cradle. All manner of dire results flashed through her mind. What if the maelstrom sucked her out of the plane and knocked her unconscious? If she cleared the door she might collide with the tail assembly? What if the force of the wind threw her back into the plane?
Ten minutes.
Ashley turned the screw, a giant wing-nut affair, and shoved it down out-of-the-way. Then she gripped both hands on the lever. The door parted two inches from its frame, and then slammed open against the fuselage, catapulting Ashley Kohen into the cold dark void five thousand feet above the bleak Nevada desert.