FBI Agent Charles Adly stared out the small window of his American Airlines flight from New York to San Francisco. A full six and a half hours, what was daunting to most was completely natural to him. He’d served in the Bureau for thirty-six years, and as one of the most respected agents he had been assigned some of the toughest cases in recent history, many requiring lots of flight time. Yet today was another matter. This trip was for pleasure, a chance to escape from the endless work that piled up every day.
“Your drink sir,” the flight attendant smiled, handing over a Coke.
He returned the smile, “Thank you.” He couldn’t have felt much better, the thought of a week long vacation settling into his mind.
I worked hard for this. I just have to relax and enjoy myself.
Any stress that remained from before was now long gone, lost in the last hour of his trip across the country. Even the perpetual chattering of the man in the seat next to him wouldn’t get him down. He wasn’t even listening anymore, just nodding his head and smiling, slipping into the calm heaven of leisure. A heaven that he foolishly thought would last forever.
Just as he finally began to relax, ready to rest his eyes and succumb to peaceful dreams, he heard the sounds of confusion and fear. Like the sound of a strong gust of wind rustling the leaves, there was a sudden rush of commotion as the plane was absorbed with the loud voices of the passengers, all abruptly silenced by one deep, bellowing voice.
“EVERYBODY QUIET!”

He was asleep when it first began, enjoying the short time he had to himself before returning home to his family and his job.
Robert Bradley lived a successful life. He never had much money growing up, learning at an early age how to make the most of everything he had. Despite the financial disadvantage, he was able to earn good enough grades to get a scholarship for college, necessary financial aid for someone with very little money. Using it to his advantage, he made it through four years, and graduated from college with fairly good grades. He could never afford his dream of going to graduate school, but found a job rather quickly in the heating and cooling industry, and worked his way up from sales to director, gradually increasing his salary until he had more than enough to live on. His life was hard, but as he liked to say, honest men can only make a living through hard work, and on special occasions, a little luck.
Work was relentless, but his three day trip to New York was a good break from the real world. All he wanted to do now was sleep and enjoy the little time that he had left to himself. That was exactly what happened until a man pulled out a gun at the front of the plane.
Everyone around him immediately went nuts, waking him from his sleep with their scared cries. The ruckus continued until a man with a voice like Andre the Giant yelled over everyone, silencing the crowd.
“Nobody move,” he said, waving his gun back and forth with a threatening glare. “If you do I’ll blow your brain out!” His proclamation was met with numerous gasps, a poor old lady in the front passing out in horror.
“We want your full cooperation,” another man chimed in, “but we are willing to use force if necessary.” The man walked down the aisle, looking from seat to seat, examining the unfortunate passengers who had walked into this most inconspicuous trap.
“You.” He gestured to Robert.
“Me?”
“No. The Invisible Man. Get your lazy ass out of your chair.” Robert hesitated. “Let’s go. I don’t have all day.” He waited for Robert to follow, then continued plucking other passengers out of their seats. Finally he reached the end of the aisle, and began to address the whole plane again. “Is anyone here a cop, or have some contact with law enforcement?” Nobody’s hand went up, and the man chuckled. “Really? I suppose I should just kill one of these hostages then,” he looked around, waiting, and pulled out his own gun.
“How ‘bout a game of Russian Roulette,” Andre said.
“Fantastic idea,” the man responded, beginning to fiddle with his pistol. Then he turned suddenly, and took a shot at the man in front of him, proceeding down the line until he reached Robert at the end. “Looks like we have a winner!”
Robert braced himself, watching his life flash before eyes, anxiety flooding him as he waited for his final breath. But the shot never came, a man by the wing quickly raising his hand in the air.
“Over here! Over here!” the man shouted. “FBI agent.”
“Well, well, Mr. FBI. Nice to meet you,” Andre smirked as he spoke, pretending to offer a hand. The other man, who looked strangely like Joseph Stalin and wore an armband, walked over to the FBI agent, grabbing him under the arm and pulling him out of the seat.
“Yes. Nice to meet you, but you might not want to meet us. Now, where’s your phone?” The agent fumbled in his pocket, finally pulled out his iPhone, and handed it out to Stalin.
“Here, take it.” Stalin slapped his hand away, scowling.
“Don’t give it to me you fool. Contact someone. I want cash, and I want it before this plane lands. Make it happen,” he dragged the agent down the aisle to Andre, who grabbed him and threw him over to the c***pit door.
“What do you think is going to happen,” the man next to Robert asked.
“I don’t know,” Robert shrugged, a hint of fear and uncertainty creeping into his voice. “I guess all we can do is wait and hope for the best.”
“Great. Exactly what I need. I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve never been good in high-stress situations.”
“There’s nothing I can tell you. There is only so much that can be done when they have control over the situation,” he explained as Stalin came walking over to the small group.
“Alright. Everybody up!” They immediately rose, trying to avoid a hostile situation. “You guys are going to join your FBI friend…” he paused. “Under my pal’s supervision of course.” The group looked around as he spoke to them. “Now!” he yelled. They quickly hurried over to the other side of the plane, knowing their lives were at stake.
“More company,” Andre opened his arms, “how wonderful.” They all shuffled in around him, Robert sitting right next to the FBI agent.
“Alright!” Stalin got everyone’s attention. “Mr. FBI, the pressure is on. If you don’t get my money soon … well … there will be consequences, shall I say. There is a bomb on this plane,” everyone gasped at that moment, suddenly much more worried than before. “You have fifty-five minutes.”

Crawford sat anxiously in the c***pit, staring out the windshield as the clouds quickly passed by. Everyone was silent, occupied with the task at hand. The pilots cautiously maneuvered the plane across the sky, and Crawford watched carefully, making sure they weren’t up to anything tricky.
“We’re all set.” He turned to the door of the c***pit, where his accomplice was standing in the doorway, checking in on the progress they’d made.
“Alright, I’ll start it up. What’s our time?”
“Two hours, fifteen minutes. Get it done … quickly.” He turned away, returning to the small group that sat just outside, and slammed the door, sparking a jump from the passengers ahead of him.
It was time. He’d been preparing for the past four months, surviving under the scrutiny of his fellow men who needed everything to be perfect to truly succeed.
He got up and stumbled over to a cabinet in the corner as the plane hit a stretch of turbulence.
“What are you doing?” The co-pilot looked behind him, following Crawford as made his way over to the other side of the c***pit.
“Not your business, turn back around,” his voice was softer than he’d wished when he responded, lacking the command that most had in a job such as his, but he liked to think that as long as he had the technical skills down, he would at least be able to do what he was about to now.
Reaching to the small latch on the cabinet door, he slowly turned it, and carefully pulled it open, mindful of what was inside.
“Hello darling,” he whispered, a sense of calmness washing over him. “It’s time to meet the world.”
“Holy s***!” The co-pilot nearly jumped out of his seat, his eyes wide with terror. “You’ve got a bomb! You’ve got a freaking bomb!” Crawford rolled his eyes while he watched the co-pilot hyperventilate, then quickly returned to work.
He moved his hands delicately, occasionally looking up at the pilots to make sure they weren’t doing anything, then he continued to work until he heard that familiar beep, the sign that everything was ready to go. There was only one thing left, clearly written on the countdown screen.
Please Enter Passcode
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Crawford took a deep breath, then opened the c***pit door to find his mustached partner in front of him.
“Everything’s ready except for the code. That’s your responsibility.” Crawford handed the box over.
“Responsibility? Responsibility! Who the hell do you think you are!” He ripped the box the away. “You think you’re better than me! Huh? Just because you graduated from college doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone else. I’m in charge here you crossed-eyed failure! I hand out the responsibilities!” He pounded on the keys, then shoved the bomb into his other partner's hands.
Bowing his head, Crawford returned to the c***pit, ready to assume his remaining duties. He waited at the doorway for a moment, staring blankly out the window, then closed the door softly behind him, returning to his seat behind the pilots. All he could do was sit and wait, his job already completed.
Eventually he settled in, taking slow, deep breaths that relieved him of his anxiety. Everything around him was quiet again, giving him a chance to clear his mind and calm his nerves, only to be interrupted by commotion outside of the c***pit.
“What are you doing? Hey! I told you not to do anything unless I told you to!” he heard his partner yell outside.
“Alright. I’m not doing anything,” a man responded.
“Get over here!” Crawford heard shuffling feet, followed by the sounds of a struggle. Suddenly there was a loud whack, and a body slammed up against the door.
“Open up! You’ve got company!”

His office was being raided. Both his cell and office phone were constantly ringing, and Jonathan was immediately swarmed by other agents once he reached his office door.
“Sir, you heard about the hijacking …”
“… six hostages held under gunpoint …”
“There are three hijackers as far as we know …”
“There’s also a bomb. They have fifty-five minutes-”
“They want a payment. We don’t know the amount.” The crowd encircled him, forcing him to push his way towards his office.
“Everybody calm down” Jonathan looked around at everyone, but they kept surrounding him, forcing him to raise his voice. “Quiet! Too much at once.” He put his hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and waited for someone else to speak.
“Sir, they wish to negotiate,” a lady in the front said in between breaths.
“What a surprise.” Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Well? Have you made contact? What’s on the table?”
The crowd in front of him looked around at each other, casting some doubt on his belief that at least some progress had been made.
“Well, you see, we haven’t actually made contact with the hijackers yet.”
“You what?” Jonathan put his hand on his face. “Who have you been talking to then?” he said, clenching his jaw.
“Another FBI agent. He’s on the plane. Charles Adley I think.” She flipped through her notebook and nodded her head. “Yes, that’s it. Agent Charles Adley. He’s been serving for thirty-six years.”
“Alright. What does he have to say.” Jonathan bit his lip while he waited for an answer.
“Well, he said he’s been put in charge of negotiations. Other than that, he’s only given us the updates we already gave you.”
“Fine, fine. That works. Let him contact us. Remember to tell me when he’s said something.” Jonathan walked back to his office, closed the door, and waited for bad news.
Plane hijackings were one of the worst cases to handle. Since they were up in the air, law enforcement had very little control, and negotiations were hard. The hijackers rarely wanted what the FBI or any other agency offered, making quite the pickle. All Jonathan could hope for was that Agent Charles Adley really knew what he was doing, and was capable of avoiding a violent situation.
He waited for about ten minutes, watching the clock tick down from fifty-five minutes to forty-five minutes, when he finally got an update.
“Sir, we have news,” the agent pointed out, much to Jonathan’s delight.
“Is it good?”
“In a way, yes. It’s progress, but you may not like it,” she said tentatively. “It seems that the passengers have gotten some power back, but weapons are drawn. There’s currently a standoff.”

Agent Charles Adley was furiously typing into his phone, attempting to sum up the recent turn in events.
Since the time he told the hijackers he was an FBI Agent, everything had changed. He had saved a life, as it was his job, but he couldn’t believe the pressure he was under. Now in charge of communications between the hijackers and the FBI, Adley needed to do everything in his power to avoid hostility.
Easier said than done.
At first he did everything right. The man who looked like Joseph Stalin was quite the agitator, but Adley had successfully avoided a problem, only doing what he was told to do. That was telling the FBI there was hijacking and that they wanted a payment. Though everyone makes mistakes, and Adley made a few a of his own.
Apparently he wasn’t supposed to describe what was happening. For example, he wasn’t supposed to tell the FBI how many hijackers there were. He wasn’t supposed to tell the FBI there were six hostages, including himself. He wasn’t supposed to tell the FBI they had weapons, though he thought it was kind of obvious, so why care? And finally, he wasn’t supposed to tell the FBI they had a bomb with a fifty-five minute countdown on it. Adley decided these were stupid mistakes, and was ready to move on with his life, but they hijackers weren’t.
Suddenly he was being yelled at, pulled off of the ground, and punched square in the jaw. He would have taken a beating if it weren’t for the man next to him, who poorly decided to try to fight back.
What followed almost turned into a full out brawl, the group of hostages all quickly rising as they began to throw punches as their captors, but it was quickly halted when Stalin swung his gun across one man’s head, knocking him out cold. Adley quickly realized it was the man who had been sitting next to him, and immediately knelt over his body.
“He got what he had coming,” Stalin had said as he picked up the man’s body, and in one swift motion threw him against the c***pit door. He took Adley next, forced him up, and dragged him to where the man’s body was lying. Then he knocked on the door to alert the man inside.
It was in the c***pit that Adley and the other man stayed. He listened closely to the events that followed, and gasped in surprise as a passenger revealed he had stolen one of the hijackers’ guns, and quickly reported it to the FBI.
From then on he waited, silently watching the hijacker in the c***pit until the man next to him finally began to stir.
“How much time do we have left?” he asked, rubbing his eyes as he did so.
The hijacker responded, “Thirty minutes.”

He was dizzy. He was in pain. He was tired. He was confused.
Robert had experienced so much since he had first boarded the aircraft, expecting an average flight back home. Clearly it wasn’t meant to be, and as he tried to sit upright on the floor he noticed his surroundings had changed once again.
This wasn’t the end of the of the aisle, just outside of the c***pit. This was inside the c***pit. Suddenly he remembered. The FBI agent, who was next to him now, was attacked, for reasons that were still unclear to Robert. In an attempt to defend him he fought back, but he must have been knocked unconscious. Now he was in the c***pit, watching the pilots carefully move the plane back and forth through the air while another hijacker, one Robert had only seen once before, watched from behind.
“How much time do we have left?” he asked.
“Thirty minutes,” the hijacker responded.
Robert swallowed hard, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, remembering something.
“So you’re a college graduate?” he asked, trying to give the hijacker some attention.
The man looked back, confused, then answered, “Yeah, I am. I’ve got a law degree too. Why do you care?”
“Just wondering.” The FBI agent punched him on the side and shook his head, but Robert continued anyway. “What’s your name?”
“Earl. Earl Crawford. I go by my last name.”
“Interesting. Nice to meet you Crawford. I’m Robert Bradley.” The men exchanged nods, and Robert kept digging. “What’s a man like you doing up here, committing such a horrible crime? You have people like our FBI agent-” he started, gesturing towards the FBI agent.
“Charles Adley,” the agent stated.
“Yeah. Like Charles worried sick. You’re hurting people Crawford. Hurting people.”
“You have no business digging around in my life. Leave me alone,” he warned.
“Oh come on, there has to be something giving you a hard time. What’s going on?”
“My life isn’t perfect, okay,” Crawford confessed, annoyed. “I never found a job. I’ve been rejected my whole life, and now I’m nearly broke. I just need some money to get by.” Robert was relieved by Crawford’s openness. Not only did he have his name, but he also found his motivation, key to getting a criminal to cut off his actions.
“Surely that’s no reason to hijack a plane. You need to find help Crawford, but this isn’t the right way to do it. You’re only going to make things worse.”
“I know,” he admitted. “I know, but I just can’t seem to find a way out of this whole.”
“Let someone help you Crawford. It’s the only way you’re going to make it through, but I need your help first,” Robert pleaded. He looked at his watch. They were getting closer to twenty minutes. “Please Crawford. Don’t make things worse than they already are. Stop the bomb, and stop your colleagues. Don’t cause any more pain.”
Crawford took a minute to think about it, then, with a deep breath, he finally muttered, “Alright. It’s time to stop this.” He looked at Agent Adley, pulled out his gun, and walked over to the c***pit door.
“Stop right there!” Adley yelled from his spot on the floor. He too had a gun, and was pointing it right at Crawford. “Move and I’ll shoot. Same for you Mr. Bradley.” Without hesitation, Robert threw up his hands, eyes wide with terror.
“What are you doing?” Robert inquired. “Are you nuts!” He turned to look behind him, and saw that Crawford had his gun at the ready, pointed right at Adley.
“Put it down, Agent Adley. I’m not playing into your little scheme anymore,” Crawford proclaimed.
“What scheme,” Robert asked, confused.
“Your FBI friend isn’t as loyal to your country as you thought. Isn’t that right Agent Adley? He planned this whole thing.”
Adley shouted, “Liar! Liar! How dare you accuse me of planning your own hijacking. Don’t listen to him Robert. He’s trying age old strategy. Divide and conquer.”
Robert put his hands through his through his hair. He didn’t know who to trust. Then, as he was trying to decide who to side with, he heard the wisp of a bullet flying by him, striking Agent Adley right in the chest. The silencer on Crawford’s gun had done its job, limiting the sound of the bullet, but it didn’t silence the yelp that flew out of Adley’s mouth as he fell to the floor.
The door to the c***pit flew open in that moment, Stalin and and Andre storming in with their guns raised. Robert instinctively dove for the gun in Adley’s hands and held it up, just in time for the flurry of gunshots.
Stalin dropped to the ground, shot in his right leg, and Andre put his gun on the ground, outnumbered two to one. Crawford turned him around and forced him to his stomach while Robert took Stalin’s gun, quickly putting an end to the fighting. All Robert needed to do was turn off the bomb, which had ten minutes left on it.
“What’s the passcode,” he asked Crawford.
“I don’t know.” He pointed at Stalin. “He’s the only one who actually knows.” Robert held his breath. He wasn’t done yet, and as he was about to go force the passcode out of Stalin, he remembered the armband that he saw him wearing earlier. It read: In Memory of the Lives Lost on December 7, 1941 - Attack on Pearl Harbor.
Robert gasped. It couldn’t be, but it was.
“1-2-7-1-9-4-1! Pearl Harbor! Crawford, I have it! It’s the date of Pearl Harbor!” He rushed over to the bomb, picked it up, and began to type in the passcode.
1 2 7 1 9 4 1
Passcode Correct - Bomb Disabled
Robert yelled out in victory and dropped to the floor. He couldn’t help but smile, relief washing over him. Finally he could rest, maybe even sleep a little, but most of all, he couldn’t wait until he made it home and saw his family. Nothing in his life had ever made him happier before, and he would never wish to avoid his family again, knowing that he would never know when he would have to say goodbye.