Uncle Paul´s Cain 09 Page

By Paul Cummings

Hijacked 07/06/00

Sara was an unusual name for a Japanese child, but her parents were both committed Christians, who had chosen a biblical name for their youngest child. Unfortunately, this had caused Sara some trouble at school, which had lead to her forcing herself away from her parents and to become an ultra traditional Japanese girl. Much to her parents’ disappointment, she had become a follower of the Shinto religion and an arch nationalist. At twenty she had not had the skill to become a geisha, so had chosen to follow the nearest thing she could as an air hostess for Japan Air Lines. Normally she flew only domestic routes, but Kako and Yoriko were both off sick, so she had offered to help out on the long flight to England. She was coming close to regretting her decision; the stench from the iteki – foreign barbarians - on the plane was overpowering. Luckily, she was working in Business Class, where everyone was Japanese; important bosses within their companies off leading the drive of Japanese industrial might into foreign lands. There was one gaijin, but he was sitting quietly in his seat. With his dark hair and tanned face, he looked slightly oriental. Now, however, the business class area was full, there was only the seat next to the gaijin left.

Sara watched as the businessman entered her section of the plane. He was short, middle aged and dressed in a dark blue suit. Sara quickly approached him.

"Good evening sir, can I assist you to find your seat," she asked respectfully. He showed her his boarding pass, but she already knew where he was seated. She led him up to the seat next to the gaijin. "I humbly apologise sir, but would you mind sitting next to a foreigner?" The businessman looked at the gaijin then back at Sara.

"At least this one doesn’t stink too badly. Maybe he had a wash in the last week, neh?" Sara smiled at his joke. "But this seat is not acceptable, I asked for a window seat." Sara quickly thought what to reply when the gaijin got up. "See," added the businessman, "this barbarian will forever be needing to pass me for a piss." The gaijin looked the businessman in the eye.

"If all that is stopping you is the need for a window seat, please take mine. I am equally happy with a seat in the aisle," said the gaijin. Instantly the two Japanese had to re-evaluate the situation: The gaijin must have understood everything. The businessman played the standard Japanese gambit in this situation: He pretended not to have understood.

"I am sorry," the businessman replied in reasonable English, "did you say something? I did not understand?" The gaijin smiled; he was used to this at times.

"I am sorry," replied the gaijin speaking very slowly and using the tone that adults use to very young children, "I did not realise that you were from the outer islands and that my Tokyo accent would be hard for you to understand. Please take my window seat." The businessman knew he’d been comprehensively beaten. The gaijin had ignored his crude insults and had managed to insult both his intelligence and birth with his subtle, calculated insult. Were he to pretend he didn’t understand, he’d just re-enforce the gaijin’s assertion that he was an ignorant peasant from the outer reaches of Japan. In fact, he had been born the son of a fisherman just outside Kushiro on Hokkaido, the northern most of the main Japanese islands and nearly a thousand kilometres from Tokyo. The businessman swallowed his pride and quickly moved to the window seat. Next to him, Benjamin Cain settled back into his new seat.

The businessman seemed to instantly forget the incident and buried his head into some work he was doing. Cain had been in Tokyo for two weeks of intensive martial arts training with his family and friends, a sort of busman’s holiday for a man who was a professional soldier and commanding officer of the 22^nd Special Air Service Regiment. Still it had been good to see his grandparents as well as Ando and especially Yukio, his youngest brother and only sister.

He sat quietly remembering the holiday. His first visit to the Yoshinkan Aikido Hombu Dojo had been interesting. He had taken the train out to Tozai station then taken the one-minute walk to the three-story office block that housed the dojo. The dojo was on the third floor. Out of habit, Cain had walked up the stairs. The only students that were actually prohibited from using the lifts were the Senshusei special students who were taking the famous Riot Police course, but Cain had always taken the stairs up from when he first came to the dojo at the age of ten. At the top of the stairs were the double wooden doors leading into the grey dimly lit entrance hall to the dojo. Cain had walked up to the glassed reception area in front of the dojo offices. A big, heavy-set European had come out from behind the counter and demanded rudely in an American accent to know who he was and what he wanted. Cain had calmly given his name and said that he wanted to train. The American had retreated into the office and pulled out a big book of registered members of the Yoshinkan style of aikido.

The American had returned to inform Cain that he was not registered. Cain had suggested that he look in the Japanese book under the name of Yamamoto, which was his mother’s maiden name and how he was registered in most Japanese martial arts associations. The American had stumped off back to pull out another big book. When he returned again his attitude had changed dramatically. It was Sensei this and Sensei that. Amazing what a record with Cain’s picture and the word rokudan, sixth dan, written under it can do. At that point, Tsutomu Chida, eighth dan and one of the best aikidoka in the world arrived. He greeted Cain warmly then asked what the problem was. Cain had tried to minimise the misunderstanding, but Chida’s eyes had hardened and the American had been set a very stiff penance for his arrogance, after Chida had explained at great length that Cain had been one of Shioda’s best students (Gozo Shioda being the founder of Yoshinkan aikido). Cain had also been a close friend of Shioda, Chida and Kyoichi Inoue, the current head of the Yoshinkan.

The few days training he had been able to do had been mainly with Inoue, Chida and other very senior instructors. The sessions with Shioda’s son, Yasuhisa Shioda, had been stressful. Shioda junior was a man who Cain had never been friendly with, partly because he’d always been very xenophobic and treated Cain as an outsider, although never when his father was around. The old man had been close to Mitsunari Yamamoto, Cain’s grandfather, and had understood the family history that Cain had, not to mention the talent he clearly showed. Many were the private lessons that Cain had had with Kancho, the unofficial name given to Shioda senior meaning Head of School.

After that, he had been present when his brother Ando was promoted to 5^th Dan at the age of 25, the same age that Cain himself had been promoted. Cain was very proud of his youngest brother’s achievement.

Cain closed his eyes, smiled and slept.

The flight from Tokyo to Riyadh was smooth and on time, touching down ten minutes early at just before 11:00. Nearly half of the Japanese businessmen, including Cain’s neighbour, left the plane, a commentary on the new direction taken by the mighty Japanese industrial export machine, which was now aiming more for China and the Arab states and relying less on its traditional markets of Europe, North America and Australia. There were a number of people who joined the flight for the second leg from Riyadh to London. The new passengers were a racial mixture of Europeans, Japanese and Arabs. In the business section, there were only two new passengers, one a slim, grey haired European and the other a tall young Arab. The Arab looked around the business section before approaching Cain.

"Excuse me," he said in excellent clipped English, obviously a product of an English education, probably ending with Oxbridge and quite possibly a spell at Sandhurst. Cain looked up into his dark eyes. The Arab gestured to the window seat. "I think that is my seat," he added waving his boarding card. Cain quickly rose and let the Arab sit, whilst he pondered why someone would want to sit next to him when there were many spare seats in the business section, including the two just in front of them. As Cain had the boarding pass for the window seat in his pocket, he knew that his neighbour was either mistaken or had chosen to sit next to him. Given that the man was waving his boarding card, Cain guessed that he was most likely not mistaken. So why? Probably nothing more than the desire to speak to someone in English.

True enough, the Arab soon introduced himself as Ali Aziz, a mature student originally from Tehran, but now living in Saudi. On a whim, Cain claimed to be a doctor returning from a holiday in Japan. To this, Aziz claimed an interest in medicine and proceeded to question Cain on various procedures. Cain’s medical training in the Regiment was more than adequate to fend the inquisitive Arab off. Aziz’s interest then flitted to where Cain lived. He described Worcester, which he knew well enough and most importantly wasn’t Hereford. Aziz had been an undergraduate at Oxford and seemed to know Worcester too.

An hour or so into the flight, Aziz excused himself and went back to the toilets. He had to wait a minute for the previous occupant to finish, but then he entered and locked the door behind him. Taped under the washbasin was a small package. Aziz picked it up and carefully opened it. Inside was a Glock 17 9mm automatic pistol. Quickly Aziz checked the magazine and firing pin then slipped the safety catch back on and slid it into the waistband of his trousers. He flushed the toilet and returned back to his seat. Now all he had to do was wait.

To Aziz, the stewardesses seemed to take forever to serve the meal and then clear it away. After they had finished, Aziz again got up. This time he went forward, took the stairs up to first class and on past the toilets. As he saw the door to the flight deck close, he knew he was too late. Now came the risk. He had to wait around ready for when the door opened again, without attracting attention. His luck was in and the door opened almost immediately. As the stewardess stepped out, Aziz pushed past her and into the cockpit.

The navigator got half out of his seat before a bullet from Aziz’s silenced Glock took him in the chest. The two pilots turned around and froze, looking into the barrel of Aziz’s pistol.

"Leave the auto-pilot on and come over here," commanded Aziz in English. The two Japanese pilots looked at each other then slowly removed their headsets. The captain allowed the co-pilot out of his seat first. As the co-pilot passed Aziz, he made a sudden and fatal decision to grab for the gun. Aziz was too quick and two shots slammed into the young co-pilot. The captain looked impassively at the tall hijacker. "I hope you are not going to be so stupid. Now get over here."

The captain stood slowly and walked towards Aziz. When the captain got to about a metre from him, Aziz calmly shot him once in the chest. The bullets he was using were dumdums, designed to shatter on impact and cause the maximum amount of damage to living matter. A side effect was that they were much less likely to pass through a body and then the fuselage of the aircraft, with the subsequent problems that would cause, this was the reason Aziz was using them.

Calmly, Aziz tucked the Glock into the waistband of his trousers and slid into the pilot’s seat. He quickly scanned the main instruments then got up and returned to the cockpit door. He unlocked and opened the door, admitting two more young Arabs. They went to the navigator and co-pilot seats.

"Now we wait," said Aziz in Arabic.

Back in the passenger compartments there was a well of fear and tension. The appearance of several armed men had seriously scared the passengers. There had been a lot of shouting and screaming, but after a couple of people were beaten, the passengers quietened. Several of the children and one old lady were crying. In the business section, things were cooler, but there was no less fear in the passengers. Cain sat calmly watching events unfold. The hijack had been well planned. There was one man left in the business class area. He carried a shortened version of the famous Uzi sub-machine gun, with a silencer attached. Cain had seen four others go forward, either to first class or the cockpit. There would be at least two left in the back of the plane, meaning that there were at least six people, including Aziz who, Cain realised, was obviously with the hijackers. One mistake Cain had noticed was that the hijackers did not appear to have personal radios. They were trusting each other to complete their tasks and then control their own areas. That was a serious mistake, but only if they could be taken out quietly. Cain watched patiently, gathering all the information he could. The hijackers were tense and nervous now. It would not take a lot to set them off killing people.

One of the hijackers came over the intercom, speaking in English. Cain recognised Aziz’s voice. He informed the passengers that they were safe and that the plane was now under the control of the Ibn Rushd Jihad. The name Jihad or holy war meant that they were not any sort of asylum seekers, but were on some sort of terrorist mission. Cain did not recognise the name. This meant that they were probably a splinter group from one of the major terrorist groups. This made them dangerous, as Cain did not know what their aims were. So far, despite the fact that the hijackers had ordered all window blinds down, Cain felt that they had not changed course. They would be soon flying across France.

For two more hours, as near as Cain could figure, the plane kept its course. Cain watched the hijacker in the business class carefully. If they were still heading for London, they would now be less than an hour outside of Heathrow, although it was doubtful that they would be given permission to land there. They would be diverted to Stanstead, which was less populated and much better equipped to deal with hijackings. Idly he wondered if the Regiment had been alerted yet.

Inside the cockpit, Aziz was calmly dealing with the various air-traffic controls they had encountered. As the Boeing crossed France and out into the English Channel, or rather 38,000 feet above it, Aziz called the UK air traffic control, situated underground in West Drayton.

"This is JAL324, I have an urgent message for you," said Aziz calmly into the radio microphone.

"Go ahead JAL324," came the reply.

"This aeroplane is now under the control of the Ibu Rashd Jihad." There was a pause of several seconds before West Drayton responded.

"Er, JAL324, could you repeat please."

"This is JAL324, your response shows that you heard me quite clearly. This aeroplane is now under the control of the Ibu Rashd Jihad." With hijacking confirmed, the air traffic controller began the standard practice of getting as much information as possible. Where were the pilots? How were the passengers? What was the purpose of the hijacking?

Back in the passenger compartment, Cain was still surreptitiously watching one of the hijackers. He was concerned by the man’s posture. The hijacker was not tense or nervous, or even grimly determined, but rather he was in a state of relaxed expectation. He knew what was going to happen. This worried Cain. The hijacker should not have been so sure of the outcome, unless the outcome was not going to be decided by outside agencies. Cautiously, Cain raised his hand. The hijacker looked over at him.

"Excuse me," began Cain in Arabic, "can you tell us what is going to happen to us?" The hijacker walked from his position at the front of the business class section to the aisle Cain was in and then part way down it, so that he was standing around six feet from Cain.

"You will keep quiet," shouted the hijacker. Cain’s Arabic was not fluent, but he was able to understand the terrorist. Even without the two steps the hijacker took towards him to reaffirm his order.

"I’m sorry, my Arabic is…" began Cain before the hijacker shouted him down and raised his Uzi sub-machine gun, threatening to hit Cain with it. As soon as the barrel cleared the heads of the passengers nearby, Cain leapt up. His left hand shot towards the gun barrel and his right opened, cupped the hijacker’s chin and drove through at an angle, rotating the whole head quickly to the hijacker’s right. There was a sickening crunch as the vertebrae separated. The hijacker collapsed dead instantly, without even enough time to pull the trigger.

Cain pulled the Uzi from the dead man’s hand. Quickly he spoke in English and Japanese to the passengers in his compartment. The best assistance he could find was a German who had been a military policeman for three years. Cain passed him the Uzi with instructions to shoot anyone who came from the forward area; the first class area and the cockpit.

Cain crept back along the plane past the galley area and looked out over the tourist class seats. There were two terrorists here, one at each end of the compartment. The one at the far end held what looked like a Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun. The terrorist nearest him held a silenced SIG Sauer P228 pistol, very similar, but slightly smaller than his own preferred P226. Cain watched the patterns the two terrorists adopted as they walked in front and behind the large compartment. When he was ready, he leapt from his hiding place and seized the nearer terrorist. He thrust his left hand across the terrorist’s neck, looped underneath and began to raise his forearm, bending the terrorist’s head swiftly back, arching his body, as he did so his right hand grasped the pistol. With a twist of his wrist, the pistol came free and with one swift, sure movement, Cain raised it and fired. Almost simultaneously there was the crack of the first terrorist’s neck breaking, the explosion of the two shots and the crash of the second terrorist careering backwards as the 9mm shells hit him squarely in the middle of his face. From somewhere near forty metres, it was a shot only made possible by Cain’s extensive work on the shooting range.

When he appealed to the passengers here, Cain found a kidotei, a member of the feared Japanese riot police. The kidotei got the submachine gun and joined Cain at the front of their compartment. From here, Cain led his assistant forward to meet the German guarding the forward area. With his two assistants not sharing a common language, Cain had to quickly explain their arcs of fire and actions to take to the two men. The rest of the business class passengers Cain slowly moved back to join those at the rear of the plane. 95% of the passengers were now secured, but the first class area and cockpit was still controlled by the terrorists.

Cain crept forward and silently climbed the spiral staircase to the first class compartment. As he approached the top, he could see a middle aged westerner sitting in his seat. The man saw Cain and started slightly. Cain raised a finger to his lips. The man nodded slightly. Silently Cain mouthed "How many here?" The man raised one finger. "Where?" The finger pointed forward and to the left, somewhere behind Cain’s right shoulder if he continued up the stairs.

Silently, Cain crept up the staircase. Once he was within a few steps of the top, he paused. Now was the point of greatest risk. Charging up a staircase to confront a terrorist was never easy, especially when you didn’t know what arms they had. Cain listened carefully. There was a whole spectrum of little noises from people moving in their seats, but he could not detect any footfalls. The terrorist was obviously standing still whilst guarding these people. After taking a calming breath, Cain leapt nimbly up the last few steps and spun around, SIG at the ready. An Arab stood six feet away holding a submachine gun, luckily the barrel was pointing at the floor. Without hesitation Cain fired twice, hitting the terrorist in the face with both shots. Quickly he calmed the passengers before moving on to the crew rest area. Here he found three male, uniformed bodies, the reserve crew from their rank insignia. Cain descended back down the staircase.

As he walked back down, Cain saw the kidotei assistant pointing his submachine gun at him. Cain nodded, impressed that the man had thought enough to cover someone coming down the staircase after shots had been fired upstairs. The kidotei smiled, showing off a mouthful of poorly maintained teeth. Cain passed another submachine gun to the Japanese before checking the SIG’s magazine again. Nine rounds remained from the original thirteen. Interesting that it had the full law enforcement thirteen round magazine rather than the usual public ten round limit. The P228 was slightly lighter and shorter than the P226 that Cain was more familiar with, but it was as easy to use and nearly as reliable as the P226.

Cain took his assistants back upstairs and forward past the first class area. At the cockpit door Cain paused. Here was the most dangerous part so far. He had up to three terrorists in the cockpit and the three crew too. Logic told him that the crew were probably dead as the relief crew had been summarily executed. That meant there were the three terrorists at the navigator, co-pilot and pilot stations. Whilst on the Special Projects team, Cain had trained for storming aircraft and he knew the layout of the 747’s cockpit. He would have to go in, and kill any terrorists at the plane’s controls. After that, he needed to get the autopilot back on if it was off. The 747 wasn’t much of a glider and if it got out of shape, they were going to crash. Cain had a private pilot’s licence and had flown single engine aircraft, even the odd small executive jet, but he knew that he would never be able to fly a 747 and not even an experienced 747 pilot would be able to right it if the plane lost control severely.

The German ex-military policeman was Hans Schneider. He was around forty years old, with grey flecked dark hair, but six foot two and looked fit and healthy. He was now a businessman, but Cain felt he was probably more reliable than the young kidotei.

"Hans, I want you to follow me through the cockpit door. I will head straight for the pilot and co-pilot. You will shoot any terrorists at the navigator’s seat or near the door. When you fire, try to use short bursts to minimise damage to the aircraft. The hollow point ammunition they are using will help us in this." Cain looked at his assistant. Schneider looked back and forced a smile. "Okay, let’s do it and do it right."

Cain lined up with Schneider right behind him outside the cockpit door. Slowly he reached out and grasped the door handle, then froze as he felt the plane change direction. The plane was clearly turning and dropping altitude. Cain did not understand it, but realised that he had to act now as the hijackers were obviously making their move. The cabin door was unlocked, so he burst through, straight past the startled hijacker at the navigator’s station. Cain was forced to hurdle three uniformed bodies to get at the front of the cockpit. The co-pilot turned his head and took a quick double tap in the face. Behind him, Cain heard the explosions of the Uzi stealing the life of the navigator.

The skyline of London appeared in front of Cain. He suddenly realised the aim of the hijackers. Aziz was in the pilot’s seat and made a grab for Cain’s pistol. The Arab’s struggle and the enormity of his realisation combined so that his shots were not fatal, but hammered into Aziz’s thigh. Ignoring Aziz’s scream, Cain scanned the instrument panel. He managed to find the autopilot and engaged it. There was a roar from the engines as the plane tried to turn and pull out of the dive. Aziz leapt for the autopilot switch, only to find that Cain caught his hand and sharply twisted it. There was no sound, but the sudden loosening of tension told Cain he had dislocated the wrist. From the corner of his eye, Cain recognised the Tower of London.

Slowly and deliberately, Cain put his pistol to Aziz’s pain contorted face. Aziz looked him angrily in the eye. Movement caught Cain’s attention and he looked back towards the cockpit door to see Schneider and the navigator wrestling for the Uzi. Cain pulled the trigger of his pistol, splattering Aziz’s blood, bone and brain over him. He leapt to the struggling men and punched the last hijacker in the kidneys. The hijacker arched backwards. Cain grabbed the man’s neck, slid his pistol down and fire twice into the terrorist’s leg. The man screamed, releasing his hold on the Uzi, which caused Schneider to fall backwards in surprise. Cain hauled his man to the floor and then quite deliberately stretched his arm out and broke it. Cain looked up to see Schneider back on his feet and looking on in horror.

"Quickly, check him for weapons. We want him alive." Then he leapt back to the front of the cockpit and pulled Aziz’s body from the pilot’s seat. From the seat, Cain scanned the instruments; there were far more than he had seen on any plane he’d flown. London had disappeared from his vision. Cain found the altimeter and saw it rising gently. So long as they were going up not down they were okay for now. Where were the radio headphones? He found them, plugged them in and pulled them on.

"This is the Japan Air Lines flight over London, can you hear me?" Nothing. Cain waited a few seconds and called again. This time there was an answer.

"JAL324, is that you?"

"324? Yes, that was our flight number. Listen, we have a problem both crews are dead."

"JAL324, do you represent Ibu Rashd Jihad?"

"Negative, the hijackers are all down. Repeat: There are six dead and one injured hijacker. I am in control of the plane." Cain could here a sigh from the radio.

"JAL324, who are you?"

"My name is Ben Cain, I was a passenger on the plane. Listen, we don’t have time for that now. I have the plane back on autopilot. We are gaining altitude slowly, but we are going to need help to get this plane down safely."

"Can you confirm who you are again please?"

"My name is Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Matthew Cain. I am commanding officer of the 22^nd SAS Regiment. Verify that, then get somebody who can help me fly this thing. I’m going to speak to the other passengers to see if we have any pilots on board. Out."

Underground at the air traffic control centre in West Drayton, a uniformed constable approached his superintendent.

"Sir, we’ve had confirmation from Hereford: Colonel Cain was in Japan on holiday. He is due back at work on Monday."

"Interesting way he chose to spend his holiday wouldn’t you say?" The constable smiled.

"There’s more, sir. Hereford informed us that Cain is not a desk officer. If he claims to have killed the hijackers, Hereford say they believe him."

The superintendent sat down. The Anti-Terrorist Squad were not due for another ten minutes. Silently the superintendent prayed to God. If nothing happened in the next ten minutes he’d be able to hand over a very good situation to them.

"Mr Collins," called the superintendent, to the controller who had been speaking to JAL324, "I want that flight re-directed to Stanstead now." Next he called the Anti-Terrorist Squad to appraise them and recommend handing the plane over to Stanstead to bring down. Then they would be able to find out what was really going on. All he was concerned about now was that the plane was no longer heading straight for the City of London. Commander Williamson of the Anti-Terrorist Squad considered his options and agreed then he redirected his driver north.

Whilst Williamson was on route to the Stanstead control tower, John Hewitt, a very experienced British Airways 747 pilot was already there.

"Colonel Cain, my name is John Hewitt," said Hewitt, "I’m a pilot of the 400 series 747, so I’m here to help you."

"If you’re a pilot, why are you there? I could do with some assistance here right now." Came the reply. Hewitt breathed a sigh of relief; the voice that answered him was calm and relaxed, especially as he was at the controls of two hundred tonnes of metal 15,000 feet above London, not to mention over four hundred lives. "Okay, what’s the plan?"

"Well, Ben, you don’t mind if I call you Ben do you?"

"If you’re the man that’s going to help us get down safely, you can call me anything you like."

"Okay Ben, have you anyone on board who has flown a plane?"

"No. I put out a request to ask for anyone with flying experience to assist the pilot as the co-pilot was injured during the retaking of the aircraft. No takers I’m afraid. You’re left with me. I’ve flown a few single engine planes, but nothing bigger than small executive jets. I’ve stormed one of these things a few times, but never flown one."

"At least that’s something Ben. You’re cool and calm, you can do this."

"John, you don’t have to give me the pep talk. I’m aware of the trouble we’re in and I’m going to do my best to get us out of it. Especially as I seem to have killed the last people flying this aircraft."

"Jesus, he’s cool. We might just be able to do this," said Hewitt off air to the senior air traffic controller beside him. Back on the radio he started getting information from the 747’s instruments. This was easier for him than it could be as Cain was very precise with his responses and knew most of what to look for.

"Okay Ben, you are going to have to fly her a bit now. You’ve got maybe three hours fuel left, so we’ve got to get you down soon. When you disengage the autopilot, the controls are going to feel quite light, but not very responsive. This is a big plane you have."

The lack of immediate response from the controls caused Cain more than a few problems, so that they had to reengage the auto-pilot several times to sort out the problems. Eventually, he got the hang of the manoeuvring the plane well enough to take it up to Stanstead. Eventually Hewitt decided that they had burnt up enough fuel and Cain had practised enough so that it was time for them to attempt a landing.

"John, before we do that, I need to talk to the Commander of the Anti-Terrorist Squad there," said Cain.

"Colonel, my name is Commander Williamson," came the reply.

"Commander, when I get this plane down on the ground, I’m going to have a little problem that I’ll need your help with."

"Colonel, I’m aware of who you are and the security implications of that. The press are here, but we’ll get you safely away. When you stop the plane, I would like you to remain in the cockpit with the door closed. We’ll have the plane surrounded and the cabin staff can handle getting the passengers off. Once everyone’s clear, we’ll all be coming onboard and we’ll smuggle you out with us."

"Thank you. I’ll buy you a drink when we get there."

"I don’t think so Colonel," replied Williamson stiffly, before smiling, "but I think we’ll all buy you quite a few drinks! Good luck!"

"Amen to that," added Hewitt. "Now let’s get that plane down here so that we can all go out and party."

The approach, guided by minute changes suggested Hewitt was good. The landing however, could only be called a semi-controlled crash. The plane came down sharply, touched down heavily and leaped up before banging heavily down again. Cain’s experience of smaller planes showed up as applied the brakes a little too hard. The wheels locked, Hewitt shouted an instruction and Cain released the brakes again. Two of the tyres on the port side could not take the strain and burst. Luckily, the high-speed fragments of tyre missed the fuel tanks in the wings, which could have caused an explosion. The other tyres held on and Cain was able to correct the slight pull to the left.

"Ben, reverse the engine thrust now!" called Hewitt over the radio. Cain threw the wide thrust lever and the noise from the four huge engines changed from a roar to a whine then an even bigger roar as the turbines reversed and Cain increased the power through them. Hewitt did not want to risk the brakes again, not knowing the exact extent of the damage to the tyres, so they relied on the reverse thrust of the engines. This slowed them down, but not quick enough. The plane moved ever onwards down the runway. A 747 is a big aircraft and needs a big runway, but without brakes it soon reached the end of the runway. Cain turned the wheel hard and tried to steer round the taxiway. The plane nearly made it round before the port wheels ran off the tarmac onto the grass. The grass was closely mown, but the stress still burst the remaining tyres on that side. The plane lurched left as it dropped down to the wheel rims, which promptly started to tear a trench in the grass.

Finally, the plane came to a rest some fifty metres down the taxiway. Cain took a long, deep breath and relaxed the controls. The police were already surrounding the plane. Fire engines and ambulances were approaching rapidly.

"Ben," came Hewitt’s voice in his headset, "that was without doubt the worst landing I have ever seen, but you’ve saved a lot of lives today."

"Thanks, John. I’ll see you later. I need to organise the passengers now." With that Cain flipped intercom switch. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to England. The plane is totally safe now and we will be disembarking in a couple of minutes…" Not all of the passengers spoke English, but enough did so that he was forced to pause for whilst the passengers where cheered their relief. "Please will everyone remain in their seat. The police will want to speak to everyone before you’ll all be allowed to continue onwards. Please be patient until we can all leave safely." Cain repeated the message in Japanese then asked for all senior cabin staff come to the cockpit. Cain turned back to face Schneider, who was sitting in the navigator’s seat shaking his head. "Hans, are you okay?"

"I am okay," the German replied. "Who are you Ben? James Bond?" Cain smiled.

"No, I’m just a soldier, like you used to be." He climbed out of the pilot’s seat.

"You’re not like I used to be. I could never take over a hijacked aeroplane on my own, then fly it to the airport and land." There was a knock on the door and the young kidotei pushed it open to show in four of the cabin crew. They stared at him with him with open mouths.

"Are you okay?" Cain asked them. The kidotei smiled and spoke.

"May I suggest you clean your face; these people seem to be shocked by the blood splattered all over it." Cain touched his left hand to his face; it came away with several red specks on it. Schneider pulled out a handkerchief and wordlessly handed it over. Cain quickly wiped it over his face.

"Sorry about that," he said, "but it has been quite a tricky time." Japanese reserve crumbled and the cabin staff burst out in big grins. They came up to Cain and submerged him in embraces. After he’d sent the cabin staff away with their instructions, he turned back to Schneider. "Well, Hans, we’ll pause here for now. The cabin staff have instructions that you’re to be the first person down the steps. Enjoy the fame."

"And you Ben?" replied the German.

"I’ll remain on board and get off later, when it’s quieter." Schneider knew what that meant: Cain was obviously going to avoid the camera crews, which meant he was involved with Britain’s Special Forces.

Whilst the passengers were hurriedly evacuated under the guard of armed police, Sara returned to the cockpit. She bowed low and handed Cain a bottle of champagne.

"I would like to thank you for the actions you have taken today." She paused, taking a deep breath, then continued. "And I would like to apologise for my lack of respect for you earlier. I did not know who you were." It was not easy for a Japanese to admit to mistakes and apologise. Cain was not in the mood to let her off for it either.

"The fact that I am ninja should not affect the respect you show me. Everyone is due respect, whether or not they are Japanese." Sara’s eyes widened when he said ninja, obviously she had not realise just how well trained and deadly he was. She bowed low again and started mumbling profuse apologies. Cain relented. "Please stop that. I am sure that you have learnt from this distressing time and that you will behave in a more appropriate way. I thank you for the champagne. I will enjoy it later."

A couple of minutes later, armed police entered the cockpit. They looked at the pile of five bodies and the barely conscious prisoner then at Cain splattered with blood, but standing calmly.

"Sorry about the mess, gentlemen, but I’ve had a bad day." The two policemen smiled as a tall, lean grey haired man stepped past them.

"Colonel Cain, I presume?" said the tall policeman.

"Commander Williamson," Cain answered, "good of you to come." Williamson smiled, then looked down at the whimpering terrorist.

"Thanks for keeping one alive for us," replied the policeman dryly.

"Sorry, I’m just a soldier. I’m not used to worrying about niceties like that." Williamson smiled again.

"Somehow, I expected you to be bigger." Cain smiled; it was not the first time someone had said that.

Ten minutes later, Cain, his face washed and now wearing police overalls and a cap, helped carry a body down and into a waiting ambulance. He remained in the ambulance and a replacement policeman, identically dressed, jumped out of the ambulance to replace him. Five minutes after that, Cain had an emotional meeting with John Hewitt and the Air Traffic Control staff. All too soon, Williamson arrived and took Cain away for his first interview on the hijack.

For the first few days, the media ran the story of the two unlikely heroes of flight JAL324: Hans Schneider, 42 year old businessman and the 25 year old Japanese policeman, Ieyasu Ofuda. Then came the first leak that British Special Forces were involved. Almost instantly, that turned into the SAS. Within a week, the story that a lone SAS soldier had lead the other two in the rescue was fully exposed. Cain’s identity remained a secret. However, one newspaper used the word ‘officer’ instead of the government approved ‘soldier’ before it toed the official line. Inevitably, one of the left wing newspapers raised a story about the shoot to kill policy of the SAS, but in the days of national pride triggered by the rescue, they were largely ignored.

Some months later, Cain attended a private ceremony at Buckingham Palace where he was presented with the George Cross, the highest civilian award for bravery. His citation praised his actions in saving the plane and passengers, not to mention the City of London and all the people who were working there at the time the Ibu Rashd Jihad were trying to crash a 747 jumbo jet into it. That story never made the newspapers.

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