FLIGHT WAC 1403A

By Sahebji

New York, Wednesday 24th April, 1974.

After a severe winter the spring had set in. Sun rays bathed Central Park in New 
York. Birds chirped happily. Senior citizens greeted each other, happy to have 
survived the cold weather. Children played noisily while their mothers gossiped. It 
seemed that the world was at peace with itself but not everyone was happy. 

Mr. Graham Hussley, Chief Editor of ‘The Crime Watch’, was a worried man. He 
looked out from his office window, which overlooked the Central Park, but he 
didn’t see the scene below.  His mind was wrestling with an important problem; 
he had called his Senior Crime Editor, Mr. James Rally, to discuss it. 

Mr. Hussley was short and tubby, with a receding hairline. He had the habit of 
biting his nails when he was worried.  He could be very nice and pleasant but he 
had successfully hidden this part of his character from his staff…except from Mr. 
James Rally, with whom he went out for a drink once a week. 

“Good afternoon, Graham,” James Rally said, entering the small office. 

“Good afternoon, Jim,” Mr. Hussley responded gruffly. 

Mr. James Rally, unlike Mr. Hussley, as tall and slim with a pleasant smile and 
graying sideburns. 

“What’s eating you?” James Rally asked, sitting down. 

“I’ll tell you,” Mr. Hussley replied, walking back to his desk and sitting down.  

“Jim, our circulation is going down day by day. If something is not done about it 
immediately then we’ll soon lose our jobs,” Mr. Hussley said dramatically.

His statement had the desired effect. “Is it that bad?” Jim asked, shocked. 

“Yes, it couldn’t have been worse,” Mr. Hussley said, attacking his nails afresh.

“What can we do about it?” Jim Rally said. 

“People buy our paper to read about the crime in the city,” Mr. Hussley said, 
“Apparently we are not doing our job.” 

“Graham, my boys report only those crimes which are committed,” Jim said, “We 
can’t manufacture them, can we?”

“Of course not,” Mr. Hussley said, getting to his feet, “but we must do something. 
Think, Jim, think.” 

Jim Rally sat thinking, his eyebrows knitted in deep thought, while Mr. Hussley 
walked nervously up and down the length of his small cubicle.  “I suggest we call 
in Mary Pullman,” Jim said.  “Sometimes she comes up with good ideas.” 

“Call anyone you like,” Mr. Hussley growled, “but I want results and quickly.”   

Jim got up and, sticking his head out of the door, yelled, “MAAARRRY.” 

A few minutes later, Mary Pullman walked in.  “Good morning, sir,” she said, 
greeting Mr. Hussley.

“Good morning, Mary,” Mr. Hussley replied gruffly. 

Mary Pullman was not a beauty. She was charming with a sunny smile.  She 
stood 5’ 7” in her nylons, slim with an attractive figure and shoulder- length light 
brown hair. She was no spring chicken.  At thirty - five she had been a crime 
reporter for fifteen years, out of which she had spent the last ten years on the 
rolls of ‘The Crime Watch’. 

“Boss, you yelled,” Mary said smiling good naturedly at Jim Rally. Jim looked at 
Mr. Hussley, who waved his hand to go ahead. 

“Mary, the circulation of the paper is going down. We have been brainstorming as 
to what can we do to make the paper more interesting,” Jim Rally said, “Any 
ideas?”   

 “Yes sir, I’ve several of them,” Mary said after thinking for a while.  “One of them 
is that we could take up an unsolved crime which had generated a lot of interest 
in its time.”

“What good would it do for us?” Mr. Hussley asked. 

“Sir, we could write about it and jolt the memory of the public.  We could remind 
the police that the public is watching their performance.  We could write about 
any love angle, its investigations, etc., etc.,” Mary said. 

“Hmmm, not bad,” Mr. Hussley said.  “What do you say, Jim?” 

“A prize winning idea,” Jim said enthusiastically, “Mary, have you any such crime 
in mind?”

“As a matter of fact I have,” Mary chuckled, “Only yesterday I was browsing 
through unsolved crimes in the archives. I found the hijacking of Flight WAC 
1403A very interesting.” 

“I think the New Orleans murders or the serial rapist of Frisco would be more 
interesting,” Jim said and grinning added, “Nowadays the public goes gaga over 
the sex angle.”

“Those crimes are quite recent. People would still remember the details,” Mr. 
Hussley said, “Murders and rapes are order of the day but not hijacking.”

“I was visiting my ailing mother when the hijacking took place but I seem to recall 
that the police had arrested all six or seven persons involved in it,” Jim said.

“No Jim, if my memory serves me correctly,” Mr. Hussley said, “not all persons 
Involved could be apprehended.”

“You are right, sir, the Washington Post had several times hinted that the kingpin 
Is still at large,” Mary said. 

“Come on Mary, you know that is an old ploy to sell newspapers,” Jim chuckled, 
chiding Mary. 

“No Jim, we all may do it but not the Post.  There must be some truth in it,” Mr. 
Hussley said.

“Sir, we could interview these witnesses again,” Mary said excitedly, “Maybe we’ll 
come up with something that the police overlooked.”

“Oh, an exclusive for our paper,” Mr. Hussley said, dreamily counting his 
chickens before they were hatched.

“Graham, think about the expense,” Jim said, “We can’t have a team flying all 
round the globe interviewing people. It could run into thousands of dollars.”

“Mary, Jim has a point there,” Mr. Hussley said, coming down to earth. “We don’t 
have that kind of money.” 

“No, it won’t cost that much. I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Mary said, “The flight 
originated in New York. Therefore we can safely assume that sixty to seventy 
percent of the passengers were residents of America. We could interrogate them 
at minimal expense.”

“Mary is right,” Mr. Hussley said, “It is decided that our first project will be the 
hijacking of Flight WAC 1403A.  We’ll call it “Save Crime Watch” project.”

“Sir, there is one problem,” Mary said.

“What is it?” Mr. Hussley asked.

 “We might have trouble with CIA, the investigating agency in this case,” Mary 
said. 

“Don’t worry, I know a few guys in Langley,” Mr. Hussley said, “Do you know who 
was in charge?” 

“Agent Greg Bradley,” Mary said. 

“I know Greg very well,” Mr. Hussley said, “He’ll cooperate as long as we keep 
him informed. All right, Jim, go ahead.  You’re in charge of the project.” 


Washington, Wednesday 30th October 1963.


“Oh darling, I am terribly sorry to have kept you waiting,” Susan Higgins said, 
apologizing as she kissed the man waiting for her in a booth of a bar and slipped 
into a chair behind the table.  “My boss wanted me to finish something important 
that came up late in the afternoon.” 

“That’s all right, I was not alone. Mr. Scotch was keeping me company,” the man 
chuckled, pointing to his drink, “Susan, what’s your poison?” 

“What are you drinking? Whisky on the rocks…I’ll have the same please,” Susan 
said, patting her blonde hair in place, “God knows I need it.”    

Susan was a typical blonde, beautiful but not overly intelligent. She was thirty -
seven, 5’ 6” tall, with sea green eyes. Her legs were lean and long, her ass high 
and hard. She had an hourglass figure with big firm breasts.  

The waiter brought her drink and taking a large sip, Susan said, “Darling, how are 
you? I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I have been very busy,” he said, “I missed you. How have you been?”  

Susan started talking. Giving him details of all that had happened to her since 
they had met last. He listened to her attentively, encouraging her with 
monosyllables. 

After dinner they walked arm in arm to Susan’s apartment. They had a nightcap 
and went to bed. The man took Susan in his arms and while kissing her 
passionately, undressed her. When she was naked he climbed on top of her. 

“Oh, darling,” she moaned as his hard shaft penetrated the wetness of her soft 
pussy.

He began thrusting his hard shaft in and out in a rhythmic pattern. Soon her hips 
were moving in rhythm with his strokes. He continued to drill her hot pussy and 
licked and suckled both her heaving tits as she humped from beneath. 

He was about to come. He stroked her pussy faster and faster. Then with a loud 
grunt he pushed his hardness deep inside her and began pouring his life-giving 
seed at the mouth of her womb. This triggered off her orgasm.

“OH MY DAAAARRRRRLINNNNNGGGGGggg,” she yelled, bucking wildly, as 
she drenched his man root with her love juices. Their lips were locked in a 
passionate kiss. When the kiss broke he rolled off her.

“Oh darling, it was wonderful,” she moaned. 

He lit two cigarettes and gave one to Susan. 

“Darling, what was the flap in your office about?” the man asked casually. 

“Hughes Aircraft wanted the Agency to ship anti-tank missiles to Germany and 
Japan for field testing,” Susan replied, drawing on her cigarette. 

“Anti-tank missiles, what is new about them? The army has been using them for 
years,” the man replied. 

“I don’t know the details but Hughes called them ‘Prototype ‘A’ production’ of 
tube-launched, optically- tracked, wire-guided missiles. They wanted it done in a 
hurry as they had developed them at a huge cost,” Susan replied. 

“What was the urgency?” the man asked, kissing Susan’s ample breasts.  

“My boss said that some bloody bureaucrat in the ministry had been sitting on the 
file too long. The army is clamoring for the new anti- tank missiles. There is going 
to be an inquiry to pinpoint the delay and he didn’t want anyone pointing a finger 
at us,” Susan explained. 

“And you were able to send this “precious” cargo?” the man laughed.  

“Yes, dear,” Susan chuckled, “We rang up our shipping agents. The earliest they 
could ship this “precious” cargo was on World Airways and Charters,” Susan 
said.

“TOW, or whatever you call it, may be “precious” to Hughes Aircraft and your 
boss but you are more precious to me than all the gold in Fort Knox,” he said, 
hugging her. 

“Oh darling, you say the cutest of things. Come to mama and let her take the 
starch out of your stiffness,” Susan giggled, spreading her legs.

In the morning they made love again. When the man was leaving, he asked 
casually, “Susan, on which flight did you say the cargo was booked?”

“Flight WAC 1403A on 9th December,” she replied, “Darling, when will I see you 
again?”

“Maybe next Saturday but I’ll call you to confirm,” he said, kissing her goodbye.


New York, Monday 4th November 1963

“May I speak with Col. Mokolov,” he said.

“Who is on the line?” the telephone operator enquired in English. 

“My name is Sparrow,” he said. 

“Hold on please,” the operator said. A few minutes later Col. Mokolov of the KGB 
came on the line.

“Yes, Sparrow,” he said. 

“Good morning sir, it is Sparrow here,” he said. 

“Yes, yes,” Col. Mokolov said impatiently, “What news do you have for me?” 

“Sir, are you interested in tube-launched, optically-tracked, wire-guided anti-tank 
missiles?” he said. 

“You are slipping. That is old stuff,” Col. Mokolov asked. 

“No sir. It is a new development. The TOW missiles are still in their Prototype ‘A’ 
production stage ready for field testing,” Sparrow replied.

“How much,” Col Mokolov asked.

“Ten million US dollars… cash,” he said. 

“Too much,” Col. Mokolov stated. 

“It isn’t sir. I’ll have to hijack the plane carrying the shipment; for that I’ll require 
help,” Sparrow replied.

“Hmmm, I see, payment terms?” Col. Mokolov enquired. 

“One million advance and balance on delivery,” Sparrow said.

There was no reply. “Sir, are you still on the line?” Sparrow asked. 

“Yes, yes,” Col. Mokolov said, “When will you deliver the goods?”

“Before Christmas this year, Sir, one more thing,” Sparrow said. 

“Of course, as is always,” Col. Mokolov responded sarcastically. 

“Sir, no harm should come to my men, the passengers and the crew of the 
aircraft,” Sparrow said,

“You Americans are all heart,” Col. Mokolov laughed cynically, “Call me tomorrow 
at the same time.” 

Russia had recently suffered humiliation at the hands of America in the Cuba 
blockade matter and KGB required something to counter it. The good will Russia 
could earn by rescuing hundreds of passenger—the majority of them are bound 
to be Americans—, from the clutches of the hijackers and returning the aircraft to 
the U.S. was worth more than the ten million dollars. 

Next day Sparrow contacted Col. Mokolov again.

“Okay, I’ll take it,” Col. Mokolov confirmed, “You’ll receive one million in the next 
few days.”

“The rest on delivery,” Sparrow said. 

“Yes, the rest on delivery,” Col. Mokolov confirmed. 

“Merry Christmas, Col. Mokolov,” Sparrow said. 

“Merry Christmas,” Col. Mokolov said, laughing loudly.  


Somewhere on the outskirts of New York, Sunday 8TH 
December 1963


Seven persons had assembled in room 312 of a seedy hotel in the outskirts of 
New York. Two of them lived in America and the other five had reached America 
by different routes and on different dates. They were staying in separate hotels. 
They were from varied background with one thing in common; i.e. they were 
prepared to do anything for money.

They were Peter Ivanovic, a professional criminal; Joe Roach, a pilot who liked 
blondes; Thomas Leighton, a gay British Professor; Asif Hussain and Ali 
Mohammed, two petty criminals from Egypt; and Miss Helga Zolner and her boy 
friend, Karl Herman of West Germany.

Their leader, Peter Ivanovic, forty-five years old, had arrived from Madrid. He 
was born of a German mother and a Yugoslav father. He had started his criminal 
career at the tender age of fifteen by taking part in an armed robbery led by his 
own father. Since then he had tried his hand at various crimes and spent nearly 
half his life in different prisons of Europe.


_________________________________________________________________________________



Joe Roach, forty, lived in San Francisco. He was a 6’ 2” tall; broad-shouldered, 
muscularly, built black American. He was an expert pilot and could fly any plane. 
He was an ex pilot of Pan Universal Airways. 

Ten years ago he had landed an aircraft with 106 passengers and six crew 
members on board in very difficult cyclonic weather conditions and became a 
national hero overnight. The Media nominated him for the “Pilot of the Year” 
award for two consecutive years.

His weakness was women, blondes in particular. Nearly three years ago Sabrina 
Kelly, a natural blonde with sea blue eyes, joined his crew. One evening he 
arrived unannounced at her apartment.

During the visit he suddenly unzipped his fly and taking out his massive erection 
said, “Sabrina, have dinner with me and I’ll let you have this for dessert.” 

Sabrina screamed. The neighbors, hearing the blood curdling scream, called the 
police. Joe was arrested.

During the trial an onlooker commented to Joe’s colleague, “He must be mad to 
expose himself like that.”

“Maybe, but I hear he has screwed nearly all the hostesses who have worked 
with him by this direct approach,” the colleague chuckled. 

“Really? I still think it was sheer madness,” insisted the onlooker.

“I would say that he was unlucky,” Joe’s colleague said. 

“Why do you say this?” the onlooker asked.  

“This was not the first time he did this. Two hostesses had complained earlier to 
the Company. The Company didn’t want to lose a good pilot, so they made Joe 
apologize and persuaded the hostesses to withdraw their complaints. This case 
would have gone the same way if the neighbors had not called the police so 
promptly,” the colleague responded. 

The judge found Joe guilty and sent him to prison. The Company fired him.  
When he was released from jail he tried to get a job as a pilot but no Company 
was willing to employ a pilot with a criminal record. 

One morning in November, Joe received a phone call. 

“Joe, do you want to earn half a million dollars?” Peter Ivanovic asked.

“Maan, do I get to fly?” Joe asked. 

“Yes, but it is very dangerous,” Peter said. 

“I don’t care as long as it involves flying,” Joe said. 

“If we fail you could be jailed for umpteen years,” Peter said. 

“I told ya maan if it is a flying job, I’m in,” Joe said. 

“Okay, I’ll call you later with more details,” Peter said. 

“Hey, man, what’s the job?” Joe probed. 

“I can’t tell you now but rest assured it is a flying job. You’ll be receiving an 
advance in few days. Be ready to leave town anytime,” Peter said and the line 
went dead.

 
_________________________________________________________________________________



Both Ali Mohammed and Asif Hussain were around thirty years of age; they flew 
in from Salzburg, Austria. They were partners since they had met in a Cairo lock 
up at the age of fifteen.

Ali was the fifth of the ten children spawned by his parents. The parents were too 
busy earning money to feed and clothe their family to pay attention to individual 
child. Ali dropped out of school at the age of ten and took to the streets. Soon he 
was an expert pickpocket.  His primary target was tourists. 

At the age of fifteen, the police nabbed him and threw him in jail. There he met 
Asif Hussain. Asif’s background was similar to Ali’s. They became fast friends. 
On release they worked together. 

They often dreamt about going to Europe where, they had read, women were 
easy and wine flowed like water. They had their passports ready waiting for a 
chance to travel. Then their chance came. 

One evening ten years ago on their way home they saw a young foreign girl 
standing alone by the roadside.

“You lost,” Ali asked in broken English. The girl did not reply and looked away. 

“Miss,” Asif repeated what Ali had said, “You lost.” 

“No, go away and do not bother me,” she replied snootily, “I am waiting for my 
parents.” 

They looked at each other. It was dark. No one was in sight. Asif grabbed her 
from behind and placing his hand over her mouth, pinched her nose with his 
thumb and forefinger till she lost consciousness. Ali threw a gunny sack over the 
unconscious girl and carried her to their room. 

They lived in a ten foot by ten foot room with a large closet and a small toilet. 
There was a tap in one corner; a kerosene stove with two dirty enamel plates and 
a few cooking utensils in another corner and a mattress in the third corner. A 
stale smell from their last meal hung in the air. 

The girl was still unconscious. 

They tied her hands and stuffed a dirty-smelling sock in her mouth. They 
undressed her and when she regained consciousness they raped her virgin 
body. They ravished her in all conceivable ways several times that night. In the 
morning they tied her hands behind her back and after stuffing a dirty sock in her 
mouth they locked her naked in the closet.

“We call your parents,” Asif told her in broken English “You be comfortable here. 
We be back soon.” 

They made a beeline for the docks. Their luck was in. The freighter “Bonnie 
Lass” was anchored on dock number six. They knew Captain Angus Mcgee very 
well. They had been drinking partners on many occasions. 

“Bonnie Lass” was their escape route. After hard bargaining Captain Mcgee 
agreed to take them to Naples, to smuggle them on land and write an 
introductory letter to Mario, a master forger, from whom they could procure a visa 
and a work permit, for five thousand American dollars each. It was daylight 
robbery but they had no choice and the deal was struck. 

“I weigh anchor at six p.m. on Saturday,” Skipper Mcgee warned. “Be here on 
time, otherwise will sail without you.”  

“We’ll be here,” Ali said, and they left. 

Then Asif and Ali phoned the girl’s parents. They demanded fifty thousand 
American dollars in used notes of small denomination by noon on Saturday. Her 
parents agreed to pay. They hung up after threatening the parents that if they 
went to the police then their daughter would be returned t them piece by piece. 

They bought some food and returned to their room. 

“We have asked for fifty thousand dollars,” Ali said, giving the girl bread and thick 
soup. 

The girl was famished and gulped down her food. “My parents will pay,” the girl 
said, confidently with her mouth full. 

“They better!  Otherwise otherwise you’ll have to earn it for us by whoring for the 
rest of your life,” Asif chuckled. 

Till Saturday noon they did nothing but eat, sleep and screw the hapless girl. On 
Saturday they locked her in the closet again. 

“We’ll let you know where to find her after we have checked the money,” Asif told 
her father, after taking delivery of the money at the appointed time and place.  
They returned with the money to their room. The money was in order. They 
banged the girl till five and then locked her in the closet again. 

“Good bye. Thank you for a good time,” Ali laughed, “Don’t worry, they’ll find you. 
I’ll place this note reading, “She in here” on the closet door.”

Shortly before the clock struck six they telephoned the girl’s parents from the 
docks telling them where to find their daughter and boarded the freighter. By the 
time the parents and the police found the girl, “Bonnie Lass” was steaming 
westward in international waters.

After procuring their visa and work permit from Mario they celebrated. For fifteen 
days they drank and visited prostitutes. Then they returned to their old work of 
stealing from tourists. They worked in Naples for two years before shifting to 
Rome.  

A couple of years later they met Peter Ivanovic in Rome’s prison. There was a 
fight and Peter Ivanovic saved their lives. “Sir, we are very grateful to you for 
saving our lives,” Asif had said, with folded hands. 

“Our worthless lives belong to you,” Ali had said, “Please call us if we can be of 
any service to you.” Since then they had kept in touch with Peter Ivanovic. 

Ten days ago Peter called them, “I require help in a job. Can I count on you?”  

“Yes, we are in,” they said. 

“Don’t you want to know what the job is? What your share is going to be, etc.?” 
Peter asked. 

“No, you saved our neck once. This life belongs to you,” they said. 

“It is very dangerous. If we succeed, then you get half a million dollars each and 
if we fail then a long stretch in jail,” Peter said. “Money is no consideration. You 
need us we are ready,” they said. “I’ll be sending some money for expenses with 
instructions. Be ready to leave on short notice,” Peter said. 


________________________________________________________________



Thomas Leighton, around fifty, was an Englishman. His father worked in the 
British Embassy in Moscow for nearly ten years. Thomas finished his schooling 
there and joined the Moscow University. When his father was posted back to 
England he stayed back to complete the course of Russian language at Moscow 
University. On his return to England he found a job in the School of Languages in 
Liverpool but the pay was not good. He changed several jobs but was not 
satisfied. 

One day he received a letter from a friend telling him that the School of 
Languages, University of Maryland, U.S.A., required someone to teach the 
Russian language. After some correspondence Thomas landed the job and 
relocated to the States. 

Everything was fine till one day, on a tip off, the police raided his apartment. They 
found young Harry Wilkinson with his pants down inside Thomas’s apartment 
and Thomas’s stiff tool inside young Harry’s backside.

Harry was the only son of a local politician. Mr. Wilkinson put all his weight and 
resources behind Thomas’s prosecution. Thomas went to jail and on his release 
he shifted to New Orleans.

“Mr. Leighton, you don’t know me but you have been highly recommended to me 
by someone,” Peter Ivanovic said on phone. “Are you interested in earning half a 
million dollars?”

“Who isn’t?” Thomas laughed. 

“If we fail then you can look forward to a long stretch in jail,” Peter said.

“I enjoy prison life,” he chuckled.

“You’ll be paid half a million for the job,” Peter said.

I’ll be sending money for expenses and instructions in a few days.”


________________________________________________________________



Helga Zolner was born in Dortmund, West Germany. She was not overly pretty 
but had a pleasant face. She had thick brown hair that fell past her shoulders. 
She was around thirty years of age and about 5’6” tall. What she lacked in beauty 
she made up in brains and guts. Even as a child she had a criminal bend of 
mind.

One afternoon she allowed her neighbor, Herr Helmut Halter, a fifty year old 
widower, to seduce her. She enjoyed what he did. 

When she was leaving, she said, dropping a few crocodile tears, “Herr Halter, 
soll ich meine mutti erzaehlen was Sie mit mir getan haben? (Herr Halter, shall I 
tell my mother what you did with me?)” 

“Nein, bestimmt nicht. Lass es unseres Geheimnis sein (No, definitely not. Let it 
be our secret),” Herr Halter begged, pressing a couple of ten mark notes in her 
hand. “Kauf dir Eis oder Schokolade (Buy yourself ice cream or chocolate).” 

“Danke schoen. Ich werde meine mutti nichts sagen (Thank you, I won’t tell my 
mother),” she said. 

“Gutes maedel. Komm wieder, ich werde dir mehr geld geben (Good girl. Come 
again, I’ll give you more money),” Herr Halter said, kissing her. 

Helga did not spend the money but hid it in a shoe box in her cupboard. In the 
next few weeks she seduced two more of her neighbors. Then she started 
milking them systematically. Helga was not greedy. She made reasonable 
demands which they paid happily in exchange for services she gladly rendered. 

Three years later she took all her money and without telling anyone left home for 
Hamburg where she planned to stow away on a ship to a place far away from 
home but in Hamburg she met Herr Manfred Schneider.

She liked him and in matter of days moved into his flat. Manfred was a non- 
conformist. He was willing to lay down his life for a cause if he believed in it. 
There were many causes he felt very strongly about like the atomic bomb, Jews, 
Communism, etc., to name a few.

He traveled with Helga all over Europe giving speeches, leading rallies and 
holding demonstrations. A couple of years later a peaceful rally in Lisbon turned 
violent and the police opened fire. Manfred was among the twenty-seven activists 
killed.

Helga returned to Hamburg. Some years later she joined the Hamburg arm of a 
militant outfit. Peter Ivanovic was second-in-command of this arm. She slept with 
Peter and he recommended her for higher training. She became an expert in 
unarmed combat and a crack shot with small arms.

The Hamburg arm of the group was on stand by. After two years of inactivity 
Helga got bored and left it.

Six months later she met Karl Herman in a pub. Karl Herman was the only son of 
his parents. He was twenty four years old and studying at the Hamburg 
Universitaet. His professors once told his parents that Karl was a ‘Summa cum 
Laude’ student. 

Helga and Karl were attracted to each other like the opposite poles of a magnet. 
After a couple of beers Helga took Karl to her flat. They emerged three days 
later.

Karl was very enamored of Helga. Gradually, he stopped attending classes. His 
parents and well-wishers tried their best to bring him back on track but Karl was 
adamant and continued to follow Helga around. Helga was equally smitten by 
Karl. She went out of her way to fulfill his every wish. 

One morning she received a call from Peter Ivanovic. 

“Helga, I would like you to join me on a job,” Peter said. 

“How much will you pay?” Helga asked, in her usual forthright manner. 

“Half a million dollars,” Peter said. Helga whistled. 

“American?” she asked. 

“Yes, plus reasonable expenses,” Peter laughed.

“Alright but only if you take my partner also,” she said. Peter kept quiet. After a 
minute Helga said, “Hello…Peter are you still on the line?”

“Yes,” Peter said, “Can your partner handle a gun?”

“He is a better shot than me,” Helga laughed. 

“Okay, be prepared to travel to America. I’ll wire the money soon,” Peter said. 

“Peter, how much will my partner be paid?” Helga persisted. 

“Same as you,” Peter said and hung up. 

“ENDLICH (AT LAST),” Helga shouted replacing the receiver. Karl looked up 
from the book he was reading and raised an eyebrow.

“Schatz, wir werden bald sehr reich sein (Darling, we will be very rich soon),” 
Helga said with a broad smile.

Karl smiled and returned to his book.


________________________________________________________________



“Welcome to the United States of America. I trust you all had a good flight,” Peter 
said, “My name is Peter Ivanovic. I am going to be your leader on this caper.” 

“What is the job?” Joe Roach asked impatiently. 

“All in good time,” Peter laughed, “First things first. What will you like to drink?” 

Joe Roach ordered a beer. Thomas, Ali, and Asif ordered tea. “Nothing for me, 
but a beer for Karl,” Helga said. Karl looked at her and smiled. When the waiter 
had left after serving, Joe again repeated his query.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are going to hijack a plane,” Peter said dramatically. 

His statement had the desired effect. At first there was a stunned silence 
followed by buzz of disbelief and then vocal protest. 

“Isn’t it going to be dangerous?” Thomas Leighton asked. 

“Do you think I’m paying you half a million dollars each to suck eggs?” Peter said. 

“Oh, sorry,” Thomas Leighton said blushing,” I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“For half a million bucks I’d hijack the whole fucking squadron,” Joe said 
belligerently.

“What is the plan?” Helga asked calmly coming to brass tracks.

“I’ll explain, but first take these bags containing your tickets, your ski masks and 
some more money for expenses,” Peter said, “Check if the data matches your 
passports.” 

For the next ten minutes there was silence. Then one by one they indicated that 
the data was correct.”  

We’ll reach JFK airport separately like we came here. We will pretend to be 
strangers, absolutely no greetings are to be exchanged, not even a smile of 
recognition. We’ll wait separately at the airport. You must have noticed that the 
seats on the aircraft have already been earmarked.” 

“When we are approaching the mainland of Europe I’ll give a signal and we’ll pull 
on our ski masks. Joe, Thomas and I will take over the cockpit. Helga will 
relocate the passengers from the first two rows for the crew and watch over 
them. Karl will keep guard at the rear and Ali and Asif will keep an eye on the 
passengers from the centre. Are there any questions?”

“How will we know when we have to wear our masks?” Ali asked. 

“When you see us go into the cockpit,” Peter said. 

“Where will we land?” Thomas asked, “Just curious, not that it matters.” 

“Moscow,” Peter said, “That is why you are here.”  

“In Russia,” Asif said, “Won’t they arrest us?” 

“No, we’ll be perfectly safe,” Peter said.

“When do we get our half a million dollars?” Helga asked.

“I’ll pay the money when we land. You’ll leave Russian soil within hours to a 
place of your choice and I hope we never see each other again. Is there anything 
else?” Peter chuckled.

Everyone shook their heads in the negative. 

“Good, now that I’ve got money, I’ll find myself a nice blonde and fuck her silly,” 
Joe said getting up.

“Best of luck,” Peter smiled, “Please don’t get into a fight or do anything silly 
tonight and get arrested.”

“Peter, we will leave as soon as Karl has finished his beer,” Helga said.

“Girlie, come with me to the bathroom,” Joe said, opening his fly and taking out 
his massive tool and added, “you can enjoy this while the wimp finishes his beer.” 

Everyone gasped in awe at the size of Joe’s tool. Three things happened 
simultaneously; Helga’s eyes widened, her jaw dropped and her panties became 
wet. For a fraction of a second she was tempted to accompany Joe to the 
bathroom but controlled herself. 

“You dirty nigger, put that thing away before I make you a eunuch,” Helga said 
waving a .32 pistol, which appeared in her hand from nowhere. 

“Eunuch, my ass,” Joe laughed, slamming his erection on the table with a bang. 

“Joe, I’d put it away if I were you,” Peter advised, “Helga is a crack shot. I’ve 
seen her take out a bird’s eye at fifty yards. 

Joe paled and put his cock away in his trousers quickly. Karl laughed taking his 
hand out from his jacket pocket slowly.

“I think we’ll leave,” Asif and Ali said, “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Joe, let’s go and have drink,” Thomas said waving to the rest, “I know just the 
place.”

Helga and Karl were last to leave. When Peter was alone then the phone rang. 

“Yes sir, Peter speaking,” Peter said, picking up the receiver. The phone 
crackled. 

“Yes sir, I’ve gone over the plan with them…They have understood the 
plan…Yes sir, they think I am the boss…Will you be on board?…Oh I see…Good 
night, sir,” Peter said, replacing the receiver. 

Peter looked skyward and muttered a small prayer before leaving. 

Somewhere in the suburbs of New York, 
Monday9thDecember 1963 

“Mike, it is time to get up,” Mrs. Sarah Scott said shaking her sleeping son.

“Mom, please just a few minutes more then I’ll get up,” Mike said, turning over. 

”Get up or you’ll miss your flight,” Mrs. Scott repeated.

”I am awake,” Mike said, yawning, “I’ll be with you in a minute.

”No, I know you. If I leave you’ll go back to sleep. I’ll stay here till you go in for a 
shower,” mom said, smiling warily.” 

“You win, mom,” Mike said, and dashed into the bathroom.

“You win, mom,” Mike said, and dashed into the bathroom. Mrs. Sarah Scott, 
fifty-five, had lost her husband two years ago in a road accident. Mike was her 
only child. He was 25 years old, 6’2” tall and weighed 170lbs of solid muscle. He 
worked out regularly and was fit as a fiddle. He looked quite handsome with his 
dark hair and skin.

Mike was an electrical engineer. He had finished his studies a month ago and 
before taking up a job he wanted to fulfill his childhood dream. He had read so 
much about India that he was very keen to visit this country. Today his dream 
was about to become a reality. He was flying to India for a month’s holiday by 
flight WAC 1403A.

Fifteen minutes later he was munching his egg and toast.

“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Mike said, yawning. 

“Excited,” mom smiled, knowingly. 

“Yes, mom, I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep and when I finally did, it was 
time to get up,” he sighed. 

“Don’t worry; you can sleep on the flight,” mom said. 

After breakfast he said goodbye to his mother and, promising to write, he left for 
the airport.

Hotel Plaza, New York, 9th December 1963

Sally was lying in bed. She smiled to herself recalling how she had met her 
husband, Stanley Holworth.

It was a Saturday afternoon nearly six months ago. She was standing in the 
checkout line of Walmart. Sally, twenty-five, was a school teacher. She was 5’3”, 
pretty, good figure with shoulder-length auburn hair. She was fashionably 
dressed in a body hugging light blue blouse and a navy blue skirt.

Stan Holworth, thirty, was before her in the line. Stan Holworth stood six feet in 
his socks. He was handsome, well-built with broad shoulders. 

“Excuse me,” she said tapping him on the shoulder, “Aren’t you the father of one 
of my children?”

There was pin drop silence. All persons in hearing distance gaped at them with 
shameless interest. Even the cashier stopped ringing up a sale and stared at 
Sally with open mouth. For the first time Stan Holworth, a promising trial lawyer, 
was at a loss for words. 

“I…I…I…” he stammered. 

“Danny is a bright lad,” Sally said brightly, “You should be proud of him.” 

By now Stan had recovered his composure. “Ma’am,” he said tersely, “I don’t 
even know you.” 

“Oh my mistake, let me introduce myself. I am Sally Blake, Danny’s teacher,” she 
said extending her hand, not realizing her faux pas. 

“Ma’am, you are mistaken. I don’t have a son named Danny,” he said, ignoring 
her outstretched hand, “As a matter of fact, I am not even married.” 

“Oh I am sorry,” Sally said calmly, “But Danny looks so much like you.” 

The crowd which had collected to watch a scandal dispersed with a disappointed 
laugh but Stan Holworth was not finished with her. For the next five minutes he 
gave her a large piece of his legal mind and then turning on his heels left her 
sobbing quietly into her hanky. 

A week later as Sally stepped out of Walmart, she heard someone calling her 
name. She stopped and seeing that it was Stan Holworth she turned and hurried 
on. 

“Sally, please stop,” Stan said, “I want to say something to you.” 

She stopped and facing him, said icily, “Haven’t you said enough already?”  

“Please don’t be angry. I want to apologize for my rudeness the other day,” Stan 
said, placing his hand on her arm, “I have been hovering around Walmart for the 
last week to meet you. I had a bad day in court that day but it is no excuse for my 
rude behavior.” 

“Apology accepted. Now may I go?” she said looking at her arm. 

“Please, if you are not in a hurry, then can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Stan 
asked, smiling, “It will give me an opportunity to make amends.” 

“On one condition,” Sally said impishly.

“What may that be?” he said cautiously.

“That you do not apologize anymore,” she giggled.

After that they started seeing each other regularly. Four months later Stan 
popped the question and Sally accepted happily. Sally’s parents approved of 
Stan. Then one Friday evening Stan took Sally to meet his parents. They gave 
their consent also. 

After dinner, while saying goodbye to his parents, Stan said, “It is getting late. I’ll 
drop Sally home.” 

Stan drove her straight to his apartment. After a couple of drinks Sally asked 
Stan to drop her home.

“No, you’ll stay here tonight,” Stan said.

“W…W…What?” Sally stammered. 

“Darling, I am going to make wild and violent love to you,” he said, embracing 
her.

“B…B...But…” Sally stammered. 

“No buts. I listened to you before, but not tonight,” he said firmly, and carried her 
into the bedroom.

That night Sally lost her virginity. They made love several times that night. On 
Saturday and Sunday they ate, slept and made love. On Sunday afternoon Stan 
drove her to her apartment. They made love again several times and Stan went 
to work from Sally’s apartment on Monday morning.

Sally had wanted a May wedding but they couldn’t wait that long. They were 
married on 8th December, 1963. After the wedding they flew to New York and 
checked in the honeymoon suite of the Hotel Plaza. After a romantic candlelight 
dinner with wine and champagne they returned to their suite.

It was their wedding night. Stan changed into his pajama suit and got into bed. 
After fifteen minutes Sally, wearing a nearly transparent black baby-doll nightie 
and black panties, emerged from the bathroom.

“Darling, take off your nightie and get into bed. I am ready,” Stan said, pointing to 
his pajama suit lying on the floor.

“No, first switch off the light,” she said, coyly. 

“Sally, don’t be so bashful,” Stan chuckled, “I’ve seen you naked before.”

“Sir, you have seen Miss Sally Blake naked but not Mrs. Stanley Holworth,” Sally 
announced, with a straight face. 

“Oh alright,” Stan laughed, and switched off the light. 

Sally slipped into bed. Stan took her into his arms and kissed her tenderly, then 
passionately. His tongue sought her tongue. They sucked each other’s tongue 
lips.

While they kissed Stan pushed her flimsy nightie above her breasts. His hand 
caressed her body and squeezed her breast. Sally moaned. Stan pushed his 
hand inside her panties. He pressed her lump of pleasure.

“Oh darling, take me,” Sally moaned. 

Stan pushed her panties down. She shifted her weight strategically to help him. 
Her panties fell on the floor as Stan straddled her. She spread her legs, making 
room for him. Sally put her hand between her legs and, gripping his erection, 
aimed it in the right direction. 

Stan moved forward slowly, inserting the hard tool into her hot slippery wetness.

“Oh darling, it feels sooo good,” she moaned. 

Stan started to thrust his lance back and forth with practiced regularity. 

“Oh darling, oh darling,” she moaned, humping from below. 

He increased his speed and the intensity of his strokes. Her hips moved up and 
down in rhythm of his strokes. Her body arched.

“OH YES, OH YESSS. I’M NEARLY THERE. OH OHHH I AAMMMM 
CUMMMMINNNG,” she shouted, and fell back panting on the bed. A few strokes 
later Stan, with a loud grunt, pushed deep inside her and spurted his seed at the 
mouth of her womb.

Their mouths sought each other. They kissed passionately, savoring the intense 
feeling they had just experienced. The kiss broke and Stan rolled of her. They 
made love two more times before falling asleep in each others arms.

“Sally, stop dreaming and get ready. We have to be at the airport in one hour,” 
Stan said. 

“Where are you going?” she asked getting up.

“To pay our bill, why?” Stan said. 

“Oh nothing,” she said, pouting, and walked to the bathroom dragging her baby 
doll nightie behind her.



Holiday Inn, New York, Monday 9th December 1963



“Jaldi karo na (Please hurry up),” Mr. Mannubhai Patel said to his wife Kokilaben, 
“Otherwise we’ll miss our flight.” 

“Main tayyar hoon lakin aapki lardli beti ko time lag raha hai (I am ready but your 
darling daughter is taking her time),” Kokilaben Patel replied. 

“I am also ready,” Arti announced emerging from the bathroom wearing tight 
jeans and body hugging sweater.  

Arti was twenty years old. She was very pretty with a gorgeous figure. Her 
parents had brought her to the States in the hope that they will find a suitable 
match for her in the large Guajarati community living here but after three months 
she was still unmarried. Now they were returning home.

“Oh my God,” Kokilaben said slapping her forehead. 

“What is the matter?” Arti said, “Is something wrong?” 

“Look at yourself,” Kokilaben said, “If a decent Gujarati boy sees you in these 
clothes he’ll reject you right away.” 

“What is wrong with them? They are very comfortable,” Arti said. 

“So is a sari,” Kokilaben said. 

“Mama, it is only for the flight,” Arti said. 

“Many Indians will be returning home on this flight. Some on them will have 
marriageable sons at home. Why take a chance,” Kokilaben said, “Best is that 
you speak with your father. Mannubhai, look how your daughter is dressed.” 

Mr. Patel saw her and said, “Your mother is right; wear a sari. I suggest that you 
wear the red sari which you bought just before coming to the States.” 

“Oh papa, I have already packed it,” Arti said. 
 
“Don’t worry I’ll help you unpack,” Kokilaben said quickly. Arti took the sari and 
went into the bathroom leaving her mother to repack the suitcase. 

“I’m ready,” Arti said ten minutes later. 

“Arti, my dear, I bet you’ll be the prettiest girl on the flight,” Mr. Patel said,
hugging his daughter.


Convent of Sacred Heart, New Jersey, Monday 9th 
December 1963


“Sister Abigail, are the children ready?” Mother Superior of the Convent of 
Sacred Heart asked. 

“Yes, Mother Superior,” Sister Abigail replied.  

“All right, ask them to stand in line next to their suitcases,” Mother Superior said. 

“Sister Bernadine, Sister Augusta, get the girls to stand in a line,” Sister Abigail 
said, “Girls, stand in one line next to your suitcase.” 

The girls scampered and, amid lots of giggling and jousting, they stood in one 
line. When order was restored one suitcase stood unattended. 

“Whose suitcase is this?” Mother Superior said, pointing to the case in question.
Everyone bent forward to see who was missing. 

“Mother Superior, I think it is Rosaline’s,” Angela said. 

Just then six-year-old Rosaline came running, hugging a doll. “Where were you?” 
Sister Augusta asked sternly. 

“I went to get my dolly. Please can I take her with me?” Rosaline said pouting, 
“Will the Pope shake her hand also?” Some of the girls giggled. 

“Quiet. Of course Rosaline you can take her. The Pope will be very happy to 
shake her hand,” Mother Superior said touching her cheeks. 

“The bus is ready,” Sister Constantine announced. 

“All right girls, remember what I told you. Older girls keep an eye on the younger 
ones sitting next to them. Now get on the bus,” Mother Superior said, “Angela, 
take special care of Rosaline. Make sure she doesn’t get into trouble or wander 
off.” 

“Yes, Mother Superior,” Angela said obediently. Angela was a beauty. She was 
fourteen with long blonde hair, blue eyes and shapely boobs.

“Have a nice trip,” Mother Superior said, as the bus started to move. 

“Bye, bye,” the girls shouted excitedly, waving wildly to all who were not so lucky 
to go with them.

Twelve girls of the Convent of Sacred Heart were visiting Rome for fifteen days. 
Sister Abigail was in charge with Sister Bernadine and Sister Augusta to help 
her. The Pope had graciously agreed to receive them in The Vatican on the 13th 
of December.


JFK Airport, Monday 9th December 1963. 


The departure lounge for flight WAC 1403A at JFK Airport was overflowing with 
passengers like any other lounge. The seats were not enough to accommodate 
all the passengers.

Among the passengers there were eight priests in cassocks and three monks 
dressed in frocks on the flight that day. Two priests stood by the large windows 
watching the movement of the planes, two browsed through books/magazines at 
the book stall, and the balance of four sat sprinkled around the lounge reading 
newspapers, etc. The three monks were busy talking among themselves.

Helga sat at the bar drinking tea and Karl stood by her side imbibing beer. Helga 
was talking and Karl listened to her attentively.

Joe Roach sat at a table with a glass of beer. He was watching Helga covertly. 
There was something about this woman that excited him. 

“May I join you,” Thomas Leighton said to Joe.

“Sure,” Joe replied. 

Immediately a waitress approached the table to take his order. Thomas ordered 
a cup of tea.

“Bewitching, isn’t she?” Thomas chuckled.

“I have fucked a few hundred girls. Most of them were air hostesses and much 
prettier than she is. But there is something about her which excites me,” Joe 
replied, without taking his eyes off Helga, “Doesn’t she do something to you 
also?” 

“You want to know what excites me?” Thomas Leighton chuckled, surveying the 
lounge. Joe nodded.

“Do you see the woman in the far corner wearing a red dress?” Thomas asked. 
Joe nodded again. 

“Look past her then you’ll see two school boys,” Thomas said. 

“Yeah, I see them,” Joe confirmed. 

“I like that type of virgin material,” Thomas laughed. 

“Oh, I see,” Joe said, “I didn’t know you were gay.” 

“When I have the half a million bucks then I’ll get myself a different boy of 
different nationality for each day of the week,” Thomas said dreamily. 

“Best of luck,” Joe laughed and moved off. 

Peter Ivanovic kept an eye on his flock. He saw Thomas joining Joe at his table 
and frowned. I’ll have to talk to them to follow his orders strictly in future. He 
nodded his approval when he saw Joe move off.

The Patel’s waited patiently for their flight to be announced. Arti Patel was the 
prettiest girl in the lounge drawing glances of admiration from one and all. Arti 
was enjoying the attention she was getting.

“Arti, wearing the red sari was the right decision,” Mrs. Patel chuckled, “You are 
the center of attraction.” Arti smiled happily. 

“Why not? Our daughter is beautiful, but the pity is that the Indian families on our 
flight have only small children,” Mr. Patel lamented.

They missed one admirer of Arti. Mike Scott sat facing Arti four rows away. He 
could not keep his eyes away from Arti’s beautiful face and her hourglass figure. 
He stared brazenly at her. For a fraction of a second their eyes met. He smiled at 
her. Arti returned his smile shyly and lowered her eyes. 

“She is lovely,” he thought, “Why can’t I meet girls like her?”

Stan and Sally sat in the last row oblivious to what was going on around them.

The girls from the Convent chattered excitedly with each other. They ran around 
playing games. The nuns kept an eye on them and called them back if they 
wandered off too far. 

Ali and Asif watched the young girls from the convent particularly Angela. 

“Asif, look at the blonde girl,” Ali said, “Doesn’t she remind you of the blonde we 
had in Cairo?” 

“Yes, she was hot,” Ali said, “Remember she had promised to come back. Maybe 
we should have waited for her.” 

“You idiot, if we had waited then we would have been behind bars for kidnapping 
that American girl,” Ali said tersely. 

“Yes, that is so, but I miss her,” Asif replied, “Maybe we can have some fun with 
her when this caper is over.”

“Yeah, that is the first good idea you have had all day,” Ali drooled.

Mr. and Mrs. Alex Smith were also flying to Frankfurt by WAC 1403A. Alex and 
Martha had migrated to the United States from Germany shortly after they got 
married. 

For thirty years they had worked hard and ten years ago, when the owner of the 
Hardware store in which Alex worked was put up for sale, they bought it. For the 
last ten years they had not gone on a vacation of more than a few days. 

When Alex turned sixty they decided to sell the store and enjoy life in general. 
This was their first trip home since they had emigrated.

“Oh, oh,” Martha said. 

“What is the matter, honey,” Alex asked. 

“Do you see those two men staring at the blonde girl?” Martha asked. 

“Of course, she is young and very beautiful,” Alex chuckled, “Any red-blooded
American would admire such a beauty.”

Alex and Martha were more American than the most of the Americans. They had 
even changed their name to Smith from Schmidt to blend better with them.

“Yes, but they are foreigners,” Martha said, in a confidential tone. 

“Let them enjoy also,” Alex laughed. 

“Alex, mark my words,” Martha prophesied, shaking her forefinger at Alex, “There 
will be trouble on the flight.” 

“Martha, relax and enjoy,” Alex advised, “Shall I get you something to drink?” 

“No, thank you,” Martha said stiffly.

Other seats were occupied by three families, two Indian and one American, a 
group of Hare Krishna Hare Rama sect, and several single men of different age 
groups who looked like students and business men. 

Few minutes later the loudspeaker crackled announcing the departure of Flight 
WAC 1403A. 

Flight WAC 1403A was a combi flight i.e. only half the flight was meant for 
passengers and the rest for cargo. 

The passenger cabin was located immediately after the cockpit in the front half of 
the aircraft and was partitioned off from the rest of the aircraft. This flight had only 
one class i.e. economy. Most of the seats in the passenger cabin were occupied 
but some seats were still available.   

The priests and the monks occupied the first two rows. 

Mr. Patel, his wife Kokilaben and Arti sat in the thirteenth row on the left of the 
front as you enter the aircraft.  Mr. Patel occupied the window seat, his wife 
Kokilaben sat in the center and Arti sat in the aisle seat. 

Mike sat in an aisle seat in eleventh row. Mr. and Mrs. Alex Smith occupied two 
seats in the fifteenth row on the right and Sally and Stan Holworth sat in the 
eighteenth row but on the opposite side of the Smiths. 

The girls from the convent and the nuns occupied three rows - seventh, eighth 
and ninth. Sister Bernadine occupied the aisle seat in front of Mike, Sister 
Augusta sat on the aisle seat of eighth row but on the other side and Sister 
Abigail occupied aisle seat on the same side as Sister Bernadine but in the 
seventh row. In this way one nun kept tabs on five girls. Angela sat next to Sister 
Augusta. Rosaline, glued to the window, sat next to Sister Augusta.

Out of the other seats about ninety percent were occupied by the three families, 
Hare Krishna Hare Rama clan, students and business men and the rest were 
vacant. 

The flight took off punctually and proceeded smoothly towards its destination. 
During the flight the children chattered noisily and ran up and down the aisle 
playing games. The nuns caught them and led them back to their seats in case 
they ran too far. Angela, the oldest of the girls, changed places with Sister 
Augusta as Sister Augusta was feeling airsick. 

The Hare Krishna Hare Rama clan strummed the strings of a guitar and sang 
songs softly. Some read and others slept. After meals the lights were dimmed 
and the stewardesses got time to relax.  

The passengers dozed as the plane unerringly flew towards the mainland of 
Europe. As the plane flew over the mainland of Europe three figures rose from 
their seats and covering their faces with ski masks, entered the flight deck. A few 
minutes later four others got up and wearing their ski masks took their positions 
as decided earlier.

Peter and Thomas emerged a few minutes later with the flight crew in tow. In the 
meanwhile, Helga and Karl had rounded up the other three air hostesses and 
handcuffed them. 

“Gentlemen, please find other seats,” Peter said respectfully to the clergymen 
occupying the first two rows, “because the crew members are going to sit here.” 

The clergymen vacated their seats post haste and found alternate seats. The 
crew was handcuffed to the seats. The process went so smoothly that the rest of 
the passengers did not have any inkling of it. 

Then Peter announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the plane has been hijacked 
and we are in control now. One stewardess will be available to look after your 
immediate needs.” Helga freed a hostess named Mimi.

Suddenly there was panic. Some passengers screamed, some protested loudly 
and some looked towards the sky seeking Divine help.

“Please remain seated. No one will get hurt if you obey us,” Peter Ivanovic 
announced. 

“Where are you taking us?” someone asked. 

“There are many possibilities,” Peter replied patiently, “I’ll let you know as soon 
as it is finalized.”

Peter returned to the flight deck after making the announcement. 

The next two hours the aircraft flew towards its new destination. The hijackers 
stood guard while Mimi attended to the passenger’s immediate needs.

“Brother,” Ali said, “get me something to drink. I am very thirsty.” 

“I saw just the thing for you,” Asif replied laughing.

Few minutes later he returned with two bottles of wine. “Drink this with the 
compliments of the management,” Asif laughed, taking a swig out of his bottle. 
They drank in silence for a while.

”She looks like an angel with her fair skin, blue eyes and golden hair, doesn’t 
she?” Ali said, nudging Asif with his elbow.

“You are right,” Asif replied, “Beautiful girl, what is your name?”

”Angela, sir,” she replied shyly.

 “What an appropriate name,” Ali laughed, “She looks like an angel…Angela.” 

This exchange was followed by silence. 

Suddenly Ali said impulsively, “Listen Angela, forget the nuns. Come with us. 
We’ll show you how to have fun…real fun.” 

“Yeah, each night will be your wedding night,” Asif elaborated, and laughing 
added, “some nights you will celebrate your wedding night two or three times.”

“Please don’t,” Angela blushed, and hid her face in Sister Augusta’s big bosom. 

“Please sir, this is no way to talk,” Sister Augusta said, “She is very young.” 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize that she was a virgin,” Ali chuckled. 

“Yeah, talk about her wedding night must be embarrassing for her,” Asif laughed. 

“I know what pretty girls like,” Ali said, pocketing the gun and pointing to her 
blouse, “undo the buttons of your blouse and give us a glimpse of your beautiful 
boobs.” 

“No…no,” Angela screeched, cringing deeper into her seat. 

“Don’t touch her,” Sister Augusta said tersely, pushing Ali’s hand away. 

“You bloody black bitch how dare you touch me? If you touch me again then I’ll 
fuck you so hard in your ass hole that you won’t be able to sit or shit for several 
days, understood?” Ali said, glaring angrily at Sister Augusta.

Everyone was shocked, shocked at the ferocity and profanity of the threat. Sister 
Augusta cringed back in her seat under the Ali’s angry stare. Suddenly Ali 
smiled, displaying his dirty yellow teeth, and turning to Angela said, “Now where 
was I…oh yes…open the buttons of your blouse, little girl, and show us your 
shapely tits…or I’ll open them for you.”

“NO, NO PLEASE DON’T TOUCH ME,” Angela yelped, and cringed back. 

Asif laughed. 

Mike could no longer take it. He sprang to his feet and caught Ali’s hand moving 
towards the buttons of Angela’s blouse and said menacingly, “You bastard, can’t 
you understand English? She said not to touch her,” and punched Ali squarely on 
his nose. 

Ali staggered back into Asif, unbalancing him and they fell to the floor of the 
plane.  

“Let us have a look at your face,” Mike said, and bent down to unmask the 
hijacker. 

Just as Mike was about to pull off the ski mask another hijacker attacked him 
from behind. Mike turned to face him. They both grappled. Soon Mike had 
wrestled the hijacker to the floor and ripped off his mask but at that very moment 
someone gun whipped him. 

“OH,” Mike cried, and holding his head fell on the floor unconscious. 

The second hijacker took this opportunity to turn his face around towards the 
plane’s floor and stood up after adjusting his mask. 

“You barbarians, you have killed him,” Arti screamed, and getting up from her 
seat, sat on the floor of the plane, holding Mike’s bleeding head on her lap. She 
appealed to the passengers, “Is there a doctor on board?”

There was no response.

“Oh, is there a doctor on board?” she begged again, with tears running down her 
cheeks. 

A man of forty-five with a middle-age belly and thinning hairline stood up. “I am a 
doctor but I don’t have my bag with me,” he said apologetically.

“Oh Lord, please don’t let this brave man die,” Arti pleaded, looking upwards. 

“We have a first aid kit on board,” Mini the hostess whispered, hesitatingly. 

“What are you waiting for? Go get it girl,” the hijacker, whom Mike had 
unmasked, said. 

The doctor worked with practiced ease.  A quarter of an hour later he announced, 
“He’ll be okay. The wound is not deep and the bleeding has stopped. I’ve 
bandaged it for the present but he requires to be kept under observation for at 
least forty-eight hours.” 

“Papa, you occupy this brave gentleman’s seat, mama you shift to papa’s seat 
and I’ll sit with him in case he requires something,” Arti said.

When they were seated, Kokilaben Patel said, “Arti, your sari is ruined. You’ll 
never be able to get rid of these blood stains.”

“Oh, mama, you are worried about the damned sari when a man’s life is at 
stake,” Arti responded. Kokilaben blushed at this rebuke and looked out of the 
window.

An hour later a hijacker announced, “We’ll be landing in Moscow shortly. An 
ambulance will be waiting at the tarmac to take this young man to the hospital.” 

When the plane landed the paramedics boarded the plane. As they carried Mike 
out, Arti followed. 

“Arti, stop,” Kokilaben said, “the doctors will now take care of him.” 

“No, mama, I want to be with him till he is okay,” Arti said, and sat in the 
ambulance with Mike. 

Next morning the world media went wild. 

“FLIGHT WAC 1403A HIJACKED TO MOSCOW” read one headline. 

“RUSSIA PERMITS U.S. PLANE TO LAND ON ITS SOIL” screamed the 
headline of another paper. 

“PLANE HIJACKED. ALL PASSENGERS SAFE,” read the headlines of the third 
newspaper and so on. 

There was a lot of speculation attached to the hijacking. Some papers in the U.S. 
even insinuated that USSR had engineered it because of the Cuba blockade. 

In the afternoon Col. Molokov read out a prepared statement to the press. 

The statement read, “Last night flight no. WAC 1403A asked for permission to 
land. As it is against our policy to give shelter to criminals we refused. Then they 
informed us that there was a critically injured person on board who required 
immediate medical attention and they were running short of fuel also. We 
permitted them to land on humanitarian grounds. Later we negotiated and 
secured the release of passengers, crew and the plane in lieu of a payment of 
ten million US dollars and safe passage to the hijackers.”

“Sir, why did you not arrest them when they left the plane?” a correspondent 
asked. 

“Because we had promised safe passage to them,” Col. Mokolov replied, in a self 
righteous tone. 

“Col. Mokolov, do you know where the hijackers are now?” another 
correspondent enquired. 

“I don’t know, all I can say is that they are not on Soviet soil,” Col. Molokov 
replied, “Thank you, gentlemen, that will be all. I must go. I’ve work to do.”  

The passengers and the crew with their personal luggage were allowed to leave 
the USSR on flights of their choice after they were interrogated but the plane was 
detained by the Soviet customs as, according to them, the plane and its cargo 
was imported into the USSR without proper documentation.

When the plane and its cargo was released after nearly three months, the crates 
containing the tube launched, optically tracked, wire guided missiles were no 
longer on board. There was no mention of it by the USA or the USSR.

It took the CIA, Interpol and the local police of many countries nearly two years to 
nab the hijackers. All seven hijackers were arrested, extradited to the US, 
wherever required, and put on trial. They were found guilty and sent to jail.


NEW YORK, Friday 3rd May, 1974

Jim Rally and Mary Pullman sat in Graham Hussley’s office. Graham Hussley 
had called a meeting to enquire about the progress Jim and Mary had made in 
the ‘Save Crime Watch’ project.

“Jim, have you talked to your sources?” Mr. Hussley asked. 

“Yes, but found nothing conclusive,” Jim Rally said, “The majority of them believe 
that all the hijackers have been brought to book though some say that they had 
heard whispers about an eighth hijacker.” 

“Anything else,” Mr. Hussley prompted.

“I have read the account of the hijacking in nearly every important paper 
including Washington Post and New York Times. I have come to the conclusion 
that it will be a waste of our time and money to try and locate the eighth hijacker 
but reopening the case might generate enough interest in the public to increase 
our circulation,” Jim confirmed.

“Good.  That is exactly our purpose,” Mr. Hussley noted with satisfaction, “Mary, 
your report.”

“Sir, I have read the investigation report of the police,” Mary replied.

“Really, how did you manage that?” Mr. Hussley asked, incredulously. 

“Well sir, Detective Inspector Alan Jones, the police officer who investigated the 
hijacking along with the CIA, is my current boy friend,” Mary chuckled, “I 
requested it of him and he let me read it on two conditions.” 

“What were the two conditions?” Mr. Hussley asked. 

“I hope he didn’t ask for money,” Jim Rally said. 

“Well, he did put a price on it,” Mary giggled. 

“We won’t pay a penny. Tell him it is illegal,” Jim Rally said, “Graham, some 
police officers can’t resist the temptation to make a fast buck.” 

“Jim, we’ll have to pay if we want to increase our circulation,” Mr. Hussley said, 
then turning to Mary, added, ”Mary, the paper will pay anything within reason.”

“Don’t worry about his first condition. I’ve done what was necessary,” Mary 
giggled, with a naughty twinkle in her eyes, “But, sir, I don’t like his second 
condition.” 

“What is his second condition?” Mr. Hussley asked, suppressing a smile. 

“His second condition is, I quote, “Should you amateurs uncover something new 
during your investigations, which I seriously doubt, then you will not publish it 
without my consent,” unquote,” Mary said.

“How can he put such an absurd condition?” Jim Rally said angrily, “It amounts to 
muzzling the press.” 

“Jim, I agree but we will have to do what he says,” Mr. Hussley said. 

“But, Graham, he can’t gag the press,” Jim protested, indignantly. 

“When I talked to Agent Bradley he said the same and I agreed,” Mr. Hussley 
said, “Mary, tell him it is okay.” 

“I have already done so,” Mary stated, “Another thing, our weekly discussion of 
unsolved crime is catching the public’s fancy.”

“Good, keep it up,” Mr. Hussley said, “Mary, what are your plans?” 

“Mr. Holworth has shifted his practice to Jersey City, New Jersey.  The boss and 
I plan to go there and interview him and his wife. I have already contacted them 
and they said they will be available around noon on Sunday. On the way home 
we’ll make a slight detour and visit Mr. and Mrs. Alex Smith. I have told them 
we’ll be there around 1 p.m.” Mary explained. 

“Mary, isn’t the Convent of Sacred Hearts also in that direction?” Jim Rally asked. 

“It is, but it’ll serve no purpose as Sisters Abigail and Sister Bernadine are in 
Texas and Sister Augusta is in Florida. Angela has gone back to her parents. I 
contacted them and was told that she is studying in Stanford, California,” Mary 
explained. 

“Alright, best of luck,” Mr. Hussley said terminating the meeting. 


New Jersey, Sunday 5th May 1974


Mr. Jim Rally and Miss Mary Pullman reached the Holworth residence at noon 
and rang the bell. A six-month pregnant lady opened the door. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Holworth,” Jim Rally said, “We are from “The Crime Watch” 
and called to meet you and your husband.”

“Oh yes, come in,” Sally said, leading the visitors into the living room, “Please 
make yourself comfortable.” 

“I am Jim Rally, Chief Crime Reporter and this is Miss Mary Pullman, my 
assistant,” Jim Rally said.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sally said shaking hands, “I’m Sally Holworth.”  

“Isn’t Mr. Holworth home?” Mary asked. 

“He is in his study,” Mrs. Holworth replied, “I’ll call him.” 

She contacted him on the intercom and said, “Darling, people from the 
newspaper are here.” The receiver made gawking noises. 

“He’ll be with us in a few minutes,” she said, replacing the receiver.

Mary noticed that the furniture of the living room was expensive but not showy. 
The living room was tastefully decorated. “Would you like some coffee?” Sally 
asked.

“No, thank you,” Jim Rally replied, “We stopped on the way and had some.” 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Stan Holworth said, in his booming baritone, “I 
am Stan Holworth.”

Jim Rally introduced themselves again and repeated the purpose of their visit. 

“It is not an unsolved crime,” Stan Holworth said, “If my memory serves me right 
all the seven hijackers were caught, tried and convicted.”

“That is true,” Jim Rally answered, “but some people believe that there were 
eight hijackers.” 

“Mmmm, eight hijackers,” Stan Holworth said, “How can we help you?” 

“Please tell us what happened during the flight that day,” Jim Rally asked.

“Police questioned me in detail about it already,” Stan Holworth said. 

“Do you mind repeating it for us?” Mary requested. 

“There is not very much to tell,” Stan stated, “As you know Sally and I were on 
our honeymoon. We were so involved with each other that we did not notice what 
happened. Then suddenly we heard an announcement saying that the plane has 
been hijacked. I looked up and saw a man wearing a ski mask and wielding a 
handgun standing near our seat. Two armed hijackers roamed the center and 
one armed hijacker was positioned in the front of the cabin.” 

“Tell us about the fight,” Jim Rally said.

“I was coming to it. I don’t know what happened as we were quite far from them. I 
suddenly heard a shout. I looked in the direction of the shout and saw a young 
man punch one of the hijackers on the nose. The hijacker fell to the floor.”

“He was very brave man,” Sally said.  

“You are right,” Mary said, “It required real courage to do that.”

“What happened next?”Jim prompted. 

“The young man bent over the fallen figure. Another hijacker jumped on his back 
and both started to wrestle. The young man was quite strong and got the better 
of his attacker. As the young man pulled off the ski mask of the second hijacker a 
third hijacker hit him on the head with a handgun.”

A young woman jumped up and screamed, “You barbarians, you have killed 
him.”

Then she sat on the floor holding the bleeding head of the young man in her lap 
and appealed for a doctor. Luckily a doctor was on board and attended to the 
young man.”

“An hour later we landed in Moscow. We had to spend hours on board as the 
hijackers negotiated with the Russian authorities.  Suddenly the hijackers 
vanished and Russian Security forces took over. We were taken to a transit 
lounge and interrogated. Then after two days we were allowed to leave the 
USSR.”

“Darling, you forgot to mention that after deplaning we had to go through 
immigration and passport check,” Sally said. 

“Thank you dear, yes, they made us go through Immigration on arrival and again 
on departure stamping our passports each time,” Stan Holworth clarified. “I didn’t 
like it but what could I do.” 

“Did they take all of you to the same lounge?” Jim Rally asked. 

“No, there were only about thirty of us in the lounge. I don’t know about the rest,” 
Stan replied. 

“Didn’t you find this strange?” Mary asked. 

“Yes, I did at that time,” Stan replied.

“Ma’am, one last question,” Mary asked, “When the young man was hit on the 
head, how many hijackers were in the passenger cabin?” 

“I think…”Stan began to answer, when Mary interrupted him, “Sir, let your wife 
answer.” 

“I think there were four…no five hijackers in the cabin,” Sally said. 

“Sir, what do you think?” Mary asked Stan. 

“I would also say five,” Stan replied.  

“Thank you,” Jim said.  

“No problem,” Stan said, “Should you have more questions let us know.”

Then after a few minutes Jim Rally and Mary Pullman took their leave. 


________________________________________________________________



“Let us now visit Alex and Martha Smith,” Jim Rally said, stifling a yawn. 

An hour later their car pulled up in front of the Smith residence. Mrs. Smith was 
sitting on her portico waiting for them. As they walked up the garden path, Mrs. 
Smith called out, “Alex, they are here.”

“Hello, Mrs. Smith, we are from the paper ‘The Crime Watch’,” Jim said, and 
introduced Mary and himself as Mr. Smith joined them. 

“Dearie, would you like some coffee or a soda?” Mrs. Smith asked. 

“A cup of coffee would be nice,” Mary replied. Martha looked at Jim. 

“I’ll take a cup of coffee too,” he replied.

Martha brought coffee and everyone helped themselves. When they had settled 
down with a cup each, Alex came to the point and said, “You wanted to know 
about the hijacking, correct?”

Jim and Mary nodded. 

Before Alex could begin Martha said smugly, “I told Alex before we took off that 
we’d have trouble on the flight when I saw that foreign looking man staring at this 
young pretty girl.”

“Yes, she did,” Alex confirmed dutifully. Jim and Mary smiled at her indulgently. 

Alex’s version was similar to that of Stan Holworth expect that he was of the 
opinion that Mike had seen the face of the hijacker and that they were not in the 
same lounge as the Holworths. 

“Did you go through immigration check?” Jim asked. “Yes, and also when we 
left,” Alex confirmed.

“Mike did not say anything about seeing the hijacker’s face at the trial,” Mary 
said. 

“Yes, he couldn’t even recollect wrestling with the second hijacker,” Mr. Smith 
shrugged. “The blow on the head must have affected his memory.”

“Sir, how many hijackers were there in all according to you?” Jim asked. 

“I don’t know for sure but I would say eight,” Mr. Smith said hesitatingly. 

“How do you arrive at this figure?” Jim asked. 

“Initially three hijackers entered the flight deck. One tall strapping black fellow 
and a short thin man stayed back but the thin tall guy came out. That means 
there were two hijackers on the flight deck and I counted five hijackers in the 
passenger cabin making a total of seven. I counted them again after the fight. 
Then there were six of them in the cabin. Later when they left the plane again 
counted five,” Mr. Smith said.

“Why didn’t you say so at the trial?” Mary asked surprised. 

“I was confused and did not want to make a fool of myself,” Mr. Smith replied, 
softly.   

“Mrs. Smith,” Jim prompted. 

“Alex is mistaken. There were seven of them only,” Mrs. Smith replied. 

“How can you be so sure?” Mary asked. 

“I saw them getting into a mini van from my window and counted them,” she said 
smugly. 



________________________________________________________________




Detective Inspector Alan Jones and Mary lay smoking in bed after making love 
that night.

Alan asked, “Mary, what did you do today?” 

“We interviewed the Holworths and the Smiths,” Mary replied, pulling deeply on 
her cigarette. 

“Anything new?” he probed.

“Mr. Smith thought there were eight hijackers,” Mary replied thoughtfully, “He 
counted them several times. Sometimes the count was eight and sometimes it 
was seven but according to Mrs. Smith only seven of them left the aircraft.” 

“It only confirms that the old man can’t even count correctly. I think he is getting 
senile,” Alan laughed, “Mrs. Smith is right. There were only seven of hijackers.” 

“He seemed quite level-headed to me,” Mary said, blowing smoke rings, “Let us 
assume that there were eight hijackers. Then the question arises; where did the 
eighth hijacker come from and later disappear to?”

“Mary, shall we fuck again or you would like to wrestle with the ‘Case of the 
vanishing hijacker’?” Alan asked, stubbing out his cigarette.

“Let us fuck,” Mary giggled, turning on her back and spreading her legs wide, “I 
can do my wrestling in the morning.” 

They fell asleep after making love for the second time that night.

“Eureka,” Mary exclaimed, waking up in the middle of the night and shaking 
Alan’s flaccid cock, added,“Get up Alan, I‘ve got it.” 

“Yes, I noticed but I am tired. Mary, let me sleep,” Alan mumbled, “I’ll fuck you 
again tomorrow.” 

Mary wanted to wake him but changed her mind. “Sleep tight, darling,” she said, 
kissing Alan. Snuggling up to him, she went back to sleep.

Mary kept her thoughts to herself and did not mention it to anybody. 



SUBURBS OF NEW YORK, SATURDAY 11th MAY 1974



“Who are we visiting today?” Jim asked Mary, getting into the car.  

“The Scotts,” Mary replied, “Mike Scott and Arti, the Indian girl on the flight, have 
got married.” 

“Oh yes, I remember. They mentioned it at the trial,” Jim Rally said, “How did you 
locate them?”

“I phoned Mrs. Sarah Scott and got their number,” Mary replied.

“Did you ask her about her marriage?” Jim said, “A romantic story would boost 
our circulation.”

“I already asked her,” Mary chuckled, “She said would tell us when we visit 
them.”

Mary pressed the starter. The old Ford growled a couple of times before purring 
like a cat. Mary and Jim reached the Scott’s house at eleven. An Indian lady with 
a two-year-old child in her lap was sitting on the patio. 

“Boss, Mrs. Scott is waiting for us,” Mary commented. 

“Mary, let me handle this,” Jim said, and approaching the lady added, “Miss, is 
Mrs. Scott at home?” 

“Yes sir,” the lady replied, “Come in she is expecting you.” 

She led them to the sitting room and went to call Mrs. Arti Scott. 

Mrs. Scott entered the room. She was in her early thirties, 5’ 6” tall with an 
hourglass figure and flashing big black eyes, long black hair done up in a bun 
behind her head, fair complexion and beautifully formed features. A white pearl 
string round her swan-like neck enhanced her beauty. She wore a blood-red sari 
with matching blouse hugging her big tits and red low-heeled shoes. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said with a bright smile. Jim introduced Mary and 
himself and explained the purpose of their visit. 

“Is Mr. Scott at home?” Mary asked, “We would like to see him also.” 

“Mike had to go out but will be back soon,” Arti said, “In the meanwhile, I’m at 
your disposal. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” Jim replied. 

“Me too,” Mary said.

“Which tea would you prefer, Darjeeling or Ceylon?” Arti asked.

“Darjeeling, please,” Jim replied. 

Mary didn’t know much about teas and decided to go with Jim’s choice. 

“Me too,” Mary said.

“Asha, give Rahul to me and serve tea and biscuits for four,” Arti said to the 
Indian lady with the child.

“Four?” Asha asked. 

“Yes, master will be joining us soon,” Arti said, and turning to Jim and Mary, 
added, “She is worth her weight in gold.”

“You are very lucky to have a maid,” Mary commented. 

“Asha is not a maid but a nanny. I got her from India when Rahul was born. She 
doesn’t mind helping out in household chores,” Arti said, “You didn’t come out 
here discuss Asha. You said something about the hijacked aircraft on the phone.” 

“Yes,” Jim confirmed, “Many people were of the opinion that there were eight 
hijackers and not seven. Therefore we are having another look at the hijacking.” 

“Would you mind telling us about the hijacking,” Mary requested.

“It was a long time back but I’ll tell you what I remember,” Arti said. 

“You had promised to tell about your wedding also,” Mary pointed out. 

“I’ll tell you about it after the hijacking story,” Arti laughed.

Arti repeated the same story which Stan and Alex had told until the plane landed 
in Moscow and an ambulance was waiting to take Mike to the hospital. 

“I accompanied Mike, against the wishes of my parents, to the hospital,” Arti 
narrated, “I must say that the Russians really looked after him. They attended to 
his wound and carried out several tests. They discharged him after seventy-two 
hours saying, I quote, ‘He’ll have a headache for couple of days, otherwise he is 
as good as new,’ unquote. We joined my parents and proceeded to Bombay.”

“Did you go through immigration at any point?” Jim asked.

“Yes, the Russians were very insistent. They even issued transit visas for my 
parents, Mike and me. We did not have to do anything. They took care of 
immigration, etc.,” Arti said.

When we reached Bombay, my parents and I insisted that Mike take it easy for a 
few days. We booked him in Hotel Natraj situated on Marine Drive. I volunteered 
to show him the city.”

“While showing him the sights I could see that Mike was in love with me. I was in 
love with him and waited for him to broach the subject but he didn’t,” Arti giggled. 

“Come on, Arti,” Jim chided, “How could you tell that he was in love with you.” 

“Boss, a girl can tell,” Mary said, “Was it love at first sight from your side?”

“Actually it was love from first ‘fight’ not first ‘sight’,” Arti laughed.

Jim and Mary laughed also. 

“It was very brave thing to do under such conditions,” Mary agreed. 

At this juncture, Mike entered the sitting room. He kissed Arti on the cheeks and 
greeted Mary and Jim.

“Darling, I told you about them. They are from ‘The Crime Watch’,” Arti said, 
pouring out a cup of tea for Mike. 

“Hello there, I am Mike. Are you telling them about the hijacking?” Mike asked. 

“That too,” Arti giggled, “But now I’m telling them how we got married.” 

“Go on,” Mike smiled, “It is quite an interesting story.” 

“A week later we took in a movie in the evening and after dinner we walked along 
Marine Drive watching the tide come in. I had resolved earlier that if Mike didn’t 
broach the subject of marriage then I would. I looked Mike in the eye and asked, 
“Mike, do you love me?”

“He blushed and stared at me for a minute or two then nodding slowly, said, 
“Yes, Arti, I am in love with you.”

“Do you want to marry me?” I persisted. 

“What sort of question is that,” Mike asked, deflecting my query. 

“Answer me,” I insisted.

“Yes, very much,” he replied.

“Then why don’t you say something,” I probed further. 

“What is the use,” Mike said, “Your parents would never agree to let you marry a 
foreigner.”

“Why don’t you try?” I said, “Mike, propose to me.”

“Arti please, don’t make fun of me,” he said. 

“Mike, I am serious,” I replied, “Go ahead and propose to me.”

“It was midnight. The streets were deserted. Mike sat me on the parapet by the 
Arabian Sea and going down on one knee and said, “Arti, I love you very much 
and can’t live without you. I’ll be honored if you will consent to be my wife.”

“Yes, darling, I will,” I replied, falling into his arms. Then we kissed for the first 
time. 

“What about your parents?” Mike asked, when our kiss broke, “How will you 
make them agree?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve a plan to persuade them,” I giggled, “Let us go to bed now.”

“Okay, I’ll go and fetch a cab,” Mike said.

“No, let us spend the night in your room,” I giggled, “Poor Mike was scandalized.”

“Are you mad?” he said incredulously, “We can’t sleep together before we are 
married. I know how important virginity is to the Indians.”

“You are so sweet,” I said, then with a naughty twinkle in my eyes I added, “and if 
I had not been an Indian?”

“I wouldn’t have thought twice,” he replied, grinning broadly. 

“Listen. My plan is that I can’t return home before morning and we can’t remain 
here all night,” I said, “Let us go to your room. You can sleep on the bed and I’ll 
sleep on the floor.”

When we approached Mike’s room we met the room boy carrying food for some 
other guest. “Good night, madam. Good night, sir,” he greeted us with a cheesy 
grin.

“Arti, your reputation will be in tatters by morning,” Mike chuckled. 

“Good. It suits my plan,” I laughed.

In the morning we reached my parents flat around nine. “Mike, I’ll tell them that 
we had spent the night together. They will believe the worst. Just endorse what I 
say and don’t deny anything,” I told him. 

“I don’t know if I can carry it out,” Mike replied doubtfully. 

“Mike, do you want to fuck me?” I asked brutally.

“Yes, very much,” he replied truthfully. 

“Then do as you are told,” I ordered. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied meekly.  

“My parents were eating breakfast. “Good morning papa, Good morning mama,” I 
said brightly.

“Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Patel,” Mike said. 

“My mother took me aside and whispered, “Arti, where were you last night?”

“We were together at his hotel,” I replied, loud enough for papa and Mike to hear. 

“WHAT?” mama shouted losing her cool. 

“I said we spent the night together in his room,” I replied calmly. 

“Oh my God,” mama exclaimed, “did you…I mean did he…oh you know what I 
mean.” 

“Yes, we slept together. If that is what you want to know,” I replied, blushing.

My mother broke down and began to cry. “Kokilaben, what happened?” papa 
asked, “Why are you crying?”

“I told you not to give her so much freedom,” mama said, sobbing, “Now, except 
crying, what is left for us?”

“Arti, what have you told her?” papa asked.

“Ask her,” I answered shrugging. 

“Kokilaben, please tell me why you are crying,” papa asked. 

“T…T…This man has ruined our daughter,” mama said, pointing an accusing 
finger at Mike. 

“You rascal! Arti saved your life and you repay her by raping her,” papa said, 
advancing menacingly towards Mike. 

Mike stood his ground and replied, “Sir, I did not rape her. I love her and with 
your permission would like to marry her.”

“Mannubhai, I think best thing would be to hand him over to the police,” mama 
suggested.

“You are right,” papa said, ”Call the police.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said.

“Why not? What can you do?” mama said clenching and unclenching her fists in 
frustration. 
 
“It will result only in unwanted publicity,” replied, “I’ll tell them that I am over 
eighteen and gave myself to Mike willingly.”

“She is right,” papa said, cooling down, “They’ll talk to our neighbors, the press, 
everyone.” 

“Oh my God,” mama said, holding her head between her hands, “What shall we 
do?”

“Oh papa, please can I marry Mike?” I begged. 

“Arti, you are very naïve. A marriage vow means nothing to these foreigners. 
They are not capable of love. You are his present fancy and tomorrow it will be 
someone else. You can’t trust them,” papa said. 

“Mike, come,” I said, “I am not going to listen while papa calls you names.”

I left with Mike and returned late in the night only. 

I met my parents but they didn’t say a word. I shrugged and went to my room. In 
the next days few days I got the silent treatment from my parents. I was also 
adamant and didn’t speak to them but kept my eyes and ears open. 

One day I heard mama say, “Mannubhai, I am very worried. What if Arti becomes 
pregnant?” I smiled to myself; my plan was working. 

“Kokilaben, Arti is a good girl,” papa said, “I think she is trying to force us to give 
permission to marry that rascal.”

“How will you find out the truth?” mama said. 

“I know of a good private detective. He’ll ferret out the truth,” papa said. 

Next challenge before me was my period. Mama kept a track of them. I had a 
Godmother, Dr. Shyama Motwani, a gynecologist. Her daughter Rashmi was my 
best friend. I took Rashmi into my confidence and when after ten days my period 
started I was able to pay special attention to the required hygiene at her house 
without my Godmother or my mother knowing it.

“One night I overheard mama saying,” I think Arti is pregnant. She is ten days 
overdue.”

“I was afraid of that. The P.I. also confirmed that they had spent the night 
together,” papa said, “I think marrying th…that man is better than becoming an 
unwed mother.”

“Before we take this step we must be sure that she is pregnant,” mama said.

“I have an idea. You tell Arti to get a checkup done by Shyama. If she refuses 
then we’ll know that she is lying,” papa chuckled, “Either way we’ll know the 
truth.”

I dashed back to my room. Mama came and said, “Arti, papa wants you to go to 
Aunt Shyama for a checkup.”

I decided to brazen it out and replied, “Sure, no problem.”

I could not sleep all night. If she told my parents the truth then everything would 
be ruined. Next morning I rushed to her house before she left for her clinic. I told 
Rashmi what mama had said.

“Shit,” Rashmi exclaimed, “Mummy will never support you.”

“There is no harm in trying,” I said. 

“Okay come,” Rashmi said, looking at her wrist watch, added, “She’ll be eating 
breakfast.”

I told Aunt Shyama everything from the hijacking to the present. She asked a 
number of questions to which I responded frankly and truthfully. 

“Did you spend a night alone with him?” she asked. 

“Yes, I did,” I replied. 

“Did you both sleep in the same bed?” she questioned further. 

“Yes, we did,” I confirmed. 

“You say you have done nothing wrong,” she queried. 

“I swear to God that he did not even lay a finger on me,” I said, placing my right 
hand on my heart.

“If he had laid a finger on you what would you have done?” she asked. 

“I love him and would have willingly surrendered my virginity to him,” I replied 
truthfully. 

“I’ll support you. Come to my clinic at four,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you Aunt Shyama,” I said, “I’ll be always in your debt.”

“Child, this is true love and deserves all the support it can get,” she responded, 
smiling.

After Aunt Shyama had checked me up she rang up my father. “Mannubhai, I 
have seen Arti. I suggest you marry her off as soon as possible,” she said. 

“Oh my God! Are you sure?” papa asked. 

“Mannubhai, I don’t have the time to answer your foolish questions. I have given 
you my opinion. It is now up to you,” she said curtly, and cut off the line.  

“Thank you, Aunt Shyama,” I said, laughing nervously.

“The atmosphere at home was completely changed. Papa sent a telegram calling 
Mike to Bombay. Mike contacted his mother. In a week we were married,” Arti 
laughed, finishing her story.

“What did your parents say when the baby did not come?” Mary laughed.

“We confessed and they took it very sportingly,” Mike chuckled, “When Rahul 
was born, papa said, ‘Arti is very slow. She took nearly nine years to make a 
baby whereas other women require only nine months to do it.”

“Very interesting story,” Mary said, “Do we have your permission to print it?”

Arti looked at Mike.

“Sure, why not?” Mike chuckled.

“Mike, if you don’t mind we would like to hear your version of the hijacking drama, 
especially your altercation with the hijackers,” Jim Rally said. 

Mike narrated his story. It was essentially a repetition of what the other witnesses 
had said before. About his fight with the hijackers, he said, “I recall punching the 
rascal, who was teasing the young girl, on the nose and bending down to 
unmask him but after that my mind is completely blank. Arti tells me that I 
grappled with another hijacker and managed to unmask him but despite my 
trying hard, I have no recollection of it.”

“That blow on the head seems to have affected your memory,” Jim said, 
sympathetically. “Keep trying, sometimes the memory comes back in a flash,” 
Mary said, encouragingly. 
                                                                                                                            
“Yes, that is what the doctor said,” Mike responded.

They chatted for some time, then the two journalists left. As they were leaving, 
Jim said, “Congratulations! I see that your mother was wrong and you were able 
to wash off the blood stains from your sari.”

“Unfortunately mama was right. That sari was ruined,” Arti responded, “This is a 
new one.” 

“Well, you can’t win them all,” Jim laughed, “Bye Arti, bye Mike and thank you for 
your cooperation.”

When they were alone Arti said, “Mike, is something the matter? You kept 
looking at Mr. Rally and frowning.”

“Was it so obvious? I hope they did not notice it,” Mike said.

“I don’t think so. They were more interested in my story,” Arti replied, “Why were 
you doing it?” 

“Somehow I felt that I had seen Mr. Rally before but could not place him,” Mike 
replied. 

”Just relax. It’ll come to you on its own in couple days,” Arti advised. 



NEW YORK, MONDAY 13th MAY 1974



Mary sat in her cabin analyzing the different testimonies. There were several 
points which puzzled her. She required expert advice. She called Alan. 

“Detective Inspector Jones speaking,” Alan said, answering the phone. 

“Alan, I need to talk to you,” Mary said. 

“Hi, beautiful. I’ll come by your place when I am done here,” Alan replied.

“No, not at home,” Mary said, “There you get easily distracted.” 

“Only because you are so beautiful and sexy,” Alan chuckled. 

“Alan, I am serious,” Mary said, “Can I come by your office now?” 

“Sure, I’ll be here,” Alan responded. 

“Okay, I’m coming,” Mary said, and banged down the receiver. 

Mary drove to Alan’s office. It was shortly after five and she got caught in the 
homebound traffic. It took her nearly an hour to reach Alan’s office. 

“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” Mary panted, “I got stuck in the traffic.”

“That’s all right,” Alan replied, “I’ll bring you coffee while you catch your breath.” 

“Alright, what did you want to discuss with me?” Alan said, placing a cup of 
steaming coffee before Mary.

“Alan, there are a number of points that I don’t understand,” Mary said.

“Tell me,” Alan replied. 

Alan listened attentively as Mary related all that happened on Saturday. 

“Okay, now what is unclear?” Alan asked.

“My questions are: first, how did Jim Rally recognize Mrs. Smith and Mrs. 
Holworth when he never saw them before and secondly how did he know that the 
lady with a child in her lap sitting on the patio of the Scott residence was not Mrs. 
Scott?” Mary asked.

“Mary, don’t tell me that you suspect your boss of being the eighth hijacker,” Alan 
asked, incredulously.  

“Alan, please don’t make fun of me,” Mary begged, “As it is I am very ashamed of 
entertaining such thoughts.” 

“Okay. What was the question…Oh yes. May he had seen their picture in the 
newspaper,” Alan responded.

“No, firstly he was away on leave visiting his sick mother in L.A. when the 
hijacking took place. Secondly none of the three ladies were here and thirdly 
none of the local newspapers carried a picture of any of the three ladies nor was 
their photo on the national wire service,” Mary said. 

“Then he must have seen them at the trial,” Alan said. 

“Yeah, that is possible but requires confirmation,” Mary said, “But how do you 
explain his remark about Arti’s sari? There was no mention of it in the police 
investigation report or the trial.”

“What remark?” Alan asked, sitting up straight. 

“When we were about to leave after talking to Arti and Mike, the boss said, I 
quote: “Congratulations, I see that your mother was wrong and you were able to 
wash the blood stains from your sari.”

“Unfortunately mama was right. That sari was ruined,” Arti responded, “This is a 
new one.”

“Well you can’t win them all,” Jim laughed, “Bye, Arti, bye Mike and thank you for 
your cooperation.” unquote.” 

“This is odd. I don’t recall Arti mentioning anything about the bloodstains on her 
sari during questioning or at the trial. This requires looking into,” Alan said 
thoughtfully.

“I thought so too,” Mary responded, pleased with herself. 

“The other night you posed a question,” Alan asked, “What was it?” 

“I think I have the answer,” Mary stated proudly. “The question was, how can a 
hijacker appear and then disappear without anybody noticing it?” 

“And what is the answer?” Alan chuckled. 

“There were many members of the Church traveling on the flight. The eighth 
hijacker could easily have disguised himself in a priest’s cassock or a monk’s 
frock and once the plane had been hijacked, gone to a toilet and taken it off. 
Voila, a hijacker appears and later he dons his disguise and disappears.”

“If this is what happened then, logically no other passenger could use that toilet 
after the plane had been hijacked, right,” Alan stated thoughtfully. 

“That’s right. I hadn’t thought of that,” Mary agreed.

“How many toilets were there?” Alan asked. 

“Four in front of the cabin and two in the rear,” Mary responded.

“The ones in front would have been too risky,” Alan surmised, “It must have been 
one in the rear.”

“You are right,” Mary said excitedly. “Maybe one of the passengers noticed it.” 

“Yes, ring up the Holworths and the Smiths and ask them,” Alan suggested, 
pushing the phone towards Mary. 

Mary rang up Sally Holworth and asked the question.

“Sorry, each time I used the toilet it was not occupied or locked,” Sally replied.

“What about Mr. Holworth? Did he say anything to you about it,” Mary asked.

“No, he didn’t mention it,” Sally replied, “I can ask him and let you know.” 

“Don’t bother,” Mary said, “Just give me the phone number and I’ll enquire.”  
Sally gave Mary the phone number and rang off.

Then Mary called the Smiths. Martha said no but Alex remembered that when he 
went to the toilet before they landed in Moscow he had to wait because one of 
them was occupied and the other locked.

“What’s wrong with this toilet?” Mr. Smith recalled asking the hijacker guarding 
the rear of the cabin. 

“Sorry, sir, it has been locked by the crew because of some malfunction,” the 
hijacker had replied, politely.

Mary thanked him and signed off. 

“Alan, it is now confirmed that there were eight hijackers and not seven,” Mary 
said, laughing nervously. 

“Looks like it,” Alan agreed, “Have you any other questions?” 

“No,” Mary said, “Oh Alan, I am so happy. Let us do something really crazy.” 

Alan leaned forward and whispered in Mary’s ear, “Let’s go to your flat and take 
our clothes off and come what may, not wear them till the next morning.” 

“Detective Inspector Alan Jones, you have a dirty mind…but I like it,” Mary 
giggled, with a naughty twinkle in her eyes, “Let’s go.”



NEW YORK, WEDNESDAY 15th May 1974 



Alan phoned Mary around four in the evening. “Hello beautiful, how are you 
today?” Alan enquired.

“A little sore; otherwise okay,” Mary giggled, “Any new developments?” 

“Yes, that is why I rang you up,” Alan said, “Yesterday, Mike came to see me. 
Apparently his memory has come back and he recognized Jim Rally as the 
eighth hijacker.” 

“That is wonderful news,” Mary said, “Can we print it?” 

“No, not yet,” Alan continued, “I apprised Agent Greg Bradley of the 
developments, in detail. He said he will interrogate the hijackers again and get 
back to me.”

“Why? We have a positive identification by Mike,” Mary asked. 

“Yes, but Mike’s memory came back at a very opportune time and a good 
defense lawyer would tear his testimony to shreds in cross examination,” Alan 
clarified.  

“Alright, we’ll wait,” Mary replied. 

“Are we meeting tonight?” Alan asked. 

“Of course.  Why this question,” Mary replied. 

“You said you were sore, I thought…” Alan left the sentence unfinished. 

“Is that the only thing you meet me for?” Mary asked, feigning anger. 

“No, no,” Alan assured Mary hastily, “You know I love you.” 

“I know. I was only teasing you,” Mary giggled, “A little soreness will not stop me 
from enjoying myself.”

“Bye, see you tonight,” Alan chuckled. 

“Bye,” Mary responded, and signed off. 


NEW YORK, WEDNESDAY 22nd MAY 1974.


“Hi, beautiful! I received a call from Agent Bradley saying that he wants you to 
come for a meeting at Langley, Virginia on Friday at noon,” Alan said, “He also 
said not to tell anybody where you are going, especially in your office.” 

“Okay,” Mary confirmed, “Alan, will be there too.” 

“Yes, I’ll be flying on the Washington shuttle around 10 a. m.” Alan replied, “If you 
like I can come to you on Thursday evening and travel together to Washington on 
Friday.” 

“That would be ideal,” Mary purred, “See you tomorrow.” 


CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VA., FRIDAY 24th MAY 
1974. 


Four people, Graham Hussley, Mary Pullman, Alan Jones and Greg Bradley, had 
assembled at noon in the conference room at the headquarters of The Agency. 

“Good morning,” Greg Bradley said, “Welcome to Langley. Before I tell you the 
latest developments in the hijacking case I’d like to summarize the known 
details.”

Then Greg Bradley summed up the investigations to-date, including Mary’s 
groundbreaking discoveries and Mike’s positive identification of Jim Rally as the 
eighth hijacker.

“Oh my God,” Mr. Hussley exclaimed incredulously, “you suspect Jim Rally.” 

“I am sorry Graham it is more than just a suspicion and I expect your cooperation 
to bring him to book,” Greg responded.

“Don’t worry,” Graham promised, “you’ll get all the cooperation you desire.”

“On last Friday I interrogated the seven hijackers individually. Each of them 
reiterated that there were only seven hijackers.

When I was interrogating Asif Hussain, he said, “Sir, what will happen to Ali and 
me after we have completed our sentence?”

I explained to him that as per current policy we would deport you to Egypt. Then 
he wanted to know if there was a way Ali and he could stay in America. At first I 
said no…then a thought crossed my mind…

“If you cooperate with us and tell us all you know, then in exchange we can 
consider letting you stay in America. 

“Oh, I see,” he said but did not take the bait.

On Monday, I received a phone call from the Jail Superintendent telling me that 
the two Egyptians prisoners wanted to talk to me. I went back to see them hoping 
they would cooperate.

“Thank you, sir, for acceding to our request and coming out here to meet with 
us,” Asif said politely. 

“That is all right,” I responded, “What do you want?” 

“Sir, if we agree to tell you all we know truthfully and cooperate with the 
authorities then will you let us stay in the US?” Ali asked. 

“I don’t know. I’ll have to check with my seniors but first you must confirm to me 
that you are willing to cooperate,” I replied, crossing my fingers.

“Sir, if you can get permission for us to stay in America then we’ll tell you the 
whole truth and cooperate fully with you,” they said together, solemnly placing 
their right hand on their heart.

“I’ll try, but it will easier to get your sentence reduced,” I said. 

“No, we will cooperate with you only if we are allowed to stay here after 
completing our term,” Asif replied.

“I’ll get back to you,” I promised and left. 

On Wednesday I went back and confirmed that my seniors had agreed that they 
could stay in America after completing their prison sentence provided what they 
told us was true and useful to us.

“We will tell the truth and then you can judge if it is useful to you or not,” Asif said. 

“Let us start,” I said, “How many hijackers were there in all?” 

“Eight,” Asif replied.

“How do you know?” I asked suspiciously. 

“After the young man…what was his name…yes, Mike downed the hijacker after 
a brief struggle and then he pulled off the hijackers mask. I was helping Ali to get 
on his feet and saw the man’s face. He was not present at the meeting in New 
York,” Asif replied.

“Will you be able to recognize him?” I enquired. 

“Of course,” he responded confidently. 

I excused myself for a few minutes and mixed Jim Rally’s photograph, which was 
in my pocket, with some other pictures which I borrowed from the Jail 
Superintendent, and returned. 

“See if the picture of the hijacker is among these photos,” I said pushing the 
bunch towards Asif.

Asif looked through the photos and without hesitation said, “This is the man.” 

It was the photo of Jim Rally. I cross questioned him but he stuck to his claim. 

“Will you be willing to testify in court?” I asked. 

“Yes, if you want me to,” he replied. 

“This is all what I wanted to share with you,” Greg Bradley said, finishing his 
briefing, “Alan, what did you find in his apartment?”

“We hit the mother lode. We found this passport and four others,” Alan grinned, 
pushing a passport towards Greg Bradley.

It was issued to Father Ferdinand Brown with Jim Rally’s photo dressed in a 
cassock.

“My men have checked the flight manifest. A Father Ferdinand Brown was on the 
flight,” Alan grinned.

“Good work, Alan,” Greg Bradley commented. 

“Sir, look at page eight,” Alan grinned. 

Greg Bradley turned to page eight. It had two stamps dated 10th December 1963 
one confirming entry into USSR and the other exit from the USSR.

“I think we have enough,” Greg Bradley said, “Alan, go ahead and arrest him.”

“With pleasure,” Alan replied, and rang up his men to do the needful.

“Congratulations Mary. Thanks to you we got the breakthrough,” Agent Greg 
Bradley said, shaking her hand.

“Greg, can we write the story now?” Graham Hussley asked. 

“It is all yours,” Agent Greg Bradley grinned.

“Mary, with Jim gone, it is your baby now,” Graham Hussley said, “Milk it as 
much as you can.”

“Yes sir, I will,” Mary confirmed, grinning happily.

THE END


Hi Folks,

This is my first attempt at writing a story other than erotica. What do you think of 
it? Did you enjoy it?

Send me your candid comments at sahebji70@yahoo.com   

Don’t forget to vote and take care,

Saheb Sahebji