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West invaded our island. They were not an army, and no doubt news of the invasion did not reach your ears; but to my people their arrival was a terrible event. They raped our land in their search for oil; and because of their greed, our children have started to die.'
     
The hijacker's voice was flat and emotionless now. Ben thought he could sense a tone of determination. In the cabin, the silence had turned into a hum of curious voices. There was still an atmosphere of thick fear, but the hijacker had certainly got their attention. Ben turned to Angelo. His Italian friend's face was expressionless as he continued to listen to the words coming over the intercom.
     
'I myself witnessed a father carrying the body of his daughter out of their house. She was killed by the machines of the men who thoughtlessly ravaged our island in their search for oil. The world did not hear about the little girl's death, but what we will do today will set that right. Today we will avenge the death of an innocent. Today my people will stand up to the invaders.'
     
As he spoke, the hijacker's expressionless voice became almost excited. Ben didn't know what their enemy looked like, but in his head he pictured a face that was beaming fanatically.
     
'We are headed towards the southern tip of Florida,' the hijacker continued, his voice slightly calmer now. 'The oil company that did us this injustice owns a large refinery there. This plane will act like a noble bullet. When it crashes into the refinery, the whole world will learn of the evils of the men who kill our children.'
     
It was the word 'crash' that did it, that sent the panic of the cabin into overdrive. Ben's ears were filled once more with the sound of people screaming, and he didn't blame them. He felt like screaming too. A deathly chill was running through his veins and it was all he could do to stop himself from collapsing, sick with fear. He grabbed onto the back of the nearest seat.
     
'I estimate that we are half an hour away from our target.' Ben had to strain now to hear the hijacker's voice above the noise of the cabin. 'I do not intend to speak to you again, but I suggest you use the time to consider the evils the Western world has inflicted upon us, and the part you have played in it.'
     
And then, as suddenly as it had started, the crackle of the intercom disappeared.
     
 
     
The air-traffic control tower of Miami International Airport throbbed with activity.
     
The hurricane in the Caribbean Sea had come from nowhere and it was moving fast – a freak of nature that was as unpredictable as it was unexpected. Already it had hit the Cayman Islands, leaving a trail of unbelievable devastation in its wake, and they'd nearly lost a 747 that had strayed too close to the headwinds. All the controllers in the control tower had sweat on their brows as they stared at their bank of computer screens, intently watching the flight paths of the planes that were being diverted round the area. Each aircraft on the screen was accompanied by a string of information – the flight number, the type of plane, its altitude and direction. It was a lot to take in, and you needed your wits about you.
     
Jack Simpson was twenty-five years old and he hadn't been in the job long. Not long enough to feel entirely confident. But as he spoke to the pilots he was guiding into the area, he did his best not to let any nervousness show in his voice. He knew that was the last thing pilots wanted to hear, especially in a difficult, high-traffic situation like this. And so he kept his voice calm as five passenger jets circled in a holding pattern to the east of Miami, and a good many more approached across his screen.
     
'Hurricane's heading north!' he heard someone in the room shout. There was a murmur among everyone there. They all knew what that meant: it was heading their way. Jack did his best not to think about his mother, living alone in a retirement village on the coast. She'd been battered by