In the plane, Carl and Harald sat on the floor by the door. They were handcuffed together with Harald’s handcuffs. The girl hijacker stood watching them with her gun. The bearded man was in the Captain’s cabin, and the young man in the black shirt was watching other passengers.
Harald touched his head with his hand. There was blood in his hair.
‘How do you feel, my young friend?’ Carl asked.
‘It hurts,’ Harald answered. ‘And I can’t see very well.’
‘This man needs a doctor,’ Carl said to the girl, angrily.
She laughed. ‘That is your wife’s problem, not mine,’ she said. ‘If our brothers come, he will get a doctor. If they don’t come, he won’t need one.’ She pointed her gun at Harald’s head and laughed again. She wasn’t at all nervous now.
Carl felt angry. He was angry with the hijackers and he was angry with himself because he had not moved fast enough to help Harald. It was good to be angry; when he was angry he did not feel so afraid.
‘How old are you?’ he asked the girl.
She did not answer.
