Miles To Go Before I Sleep Read Online Free PDF Page B

second hijacker with straight hair stood up and forced his way into the cockpit and confronted the EgyptAir copilot, Imad Bahi-El-Din. At first, Bahi-El-Din thought it was a prank. He half smiled at the hijacker—his entrance was so theatrical. On taking a second glance at the grenade in his left hand and the pistol in his right, however, the copilot knew this was no joke.
    The group hijacking the plane called itself the “Egypt Revolution.” They ordered the pilot to change course for Libya. But the captain, Hani Galal, warned there wasn’t enough fuel to make it.
    The captain radioed several countries, asking permission to change course and land—but every request was refused.
    The situation was desperate. Galal and his copilot warned the hijackers that the plane would crash into the sea unless it landed on the Mediterranean island of Malta, a tiny country about the size of Rhode Island, between Sicily and North Africa. He radioed Malta and was initially denied permission to land. After explaining our dangerous position and pleading with Maltese officials, they reluctantly gave in.
    In the main cabin, one of the hijackers ordered a flight attendant to translate his instructions. “Nobody does anything but what I say,” the hijacker’s helper told us. “Do what I tell you, and nobody gets hurt.”

    On our way to Malta, the hijackers donned black masks and moved passengers sitting in the front of the plane to the rear of the plane. I was the last passenger from the front section to change seats, and I was moved to the last row aisle seat, next to another hijacker. I could see he had glasses on underneath the mask.
    From my new position, I could see some of the children standing up in their seats and facing toward the back of the plane. These sweet, innocent little faces staring back at me were the same ones I’d seen in the airport terminal just a few minutes ago.
    I looked over and saw two attractive women sitting right across the aisle from me—the pair appeared to be a mother and her daughter. I later learned that Mrs. Guadelupe Palla de Ortiz De Pinedo and her daughter, also called Guadelupe, were two very popular and famous actresses who had appeared in numerous Mexican film, television, and stage productions. They were ending a two-month European holiday which had taken them to Britain, France, Spain, Switzerland, Belgium, Italy, and Greece.
    After we were settled in our new seats, the hijackers began rounding up our passports. In shock and stunned silence, we raised our hands over our heads as ordered.
    One hijacker forced a crew member to assist him in collecting our passports. In twos, they systematically approached each of us. The hijacker held a gun to our bodies while the flight attendant frisked us for possible weapons. They threw each passport into a briefcase.
    I sensed a sinister purpose behind this move and considered ways to disguise my citizenship. I remembered the earlier conversation I’d heard between the two Mexican women. Maybe I could pretend to be Spanish. I had short, black, curly hair, a dark tan, and, in Texas, people often mistook me for Mexican. I studied Spanish in elementary and high school and remembered a few basic words and phrases. It might work.
    My appearance might fool the hijackers. Yet my Levi jeans and Nike running shoes pegged me as distinctly American….
    The hijackers approached a well-dressed, broad-shouldered man near the front of the plane and demanded his passport. He reached into his jacket pocket—and pulled out a gun. He was a plainclothes EgyptAir security guard assigned to our flight as a safety precaution.
    Bang! The first shot rang out. More followed. In the chaos and confusion, twenty-two bullets were fired; some hit the passengers and the aircraft, others ricocheted in all directions. I hid behind the seat in front of me to escape the hailstorm. The bullets badly damaged the plane’s cabin and fuselage,