"You—drag the body over there…"
After Harvey left, the armed Middle Eastern man pointed to a male passenger seated near the corpse, ordering him around. He continued chatting amiably in Arabic with the terrorist who had posed as a passenger, clearly with no intention of doing the task himself.
George Walker glanced at the man, hesitated, then looked at Jennifer beside him and gave up on playing the hero. Back in Los Angeles, he had thought he could take down Owen, who was disguised as a hijacker—Owen hadn't looked very tough. But Owen had broken his nose, and thinking back now, it scared him. If Owen had been a real hijacker, George might not be alive today.
He used to be the quarterback on his college football team, in great shape. This Middle Eastern man wasn't wary of him at all. George felt like he could overpower him and then charge the other one like a woolly mammoth, taking him down.
But he didn't dare risk it. Jennifer was beside him, and he was afraid that acting impulsively might get them both killed.
George stood up to follow the order. He hadn't noticed while sitting, but once upright, he was a full head taller than the Middle Eastern man and had a sturdy build. The man grew wary, stopped chatting, and watched him carefully, subtly raising his weapon.
George obediently got to work. He wasn't afraid of corpses—his father was in the military, and he'd grown up tough. He tried dragging the air marshal's body, but the man was a hefty middle-aged guy, probably over 200 pounds, and not easy to move.
At first, George pulled the body by the shoulders but soon realized it was too hard. He shifted to dragging it by the arms, which was far easier.
As he moved through the aisle, passengers around him wore mixed expressions. This body had, just moments ago, been their last hope. Now that hope was gone. Some looked mournful, others covered their eyes, unable to handle the sight of a dead man.
Behind the tarp, Owen immediately recognized him the moment George stood up. "It's him…"
"You know him?" Ghost asked.
"Yes, I've run into him during two previous missions."
"Twice? This guy's suspicious?"
Ghost's doubt was justified. CTU didn't handle normal cases. Most people never experienced even one in a lifetime. This guy had now been involved in three. There were no coincidences in their line of work.
"No, he should be fine. We've investigated his background—military family, clean record. And he works at the Pentagon. Probably just really unlucky…"
Owen couldn't help but reflect on how cursed this guy was. Every time they crossed paths, the man was in some serious trouble.
"I think he might be able to help us…"
Suddenly, Owen saw an opportunity in George Walker. He took out a small device and looked to Ghost for approval. After a moment's thought, Ghost gave a slight nod.
George finally managed to drag the air marshal's body into the galley, placing it alongside the two dead flight attendants. Seeing the bodies laid out like that made George feel it was a bit disrespectful. He looked around for something to cover them with—then heard someone whispering his name.
"Walker. George Walker…"
He looked around and quickly pinpointed the source: a small slit in the tarp at the far end. Glancing back to check if the terrorists were watching, he saw they weren't paying attention. Curiosity piqued, George cautiously approached the slit—where a familiar face peeked out.
"Walker, remember me? Steve Owen, CTU. You filed a complaint against me just two days ago, remember?"
"Fuck," George almost lunged at him on instinct.
This bastard—this absolute jinx. Every time this guy showed up, something horrible happened. First, he pretended to be a hijacker and broke George's nose. Second, during the Wall Street shooting, he dragged George out of a window, nearly breaking his wrist. And now? A hijacked plane. Unbelievable.
If the hijackers weren't watching, George would've tackled him right then.
Owen, unaware of George's inner monologue, used the time to quickly explain: "Listen, Walker. This isn't a regular hijacking. These guys are planning a 9/11-style attack. No one on this plane will survive. We need your help…"
That one sentence—"no one on this plane will survive"—instantly extinguished George's anger. Jennifer was his whole world. He had been planning to propose to her soon. He couldn't let them die here.
He calmed himself and, after a quick glance to make sure the hijackers were still unaware, whispered back, "What do you need me to do?"
"Take this. The pin is a camera—clip it to your chest. The other is a button-sized earpiece. I'll contact you shortly…"
Owen passed a small contact-lens-sized box through the slit. As soon as George took it, a hijacker's voice barked, "Hey! What are you doing?"
George spun around. At some point, both hijackers had turned to look at him.
"Uh… I was looking for a faucet. I just touched a dead body—I wanted to wash my hands…"
George's face looked genuinely nervous—and he was. But the terrorists misread it as fear of the corpses. His clumsy excuse paired with his imposing size made them burst out laughing, as if they'd worried over nothing.
"Get back to your seat!"
One of them shouted. George obediently returned. The hijacker gave him a dismissive look and resumed patrolling.
Once the coast was clear, George carefully opened the box, pinned the camera to his chest, and inserted the earpiece. Owen's voice came through immediately.
"Good work, Walker. I need you to help us pinpoint the hijackers' positions and headcount."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"Bathroom trip, any excuse—walk around the cabin. We'll see what your camera picks up. Try to be thorough. If you can make it to the upper deck, even better."
"That's insane!"
George couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Sweetheart, who are you talking to?"
Jennifer noticed her boyfriend's strange behavior and whispered anxiously. George motioned for her to wait, continuing to talk to himself.
"Walker, you have to help us. It's important. Everyone's lives depend on this…"
"Fuck!"
It felt like an impossible task—George was nearly ready to give up.
"Sweetheart, what are you doing? Don't scare me…"
Jennifer was growing more alarmed. The hijacking was already terrifying enough. Now her boyfriend was acting erratic—it frightened her even more.
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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