"You okay?"
Ghost ran up from behind, tossing the question casually.
"I'm fine."
Owen rolled to his feet and sprinted straight into the cockpit.
Fortunately, both pilots were safe. The co-pilot—used as a human shield—was battered from the earlier fall but otherwise unharmed. The terrorist's body lay beside him, eyes wide open, an expression of resentment frozen on his face.
"CTU!!!"
"Thank God, you're finally here…"
As Owen identified himself, he pointed to the CTU emblem on his vest. The captain, visibly relieved, looked like a soldier who had just spotted his reinforcements. Without wasting time, Owen asked, "How long until we enter U.S. airspace?"
"Forty-five minutes."
"No—turn around now. We cannot enter U.S. territory."
Ghost's muffled voice came from behind his skull mask. The pilot hesitated, visibly intimidated—if not for the CTU emblem on Ghost's vest, he might've thought he was facing another terrorist.
"But…"
"The situation is critical. Do it now. Otherwise, the Air Force will shoot us down," Ghost interrupted coldly.
Both pilots were stunned. They didn't understand—weren't they just rescued? Why would the U.S. military destroy them now?
The co-pilot looked at the captain. The man was still unsure.
As if on cue, two F-15 Eagles appeared outside the windows, flanking the aircraft. The radio crackled with a firm warning.
"Flight 343, this is the United States Air Force. Immediately change course and exit U.S. airspace, or we will be forced to engage. Repeat, Flight 343, this is the USAF. Divert course now, or we will destroy your aircraft…"
The voice over the comms was calm but chilling. The content was terrifying.
Seeing the captain still hesitate, Owen shouted, "Now!"
That did it. The captain snapped into action, calling out rapid instructions to his co-pilot. The two began executing a turn.
The plane banked sharply. Inside, passengers gasped and clutched their seats. Most had no idea what was happening. The CTU operatives nearly lost their footing from the sudden tilt.
"Where are we going?" the captain asked once composed.
Owen and Ghost exchanged a glance. "International waters. As far from the coast as possible…" Owen hesitated. Should he tell them the truth? They'd need the pilots' full cooperation—but without understanding, those pilots might second-guess critical decisions.
He looked to Ghost. After a moment, Ghost nodded. Owen continued.
"There's a bomb on board. A nerve gas bomb. If it explodes, millions—maybe tens of millions—will die. We need to reach open water, away from all populated areas. This has to stay between us."
"A bomb? Goddamn…"
To their credit, the pilots didn't panic. After all they'd already endured, it barely registered. By this point, someone could have told them Washington had fallen and they'd likely just nod.
After a moment of silence, the co-pilot asked, "So… are we going to die?"
He wasn't stupid. CTU must've boarded mid-flight somehow. For them to risk this much, things couldn't be hopeless. Still, he needed to hear it for himself.
"No," Owen said firmly. "Everyone will live."
Those who had worked with Ghost long enough knew—he didn't talk unless absolutely necessary. Besides issuing orders, he left most communication to Owen. That's why many people mistakenly assumed Owen was the mission leader.
Turning a jumbo jet wasn't a quick process. The F-15s remained flanking them throughout.
"Can this radio connect to the fighter jets?" Owen asked.
"Yes. Just lift it…"
Owen glanced at Ghost, who nodded. Taking the comm, he spoke: "This is Steve Owen, counter-terrorism agent aboard Flight 343. Requesting immediate connection to the White House."
Their original communications system had gone dark after the Flying Fish was forced to return. Now, these F-15s were their best shot. If they had orders to intercept the jet, they must have a direct line to the Pentagon—or even the White House.
"This is Lieutenant Anderson, 5th Squadron. Stand by—I'm patching you through to the White House…"
Owen had guessed right. Seconds later, President David Palmer's voice came through.
"Gentlemen, sounds like you pulled it off…"
President Palmer's tone had lightened. The plane's course change toward open waters had been noticed—and it could only mean one thing: CTU had seized control of Flight 343.
"Yes, Mr. President. This is Owen. We've secured the aircraft. All hijackers have been neutralized. Minimal casualties."
"Excellent. You've saved America. You're all heroes."
Cheers erupted on the other end of the comm. A catastrophic crisis had been averted.
But Owen knew better—it wasn't over yet.
The celebration continued until Owen interrupted. "Mr. President, we still have one problem."
Silence. You could almost hear the air evacuate from the war room on the other end.
"There's a bomb on board. Dual-triggered: remote detonation and pressure-based. We managed to disable the remote function. But the pressure trigger remains."
"I don't understand…"
"That means this plane can't land. If it descends below the altitude threshold set on the device, it will detonate. The nerve gas will be released into the air. Even if it disperses, the fallout will still be deadly."
The mood changed instantly. On the other end, faces that were smiling just seconds ago had gone pale. They realized: the plane was still a ticking time bomb. The 200-plus people onboard were still on borrowed time.
"Owen, do you have a solution?"
This time it was Jack Bauer's voice.
In the cockpit, both pilots stared at Owen with desperate eyes. So did Ghost. Before the assault, they hadn't had time to think this far ahead. It had all happened too quickly.
"What if… what if we jump into the sea?"
A soft, hesitant voice spoke up. Jennifer—no one had noticed her slip into the cockpit. Monica stood behind her.
"No good. We're at 13,000 meters. Jumping from that height, the speed you reach on descent is so high it's no different than hitting concrete," Monica answered immediately.
"How can that be?"
Jennifer tried to argue, but Ghost cut her off.
"IQ is right. Low-altitude water jumps are survivable because you can break surface tension. From this height, you're going too fast. There's no time to displace the water. It'll kill you on impact—same as hitting a street."
Jennifer fell silent. She didn't want to believe it, but it was clearly true. Then something else occurred to her—her eyes lit up with hope, and she turned to Owen.
In that moment, everyone looked at Owen. All hope rested on him now.
------------------
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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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