Monster by Bernard L. DeLeo Page A

you’re supposed to be doing.”
    McDaniels settled back and closed his eyes, concentrating on the snatches of conversation going on in Arabic next to him. He had already noticed the uneasy looks the large group of Syrians engendered from the other passengers. Finally, the plane began taxiing around into position for takeoff. With the noise from the engines and the beginning motions of takeoff, the Syrians quieted.
    The plane left the ground fifteen minutes later after jockeying into the line of flights at the runway. As the seatbelt signs blinked off, half the Syrian group in the center aisle immediately leaped up from their seats. They opened and closed the overhead luggage compartments, rifling through bags, and then returning them to the compartments. There were hushed gasps as passengers watched the Middle Eastern group milling around in the aisles.
    The Syrians spoke sharply to one another in Arabic, making gestures with their hands. Some leaned down toward the people in seats near them. The stewardesses came over to try and get the men to sit back down. Instead of following the directives, they lined up at the bathrooms, continuing their playacting.
    “What do you think, Cold?”
    “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now, Dee Dee.” McDaniels exchanged stares with the one he had picked as the leader.
    “What are they saying?”
    “Just gibberish. They know what they’re doing and what gets the passengers the most upset.”
    Three of the Syrians tried to enter first class, but were stopped by two stewardesses. McDaniels saw the dark haired, older woman step forward, while the younger stewardess with red hair took up a position behind her and to the right. The Syrians gestured angrily, yelling in broken English about using the bathroom. Nothing they said, McDaniels noted with some satisfaction, made any impression on the stewardesses. The two women repeated the rules, ignoring their angry tones and gestures of urgency. One of the men decided to push past. The dark haired flight attendant grabbed his arm firmly.
    “Go back to your seat, Sir, or get into line for the bathrooms in your section!” The older stewardess ordered in a raised, no nonsense voice. “If I have to speak to you again on this flight, I will have the pilot call ahead to have you detained in Detroit. Is that clear?”
    The Syrian tore free of her grip and stepped back. He made a gesture with his finger across his throat before pointing at her. His companions laughed as the three turned around away from the stewardesses. Instead of fear in the dark haired woman’s eyes, McDaniels saw anger. She reached out and grabbed the Syrian’s shirt. When he whipped around the stewardess gestured at him with her hand.
    “Come get some,” the stewardess beckoned, while her red haired companion moved up next to her.
    Two men in the seats nearest the partition between first class and coach immediately jumped out into the aisle behind the two stewardesses. McDaniels tensed. He heard the leader shout out to the Syrians in Arabic, ordering them to return to their seats. The Syrian who had made the throat slitting sign had to be pulled back by his companions. He again made the gesture at the stewardess before turning around. The three walked up the aisle, his two companions urging the one confronting the stewardess to quiet down. The older stewardess talked heatedly with the other stewardess as the two male passengers listened in.
    * * *
    In the meantime, Reskova had moved over next to McDaniels. She grabbed hold of McDaniels’ arm as the three Syrians approached their seat, with the one Syrian still raging to his comrades. McDaniels turned to Reskova with a look so chilling she released his arm immediately.
    “Don’t grab me,” McDaniels warned.
    The Syrian, who had just gestured at the stewardess, stopped next to the seats in front of McDaniels. The little boy, Tommy, was standing on his seat, trying to see what was going on, while