Suddenly, a heavy weight crashed into the side of the cockpit door.

It was Gerald Whitmore.

The wealthy passenger was panting, his expensive silk tie torn and his face drenched in sweat.

He looked at Thorne, then at me pinned to the floor.

“He’s going to kill us all,” Gerald whispered, his eyes wide with a sudden, sharp clarity.

“Help me!” I gasped.

Gerald did not hesitate this time.

He threw his entire bulk forward, slamming into Thorne’s shoulder.

The impact knocked the doctor off me, sending both men crashing into the flight attendant’s jumpseat behind the captain.

Thorne scrambled to get up, his face twisted in a look of cold rage.

“You idiot, Whitmore,” Thorne spat, trying to kick Gerald’s knee. “You have no idea what they paid for this cargo.”

“I don’t care about the cargo,” Gerald roared, grabbing Thorne’s coat collar and slamming him against the bulkheads. “I want to land!”

I scrambled to my knees, searching the floor for the flashlight.

My fingers brushed the cold aluminum casing under the captain’s seat.

I grabbed it and stood up.