Hijacked to Cuba
You're flying over an ocean in the middle of the night. Of course, you can't sleep so you find yourself gripped with fear -- you're not a bird but you're stuck in the air, and if you go down you will find yourself in limitless ocean and you're not a fish. And it's dark. And you're helpless.
That hit Plotnik once, on a 747 on the way to Auckland. Of course, the thing that was scaring him most was probably exactly what happened to those poor suckers on the Malaysian Airliner that they can't seem to find anywhere.
Nothing like a good old plane crash to relive ancient fears of flying. We have legs, we don't have wings. We have lungs, we don't have gills. We have skin, not fur, and hair, not feathers. We are meant to walk upon this Earth, not fly over it or swim through thousands of miles of it.
OK. so what should we hope for? What would be the least awful?
Let's say they got hijacked to Cuba. That's my story until I hear otherwise.