Part 4, page 21

Transcript

The scan is the source; the transcript is machine-generated from it.

[Left column top, partial — continuation from previous page:] ...not to cooperate in any way with local police authorities... All lifestyles conditions were quite amenable. But the next one required $1000 cash. Before agreeing to say goodbye to real unmarked money we asked to see some proof. Clifford Irving still fresh in our minds. It was then that our source turned...

[Middle column top, partial:] [Times] was considered untrustworthy... And all the television stations would have required a tape from which voice prints could be made. The Flag was the last resort. We have not seen him since, but we assume he will pick up a copy of this issue.

[Right column top, partial:] Peering through one of the cabin windows [at] the refueling truck crewmen at the fueling point [on the] underside of the starboard wing at mid-span. The statistics from my Boeing days and homework [had] kicked in my head: standard fuel capacity for the 727-[300] is precisely 7,174 gallons. That's U.S. Gallons. [I was] convinced we'd need every drop of it–including most of the fumes, where we were heading. ANON: And where was that...? COOPER: Mexico. (Clears his throat loudly.) Or at least that's where I wanted them to think I was taking them.

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the Bureau is going to search every inch of ground between Seattle and Reno to find you? [CO]PER: Happy Trails. ANON: Aren't you afraid that they'll trace you through your skydiving experience or some of those 21 pounds of twenties you got from Northwest? COOPER: WHAT skydiving experience? WHAT 21 pounds of twenties? It requires very few smarts to guess that anybody who can pull the first skydive from a commercial jet– in the dead of night, free-falling with 200 grand strapped around his gut, wearing street clothes and low-cut shoes–knows his ass from a D-ring, so to speak. Sure, I've done a lot of skydiving over the years and belonged to several clubs, but I don't think that's much of a lead for the FBI to go on. ANON: Why not? COOPER: Because maybe 20,000, maybe more, people make the one jump–each year, I mean–that's needed to get their certificate. Most of them, maybe 75 per cent, qualify and then stop jumping. With a turnover like [that] it'll take the law years to pick up my scent. I did have one private quirk as a skydiver, though. ANON: That being...? COOPER: I did thousands of weight-lifts to build up my ankles. Even did roadwork with weighted leather [s]acks of sand buckled to my ankles. Occasionally I would jump wearing low-cuts, but none of the other skydivers—they've got to be the most vain, glory-hounding types you'll find anywhere—ever noticed. They were too wrapped up in their own Superman fantasies.

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COOPER: Would it make a better story for you if I did? ANON: No. But other lines fly the 727, don't they...? COOPER: No, I had nothing against Northwest at all, far from it. They happen to be my very favorite airline right now. But I did know that Northwest is one of the biggest profit-makers of all the airlines, and that they could raise the $200,000 fast. I was sure Northwest could get the money for me even if Flight 305 got in from Portland after the banks had closed for the day. And there were other considerations, too. There had never been a real skyjack at Seattle, and Northwest definitely does not have what I would call a "take me to Cuba complex". All of those things–plus some other little subtleties–helped make my decision to jump Northwest. ANON: Let's touch a little on the actual drama of the skyjack itself, shall we? COOPER: All right... ANON: Was your briefcase bomb real, or was it fake? COOPER: It was real, in the sense that it worked. In actuality it was a fake. The dynamite sticks the stewardesses blabbered about were nothing more than some Gillette shaving-cream cans rigged with prima-cord fuses. Five of them were in the briefcase I flashed. I painted them red because people always associate that color with something explosive, like dynamite. ANON: Why did they fall for it? Were they stupid, super-cautious, or what? COOPER: I'd say none of those, only well-endoctrinated and thoroughly trained. Of course,

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ANON: OK. Go on... COOPER: I checked out the chutes and the loot, then I hit the intercom to the flight deck. My words were, "Let the passengers off. But I want everybody in the cockpit and the other two stews to stay on the plane. Is that clear?" The captain roger-ed that. It was at this point that my game plan, as you call it, went a little haywire. The passengers–there were around 34, 35, of them, by my count–began their exit, using the front airstairs and walking across the concrete to where a bus was waiting. Holding my bomb attache case, I went out into the cabin. Right then this guy, middle-aged and executive looking, began to push his way back through the line into the tourist compartment. I tensed, telling myself, "Oh-oh. Here's the oddball, the frustrated World"

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"Take me to Katmandu."

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Seattle Flag, May 10, page 4

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