"I Knew That You'd Make It'

Captain Sam Melling, 44, British-born father of four, onetime R.A.F. flyer, chief pilot of Cyprus Airways, was enjoying a Saturday afternoon lunch with Wife Iris at a taverna in the mountains near Nicosia when he heard the news on the radio. Far below, in Nicosia, two gunmen had committed a political murder and were herding hostages to Larnaca airport. "I think we'd better dash back," said Captain Melling. "I'm the biggest hat in the company, and I'd better go."

The gunmen, armed with pistols and hand grenades, were already at the airport with their hostages when Melling arrived, reported TIME Correspondent Dean Brelis. Melling volunteered for their flight and scooped up flight charts. Pilot-smart about skijackings, he also decided to take Fellow Captain Bill Cox along in case the trip turned out to be a lengthy one.

Climbing into the cockpit with Cox and two other crewmen, Melling made no protest when Senior Hijacker Samir Mohammed Katar, 28, took the fifth seat. "Where the hell do you want to go?" he asked.

"It's a secret," said Mohammed.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I have to know which way to turn when we're airborne."

"Tripoli," Mohammed announced, "but we don't tell anyone."

Aloft, Melling insisted upon notifying ground control of his destination. "If we don't, we're likely to hit another aircraft."

As 007 approached Tripoli 2 1/2 hours later, Benghazi tower radioed: "You have no permission to enter Libyan airspace. Turn around and go away." Cyprus 007 was spurned by Saudi Arabia and Lebanon as well.

"Aden," Mohammed finally decided.

"We'll go to Aden." But when they reached South Arabia 3/4 hours and 2,000 miles later, Aden turned them back. Mohammed and his accomplice, Zayed Hussein al-Ali, 26, were becoming increasingly desperate and fearful.

"We'll put it down in the sea," said Melling casually. "There are sharks in these waters, but that's where we'll go." He described in vivid detail the risks of ditching: the wheels break off, the plane smashes open, passengers are disgorged helplessly into waiting schools of sharks. This so upset Mohammed that he eagerly agreed to try landing at Djibouti, which was Melling's alternative.

But even there the landing went badly. Djibouti control at first accepted the plane as a flight in distress, then waved it off when an Air France pilot identified it as Cyprus 007. "Air France blew the gaffe on us," complained Melling, who landed anyway. There they refueled and took off once again--this time to their starting point at Larnaca. En route they were informed that they could divert to Damascus; Syrian President Hafez Assad himself had assured the killers refuge. Mohammed's reaction: "Not Syria! You don't know Syria! We're not going there!"

After landing at Larnaca, Melling pulled up to the terminal and shut off his engines. Suddenly he noticed a strange plane taxiing by. It was a C-130E with Egyptian markings. What if the hijackers saw the plane and panicked? Melling quickly distracted them. Motioning behind him toward the cabin, he shouted loudly, "What was that noise?" The two Palestinians glanced back as the Egyptian plane slid by. "It looks like trouble," whispered Melling to Cox.

The trouble soon came as the Palestinians were conducting doorway negotiations with a Cypriot intermediary. The Egyptian commando Jeep suddenly rolled across the tarmac, guns blazing. The cockpit was a storm of flying glass. Puffs of insulation fell like hail.

"Who are they?" asked the startled Mohammed.

"Egyptians!" yelled Melling.

Mohammed: "Hand me the grenades!"

Melling: "No! Just keep down and put your guns away!" To Cox: "If they come up the steps, mate, we've had it." Melling reached up and grabbed a fire ax to have something in his hand.

The firing finally stopped. The cockpit radio had been smashed so Melling grabbed a bullhorn and climbed down to the tarmac. "What is going on?" he demanded. "Who is in control? Identify yourself!"

A Cypriot bomb squad expert came forward; Melling took him back to the cockpit. Mohammed and Hussein stood there warily, pistols cocked, hand grenades unpinned.

"This is a security man," said Melling. "Give him your guns and grenades and let's finish this." Their hands were trembling; Melling reached out and disarmed the pair. As they were led away, he remembered that Mohammed had kept a second gun in the back of his waistband. Melling called the group back and retrieved it.

"I knew that you'd make it," his wife told him cheerily on the phone. "Hurry on home." He did. As he removed his coat, something fell to the floor. It was a spent bullet.

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