Hijacked to Malta—But I Survived
AT ABOUT 8 p.m. last November 23, I arrived at the Athens International Airport with a colleague, George Vendouris. We were on our way to Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates, to inspect one of the ships of the company for which I work. For some years I have been chief engineer for our company, and on this assignment George was to assist me.
We were traveling to Dubai by way of Cairo on EgyptAir Flight 648. After passing through the various checkpoints, we reached the aircraft, a Boeing 737. Since we had only hand luggage, we were able to enter the plane relatively early. If I remember correctly, we were in row seven, seats A and B.
Finally, after everyone had boarded, we took off according to schedule shortly after 9:00 p.m. The plane was not quite full, with fewer than a hundred passengers. Shortly after takeoff the flight attendants started serving soft drinks. We must have been 25 minutes or so into our flight when a man appeared in front of the pilot’s door. He had a gun in one hand and a green grenade in the other, and he started shouting in Arabic. I am Greek and do not understand Arabic, but it became clear that this was a hijacking.
So we followed the motions of the Egyptian passengers and proceeded to raise our hands over our heads. While giving orders, the hijacker was also trying to pull something out of the grenade with his teeth. He did not succeed, however, so he returned the grenade to his vest pocket.
The hijacker, who, it turned out, was not alone, made those sitting in the front seats move back to sit wherever they could. Then he asked for our neckties. Next, the hijackers started to bring one person at a time to the front, taking his passport, frisking him, and then having him take one of the empty seats in front.
When those in the front seats moved back, an Egyptian man ended up next to me. I learned later that he was in charge of the aircraft’s security guards. When he was called forward, the hijacker took his passport, forced him to lie down, and then tied him up with ties. Even before this, the plane’s chief flight attendant had been tied up.
When my turn came, following the Egyptian security guard, the hijacker just took my passport without frisking me and directed that I should sit down. He pointed to the right-hand side, about the third row.
In-Flight Gun Battle
A few minutes later, there were gunshots just behind me. Immediately, we all ducked. Apparently the bullets depressurized the cabin, for the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. Many passengers put them on, but I didn’t feel the need for oxygen. I believe that the captain had quickly brought the plane to a lower altitude.
When the shooting ended, I looked back and saw the hijacker who seemed to be in charge lying down flat. He looked dead. Another man also was on the floor, and a couple of flight attendants and a passenger had been wounded.
It seems that the hijacker had asked a man for his passport. The man turned out to be one of the security guards, and instead of reaching for his passport, he pulled out his gun and shot the hijacker. But the guard himself was shot by another hijacker in the back of the plane.
The fallen security officer’s gun landed at my feet, and for a moment I thought of picking it up. But wisely I dismissed the idea—I would not have known how to use it anyway.
The pilot’s door then opened and a tall masked man appeared with a grenade and a gun in hand. He spoke to the hijacker behind me, and then he looked straight into my eyes, motioning with his gun for me to stand. He said something, but from his gestures I only understood that he wanted me to drag the fallen hijacker to the pilot’s compartment.
When I started doing that, the hijacker motioned that I should turn the man over. Since I could not manage alone, the hijacker called someone else to help, and Demetris Voulgaris came. I had known Demetris for many years because he worked for our firm. Demetris took hold of the man’s legs; I took the shoulders, and we turned him over. They wanted us to do this so that they could get the grenade from his vest pocket.
After one of the hijackers took the grenade, we asked permission to give the fallen hijacker some water, but we were motioned not to. They probably figured he was beyond help. So we sat him up by the door, and we were told to drag the security guard forward. At this point, a hijacker saw the guns on the floor and picked them up.
As we were bringing the security guard forward, we had in mind undressing him and providing him first aid. But when his head was close to the first row of seats, the hijacker told us to stop. I was ordered to empty two food trays—to throw the food on the floor. The hijacker said to put the trays on the first seat and motioned that I should hold the guard’s head right there on the trays.
It dawned on me that he intended to kill the wounded man, so I shouted, “No!” And holding my hands over my face, I turned toward the passengers, saying, “He wants to kill him!” Surprisingly, the hijacker did nothing to me. He held the security guard’s head, but he did not shoot him. Then he sat down in the first row next to me.
After a while I could no longer endure sitting there, so I held my hands up and moved toward the back, finding a seat somewhere in the fifth or sixth row. My young assistant, George Vendouris, came and sat behind me.
The chief flight attendant, who had managed to untie himself, called out to one of the flight attendants who was being used to collect the passports. We were about to land. But before we did, the flight attendants were instructed to prop up and secure the hijacker, who was either dead or dying.
Arrival in Malta
Whether it was the hijackers’ intended destination or not, we landed in Malta after a flight time of about two hours. Shortly after the plane landed, the door was opened and a doctor came on board. He was shown the lifeless hijacker and was told to examine him. The doctor did so, nodded his head, and motioned that he would move on to the body of the security guard. But the hijacker told him not to.
All Greeks were told to sit on the right side of the plane where I already was. There were 17 Greeks, of whom only 5 eventually survived.
The attendant announced over the loudspeaker that all the Filipino women aboard should come to the front. Some other women also were invited to come forward, and altogether 11 women were permitted to leave the plane with the doctor.
Executions Begin
The flight attendant asked where the Israeli girls were. Thinking that they were going to be released, too, a young woman quickly responded. But when she reached the front, the masked hijacker grabbed her. He pushed her out the door onto the exit stairway, so I couldn’t see what happened. But there was a shot, causing all of us to duck instinctively, and then a thud. The girl, we heard later, turned her head at the last moment, so that the bullet only grazed her. She fell down the stairs of the platform, hid under the plane, and eventually escaped.
The hijackers, we later learned, threatened to continue shooting passengers unless fuel was provided. After a few minutes, the second Israeli girl was called, but she did not stand up. The flight attendant arrived with the girl’s passport in hand, identified her, and told her to get up, but she wouldn’t. So the hijacker sent two passengers whom he used as assistants because they spoke Arabic, and they forced her to the front. That was when all of us began to feel the shock.
The girl was crying. She fell down and stayed on the floor. When the hijacker came out from talking with the pilot, he kicked her and pushed her outside. Again there was a shot, and a thud as she fell mortally wounded. By now it was a little past midnight.
Shortly thereafter, three more persons were called, a young man and two women. From their names, we concluded correctly that they were Americans. The hijacker brought them to the front and had his two helpers tie their hands behind their backs with ties. They were told to sit in the front row.
About an hour passed. Then the hijacker called the American boy. I must say that I was impressed by the boy’s calmness. He stood up and walked up to the hijacker as if he were going to collect an award or something—very cool. Again there was the bang, the thud, and the door closed. Although I didn’t see it, the boy also fell down the exit stairway. And, amazingly, as with the first Israeli girl, he, too, was only grazed by the bullet and survived.
Another hour or so passed, and the hijacker called one of the American girls. She stood up, and the same story was repeated—the bang and the thud as she fell. By now it must have been about three or four in the morning. Rain was pouring, adding to the dreadful atmosphere of the night. The passengers were glued to their seats with fear.
It was quiet—no crying, shouting, or other noise. But I could hear the muffled comments: “Look, he’s killed the Israeli girl,” “That poor girl,” or, “Now he’s killed the American.” Also, the whispered questions: “What is this?” “How can this go on?” “What will he do now?”
As for me, during each execution I prayed to Jehovah. I asked that, if it was his will, he would remember the individual in the resurrection, so that the person could have the opportunity for life in God’s new system.
Meanwhile, the sun began to rise. The door opened, and the two who were assisting the hijackers went outside and brought in sandwiches. Some ate, others did not. They also gave us water.
As the executions were occurring, we thought that the demands of the hijackers must be very high for those outside not to accept them. And we were thinking that any one of us could be the next to be executed. But as the hours passed after the American girl was killed, we began to believe that things were being negotiated.
At about noon, the plane door was opened, and the other American girl was called up and shot dead. When this happened, again each one feared that he might be the next one selected for execution. But as the afternoon passed and night came, and nobody else was called up, we wondered if perhaps they had worked things out.
“You Are Too Calm!”
During the day I thought to myself, ‘This is Sunday and the public talk is now in progress in our congregation in Piraeus.’ I said a silent prayer as if I were at the meeting. Later, when the talk would have been over, I pulled out my Watchtower magazine and imagined that I was at our congregation study. The passage at Psalm 118:6 came to mind. It says that if Jehovah is on our side, why fear earthling man?
My young assistant George Vendouris, sitting behind me, at one point said: “Boss, I knew that you were calm, but you are too calm!”
“Look, son,” I answered, “here we have a simple problem. Either we live or we die. The problem is just not ours. Trust in God, and if he allows us to die, he allows it. So don’t keep worrying.”
“Why don’t you give me something to read?” he asked, and I gave him The Watchtower.
When the study would have been over in Piraeus, where I serve as a Christian elder, I said another prayer, placing myself in Jehovah’s hands and telling him I was ready to accept whatever he permitted to take place.
I thought of writing a brief note to my wife: ‘Katie and children, we’ll meet in the Kingdom.’ But as soon as I took out my pen, I thought, ‘What are you doing here? Playing judge? Didn’t you say before that the matter is in Jehovah’s hands?’ I figured that I had no right to leave a note saying that I would die. So I put my pen back in its place without writing anything.
Rescue and Escape
Suddenly, at about 8:30 p.m., machine-gun fire erupted, evidently from outside. But gunfire came from the back of the plane, too, probably from the hijackers. We fell to the floor. An explosion followed, and all lights went out.
‘Since the lights are out,’ I thought to myself, ‘I can move now.’ I stood up, but as soon as I did, I felt a burning sensation. It was some kind of gas, so I held my breath. I heard George say, “Hey, they’re going to burn us.” I couldn’t talk myself, and I breathed as little as possible so as to survive.
In the direction I was looking, everything was dark. But then I heard a voice, “The other side.” I turned and saw a ray of light and headed in that direction. In a few moments, I found myself at an opening. It may have been an emergency exit over the wing. Whether I jumped from the wing or slipped, I cannot remember.
The next thing I do remember was my lying down and someone standing over me, holding my head. I realized I was outside the aircraft and that these were probably our liberators.
I started to breathe again. But even though there was fresh air, I felt as if I were still breathing gas. And it was that way for days afterward. Others had fallen behind me, and we tried to get up, but we were not allowed to. So we crawled behind some boxes. While there, we were searched. Then we were put in a car and taken to the hospital.
Later we learned that most of the nearly 60 persons who died in the rescue attempt apparently died from the smoke caused by the explosives of the Egyptian commandos who had stormed the plane. Sadly, my colleague George Vendouris was among those that were killed.
At the Hospital
When we arrived at the hospital—it was St. Luke’s Hospital—I heard the word “Emergency!” We were put on stretchers, and a doctor came to see what was happening. I was stripped to my shorts. Then I was taken to one of the wards. I was in pain, and my eyes were bothering me. Soon I could see nothing at all, so I began shouting and a doctor came. He put something in my eyes.
They bandaged me and began intravenous feeding. I was washed with a towel and given injections for the pain. In my limited English, I told them that I did not want a blood transfusion because I was one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Then someone informed me that a Witness worked on the ambulance that had come to the airport, a Maltese Witness. When he came to talk to me later, he said, “Don’t worry, they won’t use blood.”
Finally, a doctor came. She was very polite. I could not see her, but I remember her voice. I asked if she would make a collect call to my home and inform my family that I was alive. I was worried about them.
Someone came in who, if I remember correctly, said he was the hospital director. He took my hand and asked, “What is your name?” and I told him. Later I learned that Witnesses from the Watch Tower Society’s branch office in Greece had telephoned and were waiting on the line. The hospital director had come to see me to make sure I was alive so that he could tell them. This happened around daybreak on Monday.
On Tuesday my wife and son came to Malta. When I felt her hand in mine, I knew it was my wife. I embraced her and offered thanks to Jehovah. My son came, too, as well as the manager of the firm I work for.
During all this time I was being given oxygen so that I could breathe. Also, a nurse would come in, turn me face down, and hit me so that I would release phlegm. When I was able to see again, I saw that the phlegm was black. It must have been caused by the gases. On Wednesday my bandages were removed, but I could not take the light.
When several reporters came that day, the doctor ordered them out. In the meantime, the police arrived and told me that I had to make a statement. Later they told me, “You know so many details, you could write a book.” After that, a representative of the consulate and a prosecutor came with a tape recorder and took my statement, again with the use of a translator.
When this was over, my wife and son left the hospital. They stayed with some Maltese Witnesses until I was well enough to travel and we could leave Malta together. I am deeply grateful to be among the few survivors of the terrifying hijacking of EgyptAir Flight 648.—As told by Elias Rousseas.
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He pulled his gun out and shot the hijacker
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The other American girl was called up and shot dead
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I was blinded and in great pain
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My wife and son visited me at the hospital
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