Free Miles To Go Before I Sleep by Jackie Nink Pflug Page A

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    For my parents, the ordeal was far from over. The news kept changing so quickly. My parents went from hearing that I was dead, to hearing that I might have just broken my nose, to hearing that I was okay and on my way to the hospital.

    Scott didn’t believe the early reports because, in his mind, the officials didn’t seem confident about the accuracy of their information. Someone at the airport offered Scott a ride to the American embassy. His goal was to somehow reach Malta and be near me while the drama unfolded. Scott knew that the American embassy was the place to go for help in a situation like this.
    The embassy was already on top security alert. All vehicles entering the embassy compound were checked for bombs by security guards.
    At first, it appeared that Scott couldn’t get to Malta. Embassy officials told him that Malta’s tiny airport would be closed until the hijacking was over. He might have to watch the drama unfold on television.
    Embassy officials continued to pass on any information they had about the hijacking. The red tape, bureaucratic nonsense, and frustration were getting to Scott. He lost his cool and shouted at one embassy secretary. Soon after, things started to change. A down-to-earth, straight-shooting embassy official read the anguish on Scott’s face and calmly introduced himself.
    â€œOne way or another, we’ll get you to Malta,” he told Scott. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got the ambassador’s jet on standby.”
    Though Edwin Beffel, a first secretary at the embassy, was powerless to speed up the time frame of when Scott could leave, Scott felt better now that he was finally dealing with someone who acted like a human being.
    Scott continued to get reports on the Maltese government’s lack of progress in negotiating with the hijackers. Information about the fate of individual passengers, however, remained sketchy. Scott, and the rest of the world, couldn’t know what was going on inside the plane.
    Scott spent Sunday afternoon restlessly pacing back and forth in a hotel room a couple of blocks from the American embassy, waiting, hoping, and praying that I’d be okay. He continued listening to a stream of news reports, including some reporting that I was dead.
    Late that afternoon, Scott collapsed on the bed for a few hours of fitful sleep. Fearing the worst, he tossed and turned, and prayed for my life.
    Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder—the loudest he’d ever heard—jolted him awake. He saw the brightest flash of lightning he’d ever seen.
    Seconds later, the phone rang. It was Beffel. He had a report that I’d just been shot in the face and pushed out of the plane. That report seemed to jibe with what EgyptAir officials had told him earlier. Maybe they had gotten it right after all , Scott thought….
    Beffel told him to head over to the embassy as fast as he could.
    The loud crack of thunder and lightning coinciding with the call from Beffel seemed to confirm Scott’s worst fear: I was dead. Scott thought his role now would be to help with the process of identifying my body and bringing it home for burial.
    Scott’s first thought was to call his parents in Hopkins, Minnesota. His mom and dad, June and Greg Pflug, were both on the line. They’d been watching the news on television and tried to support Scott.
    â€œI just got a call from the embassy,” he said. “They told me Jackie has been shot in the face. I don’t know if she’s alive or dead.”
    â€œOh my God,” June Pflug said. Then she started to cry.
    Scott couldn’t talk long; he had to get to the embassy.
    At the embassy, however, there wasn’t much more anyone could do. A few hours later, State Department officials were less clear about who was actually shot. It might have been one of the Israeli women or Scarlett Rogencamp.
    Scott was miffed about the confusion. He was angry at the embassy