Flying Too Close to the Sun George Jehn (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📖
- Author: George Jehn
Book online «Flying Too Close to the Sun George Jehn (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📖». Author George Jehn
Flying Too Close to the Sun
George Jehn
© Copyright George Jehn 2021
Black Rose Writing | Texas
© 2021 by George Jehn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First digital version
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-698-2
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
Print edition produced in the United States of America
Thank you so much for reading one of our Action/Adventure novels.
If you enjoyed the experience, please check out our recommended title for your next great read!
Three Degrees and Gone by J. Stewart Willis
“An exceptional story of the future that quietly sounds an alarm about extremities of human behavior.”
–KIRKUS REVIEWS
To my children, the three "Lights of My Life,"
Lorrainie, Christy and Matthew.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Although I loved working for my entire adult life as an airline pilot, my first true love was always writing because in doing so, I could always “soar” whenever and wherever I wanted to.
After retiring from piloting, the most difficult transition was realizing that I no longer had to get up in the middle of the night, slip into the uniform and drive to the airport. But alas, I quickly learned that as with my old career, I would still awaken before the sun arose, but now with pen in hand to jot down ideas for inclusion in this book. Ah, but such is life.
Along with the deepest love to the lights of my life, my children Lorrainie, Christy and Matthew and my eight grandchildren, I also want to extend my deepest gratitude to former NYPD plainclothes detective Nicky Castellano who provided me with the needed information on police tactics and investigative procedures.
Sincere thanks also go to Reagan Rothe, the creator of Black Rose Writing.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Recommended Reading
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
BRW INFO
CHAPTER ONE
Christina Shepard’s heartbeat was racing almost as quickly as her mind as she exited the neurologist’s office located on Sixty-Third Street in Manhattan. She went to a public telephone, put in a quarter and called her boyfriend, David Bennedeto. He answered on the third ring. “You home?” she barked.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve gotta speak with you. It’s important. Could you meet me at the Starbucks near the subway stop? I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Sure, but why—” The line went dead.
The ride on the air-conditioned F local Eighth Avenue subway line to the Kew Gardens Queens station should have provided a respite from the heat, but hot air billowed in at each stop, fighting the car’s a/c. Upon exiting a perspiring Christina saw David dressed in his usual summer garb, white muscleman tank top, tight cutoff jeans and sandals. They got two iced lattes and grabbed the only available seats, outside under a small striped umbrella. His tanned strapping body was wider than the ladder-backed, uneven metal chair making the unspoken statement to stay and enjoy your drink, just not for too long. That wouldn’t be a problem today as the sun and unseasonable humidity were nearly unbearable.
“I visited a neurologist ‘cause of the headaches and occasional speech problems I have when I wake up. The ones I told you about.” She hesitated. “But it wasn’t from migraine headaches, like I thought,” she mumbled while scrunching her face, trying in vain to fight back tears from her mirrored eyes staining her cotton summer weight dress. “This stuff’s bitter,” she muttered, but realized it wasn’t the latte but the cramps born of stress and fear twisting in her stomach. She inhaled deeply and blurted out, “I have epilepsy,” not wanting to believe a Shuttle Air Boeing 727 captain and unofficial female pilot media spokesperson could fall victim to such a dreaded ailment.
“Holy shit! What are you, we, gonna do?” David asked loudly, immediately adding in a lower voice, “Can I catch it? We’ve been sleeping together now for…”
David, always number one. “It’s a seizure disorder and not contagious. The doc, Friedman’s his name, said the problem could be genetic or might be from a head injury I suffered as a kid while riding my bike. The headaches could be either the result of a nocturnal seizure I had while asleep or an aura, a sign of an impending one.”
“That’s probably why you’ve been moving around so much while you’re sleeping.” David hesitated. “Could he be wrong?”
“No. He was certain ‘cause he administered an electroencephalogram to confirm the diagnosis. That’s why my hair looks like a punk rocker’s. It’s from the glue used to attach the electrodes.” As a light summer breeze blew she raised her right hand over the sparkling cobalt eyes to the unruly spikes of golden hair over the clear skin on the right side of her forehead and again tried to push them down with a sweeping motion, as if to say, See. I still have complete control, but how long would that last? “He said the EEG seemingly indicates I have the less severe form producing partial, rather than Tonic-clonic seizures where you lose complete control. But he has to analyze the results further and wants me to get a MRI of the head to rule out a possible brain tumor. I’ll have to save for the MRI ‘cause I won’t, can’t, use my medical insurance.”
The stark reality guiding her throughout
Comments (0)