Flying Too Close to the Sun George Jehn (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

She unsuccessfully tried to pull free from his rock solid grip. “Look,” she said, pointing to her ID, “I’m the captain of this plane and trying to find out why we’re being delayed every—”

“I don’t give a shit who you are.” Pointing to his badge, which she noted, read United States Treasury Department, he brusquely informed her, “This is official government business. Leave immediately or you will be arrested.” He quickly led her up the narrow Jetway set of steps and returned outside without uttering another word. Regaining her composure and never having experienced treatment like this, she became convinced they had to be carrying something valuable. This made no sense, however, because the guy was listed as a sky marshal. Why would the government go through all the trouble to disguise a guard?

Once the loading of the bags was completed, Treasury Agent Christopher Norton scampered up the Jetway and without uttering a word or even glancing into the cockpit took his assigned seat, 3D.

Once seated in her gray checkered fabric cockpit seat Christina’s concern became David and the luggage scam. She would warn him tonight. Once airborne thoughts of David were replaced by wondering what could be in those mysterious bags. Why the guns? She would somehow find out.

Pulling into the gate Christina saw David with baggage cart and sounded the alarm. She waited in the cockpit for a few minutes acting as though she was examining the ship’s log. Once home, she found him in his usual spot on the old couch, watching television and nursing a Bud lite.

“Did you hear the warning?”

“Yeah, why did you sound it? I wanted to try again and—”

“The sky marshal was on board once again. I attempted to speak with him on the Boston ramp but he started yelling and when I turned around the people with him took out guns. He said I’d better leave or he’d throw me in the slammer.”

“Guns? Jail?” What the hell’s going on?”

“You didn’t find out anything?”

“No. But I did notice an armored car awaiting your arrival. A bunch of guys unloaded something from the forward cargo bin. What the hell could this be about?”

Christina simply shrugged her shoulders.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As a gesture of thanks for the good job he did during their emergency, Christina invited Erik out for drinks a couple of nights later. “Let’s unwind a bit. There’s a place nearby called Parkers Pub. Be certain to remove your uniform ‘cause if we got caught drinkin’ the New York tabloids would be screaming out CROCKED-PIT or some such trash. I’ll even buy,” Christina added with a cute smile and Erik readily accepted. She gave him directions there, but she had another task to accomplish first. “I’ll be there in a bit. I have to put my next month’s schedule in the computer,” she told him. “I’ll be bidding the same trips. What about you?”

“I already did,” a smiling Erik replied, pleased they would be flying together again the following month.

Christina was alone in the deserted flight operations office with the quiet green glow of the computer screen and the softly humming vending machines that dispensed high-fat snacks her only companions. Hopefully, no one would enter while she was trying to dig up the needed info. She nervously logged into the “Pilots Only” section of the airline’s powerful mainframe. Would anyone discover her search? What about cookies or other telltale identification marks? Was she leaving any? She entered her employee number and confidential password and the usual screen appeared. Scrolling further down, she double-clicked on a category marked OTHER. The monitor now displayed a multitude of additional choices, none of which were familiar, finally clicking on an item marked Delay Codes and typed in flight number 1540 and the date she first encountered the mysterious sky marshal. A code appeared on the screen and she moved the cursor down to a corresponding number on the lower half of the display and double-clicked on it. A warning immediately popped up stating only authorized personnel could view this information. Was someone monitoring the computer? The coded number for the delay was filed under the Abnormal Operations Section, so she went ahead and typed it in and this time an entry made by a Boston supervisor explaining the elaborate details of the flight delay, along with his suggestion Shuttle Air not renew this contract when it expired in September, showed. She then realized the seemingly-desperate plan she had formulated like a hopeful dream just might work. But her window of opportunity was rapidly closing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Parkers turned out to be a hardcore drinking haunt abutting LaGuardia with an aviation motif; a dimly lit joint with no attempt at chic. The distinctive nicotine funk along with smell of old popcorn in scratched plastic bowls sitting on the bar competed with the odor of stale beer and dead hopes. Erik refused to join the latter. There were a half a dozen or so hard-faced rummies with features distorted by fatty food and cheap booze; pickled people marinated in unhappiness. An ancient pool table with green felt faded by time and stained by spilled drinks, along with a jukebox rounded out the décor. This was a place where people could drink ‘til they dropped without raising an eyebrow. Several sat in the creaky wooden chairs circling a few small round wooden tables scarred with etchings and fogged mirrors behind them. No doubt some were airline types as Parkers lie smack in the middle of the “pilot ghetto,” the area next to LaGuardia many pilots called home during the time spent on flying assignments, while their primary residences could be anywhere within or even outside the fifty States.

A plump gray-haired bartender clad in a striped shirt and black trousers, with stains obviously caused by spilt beer brought his only companion for now, a twelve-ounce bottle of Heineken. As the brew washed away the dry cockpit air he glanced at the images adorning the walls, including