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

boat hulls were smeared with a large amount of slimy growth, indicating they weren’t used often. Anglers were sitting around drinking beer. To pry some information he told one. “I’m supposed to go fishing with a buddy of mine who keeps his boat here. What happens if the weather’s foggy? Think we’ll still go?”

The guy was outfitted in bright yellow foul weather gear and rubber boots, looking like he stepped out of one of those fishing catalogs. Holding a can of Bud, he replied in a heavy Boston accent, “Practically no one fishes when the weather’s bad ‘cause the striped bass move around so much it’s almost impossible to locate them, even with one of those new satellite global navigation systems and a fish-finder. You’re better off staying home, having a few beers and wait for better weather.”

Juni thanked the guy and slipped back into the crowd, not wanting anyone to remember him. Since he now had the needed info, he quickly exited through the same gate, discovering no key was needed as it could be opened from the inside simply by rotating the latch. Strolling farther in a northeasterly direction along Saratoga Street, he passed the Orient Heights beach where the hotel clerk said snorkeling was allowed. There were also four well-attended softball games in progress on the ballfields, with most players and spectators jabbering away in Spanish. Like much of Boston, baseball was the sport and watching a few games would be another way to kill some time. A smiling Juni now knew for certain their plan would work. All he needed was the cover. Hopefully cliffs of needed fog would move in for a weeklong stay. He turned back toward the hotel, sensing if the weather did cooperate, just maybe he could move quickly?

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Woody returned the following day and Christina asked, “How’s your father?”

“He was on a respirator and the prognosis isn’t good,” a somber Woody replied. “They’re putting him in hospice care today.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

.     .     .

In Boston Christina telephoned the Holiday Inn, but there was no response from Juni’s room. After the next landing, she asked Erik to call. “If he’s there, tell him to forget it ‘cause the weather’s too good.”

A few moments later Erik returned and informed her, “No answer.”

Both pilots were edgy. Could Woody sense it? The angst was particularly draining on Erik, even after work when he joined Carol for a late dinner but only picked at the leftover pot roast, food being the last thing on his mind. He didn’t even become aroused when she kissed him and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“What’s wrong? Did I say or do something?”

“No. It’s not you. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

She figured he was concerned with the looming second payment deadline, but said nothing, hoping he’d eventually open up. Erik stayed only a short time and before leaving, apologized for his demeanor.

.     .     .

Lying in bed at home while fear cheated him of sleep, he detected the very faint, almost imperceptible pitter-patter of rain a bit before two in the morning. It wasn’t the heavy pellet-like precipitation occurring when a front moves through, nor could he detect the distinctive ozone odor preceding a thunderstorm. The ashen-like white rain seemed to just hang in the air like a heavy mist, with the calm wind meaning the coming weather wouldn’t be rushed. Had the time arrived? He was finally able to pull himself out of bed, trudged to the window barefoot and opened it: no traffic, not a single leaf stirred on the steaming street below. The heavy mist whispering through the dense foliage imparted a wet, almost black sheen, with the stillness broken only by the summer sounds of crickets, while damp air flooded into the room through the rattling window fan. While taking deep breaths, he stalked the room with restless energy, knowing the clouds would soon roll up the coast like a camouflaged army battalion, with accompanying fog rolling in from the sea shrouding the shape of everything. As terror built deep inside him, the unrelenting anxiety finally gave way to thoughts of Carol and what would happen to her, to them, if he was caught. Did he ever really intend to go through with this insanity?

Erik silently padded to the living room and grabbed the phone. With churning stomach and pounding head, he cursed Juni for the command not to call him. He had the power in his hand at that very moment to call off this insane scheme. But canceling meant all his life expectancies would come to an abrupt end so the phone went back on its cradle. Erik hobbled back upstairs and again peered through the window, offering a voiceless prayer that by morning brilliant sunshine from ninety-three million miles away would chase away the dreaded fog. But he knew differently in his gut, where the truest feelings lived. He returned to bed and pressed weak fingertips over his eyes, seeing nothing but sparks and finally dozed off while trying to convince himself he was not afraid.

.     .     .

Christina was also finding no sanctuary and was as awake as an owl even after ingesting two powerful sleeping pills. Even though this was twice the normal dosage, sleeplessness remained her only true companion. While listening to the soft rain, she turned toward David who was beside her, snoring loudly and smelling of his favorite aftershave. Lately she found everything about him increasingly repulsive. Still wide awake, her thoughts turned to her childhood. Since her father had deserted the family, the only religion she practiced was the dreaded fear of being alone, a medical condition known as autophobia. She recalled her very first reaction after hearing her shrink’s clinical diagnosis was to tell him she wasn’t afraid of cars. With a slight smile, he explained it had nothing to do with automobiles. A number of subsequent sessions had given her valuable insight. Although she tried not