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

to wear this phobia like a crucifix, it remained the driving force in her personal life choices. Although she sometimes needed solitude, a door one voluntarily closed, it was the second kind that terrified her; when the world rejects you, leaving you totally alone. David had filled a void in her life in keeping out the emotional isolation, but she felt she would soon be ready to move on. Her eyelids finally involuntarily closed under the combined weight of these thoughts and medication into a sporadic slumber, with ruminations still running through her mind as fast as a racehorse at the Kentucky Derby.

.     .     .

Both pilots looked exhausted when they showed up for work. “I can’t continue like this,” Christina hoarsely whispered to Erik after passing through security. “I have a knot in my stomach that feels like a boulder.” She was also concerned all the stress might trigger a seizure.

Erik couldn’t help but notice the redness around and bags under her eyes that looked more like valises. “I was up all night too. My eyes feel like someone poured a pail of sand into them.” A moment later he asked, “Did you see the forecast for Boston? That stationary weather front is slowly working its way up the coast just a bit offshore,” he said, with fear having its teeth firmly embedded in him.

A featherlike rain carried on a light breeze had begun prior to their first Boston landing. The visibility was reported as three-quarters of a mile restricted by showers and fog, not as poor as they needed, so maybe this wouldn’t be the night after all?

After their first Boston landing on runway 15, Christina checked the forecast for nine P.M. and it called for lower ceilings of one hundred feet, with the visibility dropping to an eighth of a mile in fog, light rain and mist, along with a south wind at three to five knots. Shuttle Air’s weather people were housed in an air-conditioned, windowless building, so maybe their forecast would be wrong, but if not, this might be it. Would Juni agree? Was he set to go? Christina went to a pay phone and after making certain no one was within earshot, dialed Sciotta. When Juni answered she said, “Tonight might be a go,” in a voice an octave higher than normal. “Runway 22 Right’s in use for takeoff and the visibility is forecast to be near zero. Our tail number is N838SA. Erik or I will call after our next arrival. It’s your decision. Is everything ready on your end?”

“I haven’t tested the boat yet.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

There was only silence on the other end.

“You gotta let me know, Juni.”

“All right, it’s a go. But only if the weather’s as shitty as you say.”

“The visibility was three-quarters of a mile when we landed, so it ain’t gonna to be clear skies and a bright moon by nine.”

“I’ll be here.”

Although the weather was damp and cool, Christina was anything but. Damp yes, but definitely not cool and the distinct tingling was once again present in her fingertips. She prayed all of this wouldn’t trigger a seizure, not tonight. After she returned to the plane Woody popped his head into the cockpit saying he was going to phone for an updated report on his father’s condition. Once he departed, Christina related her conversation with Juni to Erik, who simply rolled his eyes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

On this dreary, penetrating day, per the usual routine Chris Norton grabbed a taxi from Logan to the Federal Reserve building located on Atlantic Avenue in downtown Boston. After passing no fewer than three security checkpoints he asked the young woman in charge of the counting process, located in the basement, “How much tonight?”

“I don’t know for certain yet, but probably close to four million.”

Norton groaned, knowing any amount over three million would take approximately three hours to verify, count and prepare for shipment. This meant once again delaying the outbound flight. Under the terms of the government’s contract with Shuttle Air he was empowered to do so to ensure he and the money made it on board. “Please hurry. I’d rather not hold up another flight, especially after the airline called my boss and gave him hell when they discovered that amount was under three million.”

The young clerk started to explain that particular glitch was due to several workers calling in sick, but said nothing because Norton wasn’t her boss. Instead she smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

Norton sauntered down the hallway to the men’s room and stood unusually close to the urinal while relieving himself, wondering if this room also had hidden cameras. He next went to the agents’ waiting room, picked up a copy of the Boston Globe and began reading it front to back as he probably had several hours to kill. When thumbing through the business section his eyelids grew heavy and he dozed. After what felt like several minutes but was just over an hour he awoke, stretched and glanced at his watch, seeing enough time remained to grab a quick bite. At the in-house deli he ordered turkey on rye and as he was finishing a supervisor entered and signaled they were ready. Norton stood up, Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand and felt for the heavy .40-caliber Smith & Wesson in a shoulder harness under his jacket. The nine o’clock flight would have to be delayed, hopefully only for a few minutes this time. He gulped down the coffee while dialing the Shuttle Air manager and gave him the news.

“I’ve recommended the airline not renew this contract when it comes up in September,” the guy replied.

Norton had met him only once and didn’t like him for a number of reasons, mainly his indifferent attitude. “That’s your choice. I’m sure Delta would love it.”

“You’re a typical government worker who doesn’t know shit about running an on-time business.”

Norton quickly replied with a feigned yawn, “We’ll be there about nine-oh-five.”

To his surprise the