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

to the guy, who replied, “That’ll work out fine. We have a short wait for a connecting passenger and now I can pin the delay on air traffic control.”

After hearing the magic words connecting passenger, Christina glanced at Erik, but neither uttered a word. Just then, Woody returned, looking alarmed. “My old man’s taken a turn for the worse. Are there any delays getting out? This is probably his last night.”

“I just checked,” Christina said softly, welcoming the momentary respite. “Boston’s right at landing minimums, but there should be no difficulty departing. There are only minimal delays outbound, ten to fifteen minutes, which we would have had anyway because we’re waiting for a passenger. The LaGuardia weather’s above landing minimums, so we should arrive close to schedule.”

“Thanks. I’ll let the doctor know I’ll be there later tonight.” Woody left the cockpit.

.     .     .

At exactly 8:50 the heavy metal doors of the armored truck were slammed shut and padlocked for the approximate ten-minute ride to Logan airport’s cargo section via the Fitzgerald Expressway and Callahan Tunnel. Although a GPS device monitored their every move, Norton disliked the tunnel portion because he felt if anyone were going to attack them it would be the perfect location, as all it would take were two cars to block any escape route. His senses were always on full alert and sidearm at the ready during this portion of the journey but there was nothing out of the ordinary other than the trip taking a few minutes longer due to the drizzle and fog. As they approached the airport, Norton hoped their flight wouldn’t be delayed long because he had a date later that evening. A few moments later, after meticulously checking Norton’s ID on a scanner, the airport guards raised the steel reinforced barrier gate allowing the armored car onto the airport perimeter road. Planeside, in dampness so penetrating he shivered regardless of wearing a raincoat, Norton oversaw the loading of eight bags containing a little over four million dollars. When finished, he peered inside the forward cargo hold to make certain nothing other than the money was there. Once the cargo door was slammed shut he signed a document attesting to the number of bags and their proper loading, sprinted up the Jetway and took his reserved seat directly above the cargo compartment. The armored vehicle would wait next to the jet with its occupants observing it until it began taxiing.

While Woody was busy reciting the Before Starting checklist, Erik silently removed the two tiny light bulbs from behind the forward cargo door open indicator light and placed them in his shirt pocket. His metabolism was in such high gear with a heartbeat so deafening, he feared he wouldn’t hear anything spoken. He next tripped the circuit breaker for the cargo compartment’s interior lights. To buy the needed time, he then pulled the large, number two engine generator control circuit breaker. All cockpit indicators would now show that generator as inoperative.

.     .     .

Juni cursed everything and everyone, including the wooden boat that wouldn’t steer straight. He was still shivering inside the wetsuit, his chilly sweat akin to cold rainwater dripping down a windowpane, but in this case it was his back. How could you be sweating, freezing and frightened to death simultaneously? Even worse, the fog and sweat combination began to sting his eyes, causing more misery. He’d been in the tiny boat for what seemed like an eternity and had to be getting close to something, although he had no way of knowing what. As he held the VOR radio on top of the compass so he could observe both at once, the needle remained centered, indicating he was on course. Then suddenly and without warning there was a loud crunching sound and the boat lurched, coming to such an abrupt halt Juni was knocked from his seat and onto the deck. Back on his feet, he shifted into neutral, went to the engine and quickly detached the ignition wire, shutting down the engine. Squinting, he was barely able to make out the fog-shrouded outline of a shoreline. All was quiet except for the lapping of the waves. Was this the airport? From the charts he knew the runway jutted out into the bay, forming a U-shaped peninsula. But it seemed way too quiet. Maybe he’d landed someplace else? He stepped gingerly off the bow onto a blob of soft green marsh grass, his boots making a squishing sound from the suction. The sodden earth shuddered and gave way slightly under his weight, like Jell-O in a bowl when a spoon is placed on it. Constantly glancing at his handheld compass, he cautiously walked on the required heading for approximately seventy-five feet. As he peered through the thick air he spotted a large yellow sign with bold, black letters stating, AIRPORT – NO TRESPASSING. A chill of wonder still coupled with a goodly amount of fright ran down his spine as he murmured, “Goddamn, I made it!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Although in awe, Juni still didn’t know his exact airport location. He continued walking in the direction of 168 degrees and a few moments later came upon a paved area bordered by blue lights with a row of green, recessed lighting running down the center. Christina had described these as taxiway lights. Once on the taxiway he moved in a northeasterly direction, which brought him to another bright yellow reflective sign with black letters reading N-2, the agreed-upon intersection. To validate this, he turned right and walked another hundred feet or so on southeasterly track until the white edge lights of runway 22 Right appeared. He hurried back to the boat, passing one of the small poles on the way. Was it a motion sensor? Were the cops on the way now? His wristwatch showed 9:05, meaning there were probably ten to fifteen minutes until rendezvous time. Back at the boat he lifted two of the duffels with the