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

the words, “I love you” and ran her feminine fingers lightly over a framed photo of Jimmy, hanging on the wall right next to the phone. She longed for a picture of Laurel to place alongside it. With the receiver dangling from her fingertips, she sighed as she wiped away the tears. No longer shining lights, instead her eyes were now desolate pools awash with painful emotions, but still able to see the dreadful shape of the future for Shuttle Air. Between the high-speed train and the larger airlines poised to jump into the lucrative shuttle market, the outlook was grim. The end wouldn’t come suddenly but slowly and painfully, presaged by pay cuts and labor strife, which would also portend the end of her small disability pay and retirement. History was replete with airlines doing exactly that.

Meandering aimlessly, she touched many keepsakes while trying to relive what went with them; the framed articles written about her, including numerous pictures as the female airline pilot spokesperson; her first set of pilot wings, with all the pride and expectancy oozing from them; photos of a smiling much younger woman, surrounded by friends and family. She ran her fingers over the collage of images knowing she could never recapture their essence, return her to those happier days, a time when a younger and simpler life was filled with family, love, joy and anticipation.

Flicking on the kitchen light brought to mind flying was always about lights. There were the seemingly motionless northern lights shining brightly in a black sky; breaking out of the clouds and seeing the welcoming runway approach lights; caution lights and the delicate lights of Saint Elmo’s fire dancing across the jet’s windscreen like threads during a nighttime storm. Then, there was the most important light—the one left burning in the window by the person you loved.

Perhaps when she signed on to this voyage of life she had boarded a train or plane headed for a predetermined, horrible destination, but couldn’t or wouldn’t jump off now. She was committed and would ride this journey to the very end, whatever that might be.

.     .     .

Suddenly, she pictured those warm lights shining brightly and not through the prism of her memory. Those were extinguished. But even though the yesterdays no longer existed and she was no longer the excited young girl in those snapshots, the expectations lived on. If, no when, the new medication worked as expected, if need be she could get another flying job when Shuttle Air folded, perhaps something in the corporate jet field? She would never accept defeat and would always be the captain.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

When Erik completed two New York to Washington roundtrip shuttles, per the norm he noted any items requiring maintenance in the aircraft log. The copilot had mentioned the voice recorder had been only operating intermittently. “You want me to write it up?” Erik asked the captain, Charlie Sutherland, who went by the nickname of Skip.

“Sure,” the handsome, gray-haired captain replied with a warm smile. “This plane will be on the ground for two hours, which should be enough time to repair it.”

While the crew was reciting the Securing checklist, a mechanic entered the cockpit and grabbed the logbook. The rest of the crew departed and Erik was about to leave when the fellow mentioned, “You sure have hard luck with voice recorders.”

“What do you mean?” Erik replied.

“You brought in a flight a while back and I performed the overnight check. It was a different aircraft, but I discovered the voice recorder wasn’t working and when I checked further, the entire mechanism was missing, nowhere to be found. Nothing was written in the log, so I figured another mechanic removed it because the voice recorder circuit breaker in the aft airstair area was pulled. But no one here or in Boston knew anything and it turned out even though the cockpit indication showed it was working properly, it was nowhere to be found. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Erik’s face lit up like a hundred watt lightbulb as he asked as calmly as possible, “When did this take place?”

“Maybe a couple of weeks ago, but if you want, I can get the exact date.”

“No need,” was all Erik could manage, while quickly gathering his belongings. He almost ran over a dozen people sprinting to a pay phone, fumbling for change. The juices were flowing and he needed to speak with Christina, now. But recalling Juni’s words that the cops would likely place taps on their phones, just as quickly he decided not to call her.

All Erik’s other thoughts were replaced with searing anger wrapped in rage. Hours spent trying to put the pieces together had resulted in nothing, but a chance encounter with a mechanic and voila, everything added up on a cerebral level. Erik took a deep breath and vowed to do what was needed—alone—then bring Christina and Juni in.

.     .     .

Before anything else could be accomplished, however, the bank deadline was fast approaching, quicker than water runs through a sieve and had to take top priority. A burden had finally settled in his heart, as only one way remained to resolve it. He nervously phoned Carol. “My deadline’s almost here.”

“I know. What are we going to do?”

“Can I come over? Is your father home?”

“Yes. But—?” The line went dead.

When Erik arrived, Carol got a whiff of fear wrapped in desperation as they descended to the basement. They sat down and Erik’s hands clawed the fabric on the couch, as if trying to gouge away the past. What was done was done, so he finally blurted out, “Would you speak with your father and ask if he’ll loan me the money? He’s my only salvation.” He never wanted to hear those words come out of his mouth, but the fear of losing everything meant there was no other choice.

“Why’d you wait so long?”

“I thought I might come up with enough without involving him, but couldn’t. I don’t