by Nova Rain
“Can anybody hear me?” I spoke, pressing my index finger to my ear.
“Loud and clear.” The deep voice I picked up destroyed any traces of doubt.
“Try to get those bastards out, so we can get a clean shot at them,” the cop requested. “Good luck to you.”
Do you want us to wash them up for you, too?
This question crossed my mind when he dismissed us. Neither Jake nor I were trained for this sort of mission. Yet, insulting the one man who could provide a helping hand in this mess wasn’t going to avail anyone. Reynolds’s hands were tied anyway. He couldn’t show up at that meeting, because the kidnappers would execute Ava and Penny.
“Here we go…” Jake uttered, his voice but a whisper as his SUV rolled into the neighborhood. It hadn’t changed at all since the last time I’d been there. There were two apartment buildings, one on each side of the road and almost fifty yards from each other. Between those, was an old warehouse, featuring an abandoned windmill. With its torn blades flailing in the wind, the SUV bypassed the two rigs Reynolds had mentioned. Their large shapes were concealing more than the interior of the building. There was a black limousine on the other side of the road.
“Don’t go in there,” I advised Jake, my eyes on the parking lot of the three-story building on my right. “Park it here. We might have to leave in a hurry.”
“Okay,” he accepted in an almost inaudible voice. I got out, the desire to see Ava alive raging in my chest. A mere glance up at the building revealed her possible whereabouts. The lights on the first floor were on, while the second and the third floor were completely dark.
An applique over the staircase to the basement was lit, catching my eye. Rough, male voices resounded through the walls of the building. The view of two, feminine figures emerging from the dark staircase proved me wrong. Two men were holding guns to their waists as they came outside. A much slower sound then confused me. Someone else was walking down the stairs at a very slow pace. It seemed like whoever this was, was in no rush to meet with us.
“The hotshot heroes of flight one-fifteen.” A gruff voice filled the air. In a moment, its owner moved around one of his men. He couldn’t have been more than 5’10”. He was bald, with only some white on his temples, and was dressed in a crème suit and a black tie. “You don’t look so hot now.”
“Who the fuck are you?” I growled, my chest aching with the desire to pounce on him.
He smirked and took one step closer. “My name’s Marcus Gambini. I’m the major shareholder of ‘Swift Cargo.’ Gentlemen…” He paused and focused his gaze on me. “I appreciate honesty in business. If you’d used your real names to apply to my company, we wouldn’t be here. You made a mistake. I tried to get rid of you by overloading your plane, but that didn’t work. You two are like cockroaches. You’re hard to kill.”
“The black boxes would prove your crime,” Jake groaned, clenching his jaw. “The investigation would show the plane was overweight, too. You wouldn’t get away with it.”
Gambini gave a short giggle. “The black boxes? Nope. You see, I had Olson disconnect them before you took off. My plan was perfect. You two would die in a crash, which the NTSB would later rule as an accident. There was no evidence of overweight cargo in the manifest. To prove foul play, they’d have to weigh what was left of the cargo after the fire. That would be impossible.”
“Duck!”
I obeyed the command that rang in my ears in an instant. A crackling bullet shattered the silence of the night. The two goons shoved Ava and Penny forward as it became lodged in their boss’s throat. Blood gushed out of the wound, and the two women lunged forward. My arms flew open, and Ava’s body slammed into mine. I let out a grunt of discomfort before twisting her in mid-air. I rolled her over onto her back, raised my arms to shoulder height and squeezed them around her, hearing bullets smashing into the concrete. Two of them struck Gambini in the chest, knocking him off balance. His stunned men looked up in opposite directions, searching for whoever had been firing at them. Seven, simultaneous flashes from the rooftop of the nearest building ripped through the dark. A hail of fire rained down upon them. I gritted my teeth to endure the agony of the deafening bangs around me, feeling the caress of Ava’s breath on my neck. Numerous blasts put an end to this ordeal. The bullets found their targets, sending them reeling back across the driveway. They ripped through fabric and skin alike, causing Gambini’s men to drop down with a thud.
“Cease fire!”
Another voice in my ear liberated me from the fear. I gasped for air with deep, long breaths and opened my eyes. Ava was staring up at me, the muscles in her face twitching.
“Sorry,” I whispered, gripping the edge of the duct tape. In a quick move, I yanked it off of her. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“No,” she gasped out, her chest heaving. Taking my eyes off of her, I looked across the driveway. Penny had collapsed onto Jake’s chest, sniffles leaving her mouth. “I’m sorry I did that, Michael. I shouldn’t have…”
“Sorry?!” I exclaimed, easing my body backwards. “Girl, bullets were flying all over the place.”
“Are you alright?” she whispered, sitting up.
“I’ll live,” I grunted, tightening my eyes shut as I felt the familiar agony in my chest. Ava reached out towards me and pulled the zipper of my coat down.
“Thank God,” she croaked, the view of my clean, white shirt setting my fears at ease.
“It’s alright,” I whispered, my arms snaking around her waist. I held her shivering body close, my heart still beating wildly in my chest. “It’s all over.”
Moments afterwards, I caught the roar of two engines. I looked back, only to find a patrol car and a SWAT truck speeding down the road. Snipers began to jump out of the cab, their superior joining us in the driveway. I rose from the ground and pulled Ava back up, spotting the bodies of the two goons. Bullet holes ran down their torsos and their legs. Blood was dribbling out of the mouth of the one closest to Jake and Penny.
“Good job,” Reynolds praised. “Are you people okay? Do you need a medic?”
“We’re good,” I assured him. “You should talk to the NTSB. They’d love to hear it was actually an airline owner that sabotaged his own plane.”
“Will do,” the Lieutenant accepted. “Listen, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like a statement.”
“Tomorrow,” I blurted out, the thought of heading to a police station after this not going down well with me.
“Whenever you like,” Reynolds smiled. I took Ava by the hand and led her to Jake’s car, reveling in a sense of relief. The mastermind behind the sabotage of flight two-oh-four was lying dead in a pool of his own blood. We were not unscarred, but we had survived. We had managed to hold on to the greatest gift of all: our very lives. Having Ms. Posh breathing next to me in the backseat was a blessing greater than anything I could ever have hoped for.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ava
“Nobody can understand what PTSD is, unless they go through a life-threatening experience.”
I wished Jake’s words were a product of his ego. I wished he’d spoken them in order to ensure my support for his friend.
Alas, they were not. They were one-hundred percent real.
It had been hours since that animal and his minions dropped dead, and my mind wasn’t in my apartment. My thoughts were not with the man sleeping next to me. They were stuck in time, somewhere in Ulster. One minute, I was thinking about being locked in that cold basement with Penny, hearing her muffled voice and watching her squirm in the dark. The next minute, I was remembering the rattle of bullets flying above me. I could recall the quickness of my breath, and that dreadful feeling of my heart ready to burst right out of my chest. In essence, it was like someone had taken the most terrifying experience of my life and multiplied the fear I had felt by a thousand times.
How could Michael find whatever peace was necessary to fall asleep? My question sounded silly to me at first. This
was a man that had been in a near plane crash and an actual plane crash. As the night wore on though, it didn’t sound so silly. We had been caught in the crossfire. Either one of us could have been injured or even killed. The experience didn’t have the duration of either one of his ordeals in the air, but it did have a lot of intensity. I believed it was going to keep him up; yet, I was mistaken.
The following morning, I discovered the reason for his apathy in my bathroom mirror cabinet. It was simple. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have forgotten it.
Painkillers.
Strong painkillers, much stronger than the ones that could handle the occasional headache. Apparently, they had done the trick just fine.
I made myself a cup of coffee and turned on my laptop. I felt for Penny and Jake, the moment my browser loaded my homepage. Once again, the cocky pilot had made front page news. This time, for faking his own death. The Internet was full of nasty comments about his audacity of leading the American people to believe he was dead. Journalists were very curious as to why he had done that. Most of them were posing the same question, with few variations.
“What does Captain Turner have to say to defend himself?”
For the moment at least, I doubted he had to say anything. I was sure he had other things in mind than addressing the press. He was unemployed. Luckily for him, we journalists could become very creative. My colleagues would start to make up their own stories. They had done that before, and they would do it again.
I invited the couple over for lunch, in the hope that the last turn of events had helped him reach a decision about my suggestion. To everyone’s satisfaction, he managed to put his ego aside. He agreed to meet with United Airlines officials, on one condition: That he would do so without an appointment. According to him, this would catch them off guard, and deprive them of the chance to organize a defense strategy against him and Michael. Needless to say, my boyfriend was so happy that he accepted this term immediately.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Michael
Destination? JFK Airport.
I had to pinch myself to believe that.
Not because we were heading to one of the busiest airports worldwide, but because we were going to visit United’s offices in it. It had been months since the last time I was there. Frankly, I didn’t think I would never set foot again in that part of the terminal.
I didn’t have a clue about the outcome of this meeting but being back in the same halls offered me a sense of joy. They were large, wide, and teemed with people. Unlike the crappy airports I had been frequenting, where a shift officer called out flight numbers with a loudspeaker, I could hear actual departure and arrival announcements from loudspeakers.
“Tell me this doesn’t feel good,” I urged Jake, strutting alongside him.
“It does,” he admitted, a small smile forming on his face as he looked over the sidewall and down on the bustling terminal. “Let’s hope this isn’t a mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake, big man. Keep your fingers crossed.” I addressed him in a lazy tone as the two of us entered the narrow hall that led to the conference rooms. Tingles ran down my spine when I noticed the blue sign outside the one we were heading for.
T4 VIP Delta Sky Club
I lengthened my strides and bypassed Jake, my eyes on the open, beige door. Jonathan Powell, the human resources manager was sitting at the long table, going over a pack of documents. Ron Matheson, the customer service director, was just further down in the room and to the right, studying a chart on the whiteboard.
“Gentlemen, good morning,” I spoke in a confident voice and smiled. “How are you this lovely day?”
“H-holy God…” Powell uttered, his jaw dropping to the floor as we strolled in. “What are you two doing here?”
“What’s the matter, Jonathan?” Jake wondered, flashing him a sarcastic smile. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Don’t mind him, buddy.” I assumed an ironic tone, nearing the desk. “People tend to be surprised when they see ghosts.”
“What the fuck is the meaning of this?” Matheson groaned, turning away from the whiteboard.
“Sit down, Ron,” Jake demanded, his face hardening. “We’ll do our best to explain things.”
“If you’re here to pick up a fight…”
“No fight,” I assured him, pulling a chair from the table. “We just want to talk.”
“Okay,” he nodded and obliged. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Business,” I declared, resting my forearms on the hard surface.
“I’d like to say something for the record,” Jake started, assuming a businesslike tone. “This wasn’t my idea. The only reason why I’m here is my love for what I do. Now…” He paused. “I’ve spent weeks studying the aftermath of Ms. Green’s public statement. I’m no analyst, but it looks like it put quite a dent into United’s finances. Michael, do the honors, please.”
At his request, I found Ava’s recording on my phone and pressed the “play” button. Amid the noise of people walking up and down the hospital hallway and the beeping heartrate monitor, the voice of one of United Airlines’ representatives was heard saying:
“The logical thing would have been for us to suspend you both for a while, but instead, we tried to destroy Turner with a lawsuit.”
“In case you don’t know who that is, his name is Keith Jackson and he works for you.” Jake pointed out.
“I know who he is,” Powell groaned, his dead-eye stare on my friend, Matheson banging his palms onto the desk in frustration.
“Good.” Jake flashed him a glance of praise. “This statement was made in a public place, which means it can be used for just about everything. What do you think would happen if the press got their hands on this?”
“You came here to blackmail us?” Powell squinted, leaning forward.
“We’re not blackmailing anybody,” Jake assured him. “FYI, it was a reporter who got your boy on tape. She got curious when she saw a couple of United Airlines representatives walking around in the hospital. We asked her to keep quiet about this, until we had a word with you.”
Powell gave an exasperated huff and then leaned backwards. “I see. And what do you want in exchange for that little courtesy of yours?”
“Our old jobs back.” I saved Jake from the trouble of having to speak any further. “A hundred-and-fifty thousand a year, plus benefits. Each.”
“That’s preposterous!” Powell shouted, narrowing his eyes at me. “You people cost us hundreds of thousands of dollars back in December. You were deemed as liabilities, which is why you were suspended, and now, you want us to hire you back?”
“You want to talk about cost?” Jake growled, reaching out towards him. Gripping him by the sleeve, he drew him close. “Let’s talk about cost. Penny’s outburst cost you about sixty-five million. A public admission of you trying to destroy an American hero will cost you close to a billion, if not more. Do the math, Powell. It’s pretty simple.”
“Easy there.” I advised, putting my hand on his shoulder. Thankfully, he pushed him away.
“What do you think we should do?” He asked Matheson, turning his head left to face him.
“They are the cheapest alternative,” he voiced his opinion, pursing his lips. “Just one thing. How do we know this recording won’t leak to the press? Who is that reporter?”
“She happens to be my girlfriend,” I informed him with a sarcastic smile. “She won’t leak anything unless I say so.”
“Alright, you two.” Powell nodded and arose to his scrawny stature. “You’ve got yourselves a deal.” Finishing his sentence, he offered his hand for a handshake. “Welcome back to United Airlines.”
“It’s good to be back,” I confessed and shook his hand. “Let us know when those contracts are ready.”
“I will,” Powell added. “Gentlemen, I hope this is the first step of our common effort to put the past behind us.”
“Don’t worry about the past,
Jonathan,” Jake urged. “Honor your end of the deal, and it will stay right where it belongs. In the past. Have a nice day.”
I felt like an adrenaline bomb had gone off in my brain. That hormone was shooting through my veins, along with the huge waves of joy that this news had given me. At last, I could wave “goodbye” to the idea of heading to every airport in the middle of God’s nowhere. I could call the images of their tiny runways and their filthy terminals “things of the past.” I didn’t envy that man on that billboard, because I was that man again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ava
“It’s an unusually warm day. I don’t want to stay in. Meet me at the roof of Bistrot Monique Chantal. It’s right on the edge of the river, about two hundred yards from “Luigi’s.’”
Sometimes, I believed Michael had lost touch with reality. His text wasn’t about what had to be one of the most crucial meetings of his professional life. Instead, he had commented on the weather and communicated his desire for dinner at a fancy, French restaurant.
“I don’t care if I have to eat cereal for dinner. I’m more interested in finding out about your meeting. How did it go?”
“The verdict’s not out yet. I’ll know in 24 hours.”
His response did little to appease me. It might have been direct, but that cloud of uncertainty was still hanging over our heads. At any rate, discussing it via texts wasn’t appropriate. Michael would let me in on the details over dinner.
He did have a point about that day. The veils of Spring had been spread across the Big Apple, adding some much-needed color to its gray landscape. More than that, flowery scents lingered in the air, overshadowing the usual smell of exhaust fumes. To top it all off, the warmth didn’t go away when daylight disappeared. My tan, lightweight jacket felt somewhat unnecessary. I decided to keep it on, though. I was heading for the river. It would be much wetter, and the temperature there was bound to be lower.