"Of course not," said Smokestack, twisting to hide the tobacco in his lip. "I've, well, I've just had some issues adjusting to life at the academy. Far away from home, and just a bit stressed."
That was true—adaptation to the ways of life in the academy had not been easy. Cigarettes were contraband there, so his only smoke happened in the middle of his morning and evening fitness runs. Those had already been brutal, considering the shape of his lungs. But moreover, it was because Frederick had forged his test papers, bribing the admissions recruiter to turn a blind eye to the altered scores in order to get him into the school. And now, he was paying for his lack of skill.
“Then sharpen up,” she answered, and withdrew her head, “because if you don’t, I won’t have Gladdensworth’s reputation dulled.”
He heard her footsteps walking away and scowled, his scowl deepening as his eyes happened to fall upon the mock “No Smoking” sign inside the cockpit. Frederick had demanded that he not only graduate, but graduate top of his class. And where his aerial skills failed him, his criminal skills would have to fill in the gap.
It was time to play dirty, so he considered his options.
His instructor was only a few years older than him, still eager on the job, and the pocket on her jacket was permanently creased with the outlines of the handbook she kept on her at all times. He doubted that she would bat an eyelash at even the most tempting of bribes—it was people like her who made this hard, people that clung to their morals and stuck to their principles. Self-righteous scumbags.
And once he moved on to actual air time, his next instructor would be an old man, so set in his ways that bribery would likely have little effect. Plus the man was so hard of hearing that he doubted he’d even be able to convey the message of corruption to him.
There were other options, of course. Trying to hack the simulator might work, so that it displayed false results and claimed he had landed safely. But then he’d be in trouble once he got into the air, and he would be even more lost than he was now.
That night he ate dinner with his peers in the dining hall, his mood souring even more when Dennis, the top of their class, took a seat at the end of the table. Dennis, who was so scrawny that Smokestack thought it impossible he could have passed the physical tests. Who was already renowned for scoring the highest marks the academy had ever seen on the entrance exam. And, despite his success in academia and the field, did have one major weakness.
Smokestack had seen it whenever his instructor walked by Dennis, her blond curls bouncing with each step, and her more attractive features following suit. He’d watched as Dennis blushed and turned his head aside to not make eye contact, hurrying past the instructor. Or how the girls in the dining hall doted over Dennis, calling him a “cute puppy dog”, laughing at his antics while never initiating meaningful physical contact.
“Oh Dennis,” said one of the girls, pulling her hand away when he had placed his over hers, “you know it isn’t like that between us. You’re a friend, Dennis. We’re friends.”
His face had turned bright red, and he’d stormed out of the dining hall as the boys over in the next table laughed. But when it happened the next time, Smokestack followed Dennis up to his room, catching the door right before it slammed.
“Dennis, Dennis, what’s the problem?” said Smokestack as the smaller boy sat on the bed.
“You know exactly what the problem is,” Dennis retorted, turning away.
“Ah, yes. I do, Dennis. Women are the problem, aren’t they? Well, you know, I can make things better for you.”
“Oh yeah? How, exactly, do you plan on doing that?”
“Dennis, you’re acting like an Original. Mind you, you probably are one. But me? I’ve had lifetimes to seduce women. I know the tricks! The intricacies. The inner workings of their minds. And I can tell you, one of your problems is this puppy routine you have going on. Because nobody wants to fuck a puppy, Dennis.”
“You think I do it on purpose? I don’t—”
“Calm down, Dennis, calm down. Look, here’s the deal. I’ll help you with women. Hey, you see that poster above your bed?” Smokestack pointed to the picture of pop star Karen Miles. “I’ll even introduce you to her. We’re old friends. Maybe you’ll bang. Probably not, but maybe.”
“Bullshit.”
“Well, I guess you’re right there. I’d say we’re more like forced acquaintances. And you definitely won’t bang. But anyway, Dennis, that’s my side of the bargain. Are you ready for yours?”
Dennis studied Smokestack, his eyes narrowed.
“What is it?”
Smokestack made his proposition, and the boy burst out laughing.
“Look, you’ve had your fun. Now leave.”
“I’m serious, Dennis. And I swear you’ll get to meet Karen Miles if you work with me.”
Dennis shook his head, then extended his hand to shake Smokestack’s.
“This has to be the most bizarre form of cheating I’ve ever heard of.”
“That’s because the best forms are never caught,” said Smokestack, “so you don’t hear of them.”
Chapter 33
Breaking into the simulator was the easy part. Making the necessary modifications to the seat by dawn was where the difficulty occurred.
Scooping out all the fluff and removing several springs was first. The fluff was bagged so that it could be returned, and the seat would still retain some of its original shape. Then Smokestack sewed a zipper along the back edge, tucking it away so it was barely visible and was camouflaged by the natural seam. By the time the sun started to rise, he emerged from the simulator, his lip fat with tobacco, and the transformation complete.
The next morning was his lesson, and Smokestack was waiting early for his instructor to arrive. Dennis had arrived with him twenty minutes prior in preparation for the plan, and was already in position.
"Alright," came his instructor’s voice for him as she entered the room, "let's see if you've improved. I'm in the mood for a miracle."
She opened the door of the simulator, and he stepped in. Then she walked to her desk, where she could watch via computer screen. He shut the door behind him, and the lights flickered on, the display in front of him coming to life to reveal a runway ready for takeoff. Gauges and instruments flashed and twitched, each vying for his attention, as his instructor’s voice sounded over the intercom.
"Begin."
Smokestack raised a left hand, tentatively, and listened.
"Go on," came a whispering voice from directly behind his ear as the seat under him wriggled. "And God, you're going to have to shift. You chose the most uncomfortable spot to sit."
Smokestack smiled and flipped a switch. So far, the instructor had noticed nothing amiss. And sitting inside the chair, with a few pinprick-sized holes to breathe and see out of, Smokestack had his own personal coach.
"Second switch from the left," said Dennis again, still fidgeting under Smokestack's weight. "Flick it. Good. Now accelerate and head toward the designated runway. God, I’d better get laid for this, man."
"Don’t think about getting laid too much right now,” said Smokestack as the noise of artificial engines increased. ”If you get an erection underneath me, I’ll murder you. Anyway, just keep all this a secret, and you're set."
"God, you think I would tell anyone about this? For the sake of what's left of my pride, the fact that I'm effectively stuffed inside a pilot’s seat with you on my lap will remain a secret."
"It’d better, Dennis," Smokestack answered, and the nose of the plane started to tilt into the air.
Dennis continued feeding him corrections as the airplane took to flight—giving him small criticisms and adjustments until the plane had stabilized.
“Go ahead and land, due east,” crackled his instructor on the intercom. “Well done on the takeoff. Let’s see if you continue it through the landing.”
“You did ask for a miracle,” said Smokestack, and he banked the plane, waiting for th
e illusion of a runway to appear in the distance. Dennis started whispering furiously to him, outlining his next actions, prepping him on what to do next. And when the runway appeared, Smokestack was ready.
“Decrease speed, ease up, ease up,” came the rapid whispers. “You’re going to rip the landing gear off at that speed.”
Smokestack tensed, following the instructions perfectly. Knowing he was receiving them from the best.
And for the first time, Smokestack landed the plane without error.
***
Before long, Smokestack was flying an actual plane with a new instructor—the old man with difficult hearing. So difficult, in fact, that he could not hear Dennis whispering instructions from within the freshly installed seat, dictating his every move.
By graduation, Smokestack’s reputation had grown to match that of Dennis. He was among the best. Hell, he even became the best, once Dennis dropped out of school.
“Look, I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Dennis had said after Smokestack’s first flight in a real plane. “I could get my license revoked if anyone ever finds out.”
Smokestack was silent for a moment, weighing his options, then took a gamble.
“What about for a million dollars? You quit school now, forget about your license, and dedicate your time to helping me graduate.” Smokestack said casually, keeping Dennis in the corner of his eye. The young man was more confident now, mainly from Smokestack’s help with attaining his current girlfriend. Being a pimp in a past life had proved effective at coaching “infatuative techniques.”
“Bullshit.”
“Have I lied to you yet?”
“Well, no, but how would you ever get that sort of money?”
Smokestack met Dennis’ eye, and began his story. Dennis nodded as he continued, stopping infrequently for questions, and ultimately deciding that the entire setup was slightly less ludicrous than him stuffing himself into the inside of a pilot seat every time Smokestack took to the air. Smokestack had changed one aspect of the story, however—instead of a billion each, he had replaced that number with forty million.
When he finished, Dennis only had two sentences for Smokestack.
“Forty million each split among you. Why share? The way I see it, you could take the entire sum for yourself.”
And a slow smile crept across Smokestack’s face.
“Well now, you couldn’t expect me to tarnish my reputation like that, could you?”
Then Smokestack told another story to Dennis, one he told no one this cycle. Dennis’ eyes widened, and together they began to plan.
Chapter 34
Years had passed before the next time my team assembled. Years they spent proving themselves in the field. Years of making connections and preparations, of ensuring no questions would be asked concerning their backgrounds. Years of my chess pieces aligning on the board.
One by one, they each were ushered into the private dining room I had reserved on the top floor of the Nirette, a hotel overlooking the capital of Alani. Each had their reason to be in the capital. Lisa was there for filming. The twins were the groomsmen at the wedding of the mayor’s son. Smokestack had just finished school and was on a short break before his career began. And Pete had negotiated a deal within the city’s black market for a piece of art that he believed to be utter trash, but which an interested third party wanted to pay several hundred thousand to attain.
“Welcome,” I said, clapping my hands as a host of waiters served wine and whiskey around the table before departing and locking the door. I was at the head of the sole table in the room, typically reserved for parties of three hundred or more, while Marco occupied the other end. Around us the walls were glass, showcasing the twinkling lights of other skyscrapers and the flashing blue from the ever present police cars below, trolling the streets for crime while the greatest grievance occurred high above their heads.
“A toast,” I continued, raising my glass, “to the continued success of our team. So far, every one of you has completed your objective. Now it is time for the endgame. From this moment on, I will require only the best from each of you. The remaining time is all that matters.”
We drank, then each of the glasses settled on the table, and the party waited.
I raised my glass again, and called out a single member.
“To Lisa, for successfully becoming one of the most desired women in all the country. An actress that bends her knee—or her back, for that matter—for no man. Cheers.”
“Twelve suitors this week,” she said. “Twelve. One of them owned an entire private island, Frederick. This had better pay off—being his widow would have earned me a fortune.”
“It will, it will. Next, to Pete. How’s it feel to be back in the black market, swimming in familiar waters?”
“Like a billion bucks,” Pete answered, raising his glass in return. “Bribing the professor gave me all the contacts I need. They come to me now, and I negotiate trades. I’m the safest, the best, the most reliable. And, of course, the most exclusive.”
“Well done. Well done. Next, to Julian and Angel. You scored an invite to Lingston’s annual party, correct?”
“Of course we did,” answered Julian, waving the crimson envelope in the air, “and Angel here even got some added benefits out of the deal, courtesy of Mary.”
“Who,” countered Angel, “Julian has discovered has the most welcoming of older sisters.”
“Even better,” I said. “With both of you at the party, you should be able to plant the seed without a problem. Be absolutely certain you are subtle though, and reel him in slowly. We can’t afford for him to be suspicious.”
“Frederick,” said Angel as Julian nodded, “you’re speaking to masters of seduction here.”
Lisa snorted, but Julian continued. “We know a thing or two about subtlety.”
“Good. Now, finally, to Smokestack. How was flying school?”
“Finished top of my class, no sweat,” he answered, flicking ash from his cigarette into the china coffee cup in front of him, “And ready to begin my second set of tasks.”
“Perfect,” I said, and I held the glass to the end of the table. “And to Marco, for his continual support. Without him, none of this would be possible, and we would all still be rotting away in Carcer. Let’s continue this without any hitches. Let’s get rich beyond dreams. And let’s hit Lingston where it hurts.”
Chapter 35
“Angel, take my coat to the closet, dearest," said Mary, handing him a fur coat made up of a small army of mink. "I'm off to the bar."
"Of course," said Angel, punctuating the remark with a quick lover's kiss, "and while you're at the bar, I'd like—"
"A scotch, of course," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Make that two!" said Julian, taking Mary's sister's coat and following his brother. As soon as they were out of earshot, he whispered to his brother.
"Do you see him yet? Considering it's his party, I'd expect him to show up."
"Nothing yet. Ah, wait, there." He nodded to the far end of the room, where a small cluster of people each important or rich enough to run a small country were gathered. And at the center was the target.
Lingston.
His brilliantly white teeth flashed in a smile as he laughed at a joke of the vice president of a minor country, brushing past him to speak with the son of an elderly multinational oil tycoon. He wore a suit so expertly fitted that the dark fabric seemed to be an extension of his impeccable skin, and his broad shoulders combined with above-average height put him among the largest men in the room. In his left hand he held a half glass of amber liquid, the glass itself a fragment of natural crystal.
"Damn, how long do you think we have?" asked Julian.
"I'd estimate about thirty minutes based on how full that glass is."
"Pay our respects to the ladies, down our scotch, then prepare for the offense?"
"It's a plan," responded Angel, and they waded through the crowd of celebrities t
oward the crowd growing around Mary and her sister.
They glanced about as they walked, taking in the sheer expanse of Lingston’s estate. Below them were marble-tiled floors, laid nearly a thousand years before, common paths worn into them over the ages.The ceilings above were built as high as possible by the engineering technology available during the time of their construction. Artifacts littered the stone walls, descriptions written in plaques beneath them detailing their personal connection to Lingston. There was the sword of Eusto, famed for driving out the barbarians from the capital walls five hundred years before. The first edition of the novel Everlast, made popular after the early death and disappearance of its author a hundred years prior, one of only five in known existence. And on the front wall there was a bare space, the stone empty, and the plaque below blank.
"Oh, Mary," said a woman on her left when they arrived, the extra thick layers of makeup on her face doing little to obscure the alcohol blush on her cheeks as the twins recognized her as Agnes Zinfild, popular talk show host. "Wherever did you and your sister find such dapper young men?"
"Yes, wherever," huffed a man on her left, approximately the same age as the twins, managing to look simultaneously down his nose at them while eying the contours of Mary's dress.
"Oh, Agnes," Mary answered, ignoring the quip, "they're Senator Livesgate’s sons. We became acquainted at a charity party of mine, having shared an interest in those less fortunate." She fluttered her eyelashes before continuing, "And ever since, I've only become more impressed."
"It is we who are honored," said Angel, taking her hand as Julian took her sister’s, "to be as fortunate as to find the two of you."
Til Death Do Us Part Page 10