Flight 19

by Grant Finnegan

  “What do you want, Brandon?” Lee’s tone indicated she was not at all interested in letting him through the secured entrance of her building and up to her apartment.

  “Can we just have a quick word in person?” Lee could hear the desperation in his voice. She stole a glance at her watch; it was 4.30pm.

  The security guard who usually manned the desk at the bottom of her building worked from nine to five.

  She leaned forward and pressed the intercom button, “I’ll talk to you downstairs in the foyer, and that’s it, okay?”

  She was already heading to her front door when she heard the distant yes over the intercom.

  Brandon looked pasty, and had lost weight, Lee surmised. His hair was a little long and unkempt. He seemed nervous, jumpy. Fuck, Lee thought, it’s almost like he’s on something.

  But he was just scared.

  “If my wife finds out I was here,” he said quietly, “she’ll cut my balls off.”

  Lee looked him straight in the eye and responded with surgical precision.

  “That would be hard,” she said, leaning forward, “when you don’t have any.”

  Brandon almost recoiled. He let the comment dissolve into the empty foyer, hoping the burly security guard sitting behind the desk ten meters away hadn’t heard Lee’s words, though the small grin on the guy’s face indicated he had.

  “Look, I know you have every reason to hate me,” he said.

  Lee stepped back and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and looking at him with disdain.

  Brandon flicked his head back over to the guard to check he wasn’t listening, and seeing the guy looking elsewhere, turned back to Lee and took a long and well-rehearsed deep breath.

  He scratched his neck nervously before closing his eyes, bowing his head, and letting his words fall straight out of his mouth without pause.

  “I’m sorry for what I’ve done to Tammy. I’ll never forgive myself. I screwed up. I made the biggest mistake of my life. I’ll never be able to make it up to her.”

  He lifted his head and opened his sullen eyes. Lee could see the tears threatening to spill out onto his face at any moment.

  “Annie is evil. She treats my children horribly.” Brandon wiped his eyes and did his best to compose himself.

  Lee shrugged and, cold as ice, said, “Well, it’s a little late for all this now.”

  She shifted her feet and stood a little straighter, then looked over to the guard before leaning in close to Brandon and almost spitting the words at him.

  “You’re right. You will never be able to make it up to Tammy, you gutless piece of shit.”

  Then she went to walk off, but Brandon quickly stepped in front of her.

  Lee was about to launch into another tirade, but Brandon held up his hand. Tammy would never forget what he said next.

  “I am going to get them on that plane so that they can be with Tammy.”

  The look on Sarah’s face told Sean everything. Her only surviving family member, her father, was getting back on that goddamn ghost plane despite her heartfelt pleas. Like millions around the world, she believed there was a good chance it would disappear again.

  It had before.

  “But why?” Sarah sobbed, resting her head on Sean’s lap.

  Sean studied the view outside the window before looking back down to his wife.

  He realized she’d been watching him the whole time.

  The time between her two words and his response spoke volumes.

  Sarah sat up straight and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “You know something, don’t you?”

  She was right.

  Sean had figured it all out.

  But Tim had pleaded with him not to tell anyone—even Sarah, his daughter.

  Tim wouldn’t tell Sean why he didn’t want Sarah to know the Erwin secrets. Sean believed it had something to do with her safety. He wasn’t far from the truth.

  Sean was torn between his loyalty to his beautiful wife, and to Tim, who he’d admired since the first time he shook his hand and who, today, had decided to trust him with a secret that had never before left the family.

  Sean had thought pretty highly of Sarah’s brother, too, and didn’t want to betray his trust either—even if the guy might not be alive. But now he wondered if Ben and his family were instead living in secret on some distant South American island, having faked their deaths to escape whatever Ben had gotten himself into.

  “Babe.” He lifted Sarah’s head up and kissed her soft lips. “All I know is your old man is hell-bent on getting back on the plane.”

  Sarah bought it. She rested her head back on her husband’s lap and closed her eyes. Sean stroked her hair and looked through the glass doors to the balcony and San Francisco Bay beyond it.

  His mind drifted back to everything he and his father-in-law had spoken about in the workshop. There was so much detail. It was a lot to take in.

  As he closed his eyes and rested his tired head on the back of the couch, there was one possibility he never gave serious credit.

  Flight 19 2.0 could well do what it had last time.

  And that was exactly what his father-in-law was banking on.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The rising sun bathed the Californian coastline in rich purple, orange, and yellow hues that lit whispers of high clouds in the distant night sky, heralding the new day. It would be long remembered, but not for the postcard-perfect sunrise.

  News crews had been camped out in their designated area at the expansive Vandenberg Air Force Base since the start of the week.

  Many of them were filming the beautiful sunrise for their respective channel’s morning breakfast shows. Reporters, rugged up with coats and scarves, jostled for the best position for recording the spectacle of the colors changing above the coastline. You could only show your viewers a still shot of the former Pacific International Airlines A380, and this was a welcome distraction.

  Many of the passengers from the original flight had made the pilgrimage from across the globe to the very three doors they had walked through a little over six months earlier.

  A small marquee had been set up in the hangar that housed the recently buffed and polished Darcy Airlines A380. There, everyone would gather before they boarded.

  Every visible reminder of Pacific International had been removed from the plane; this was part of the sale agreement. Darcy had decided there was no time to do anything artistic on the outside, which remained a stark white.

  The hangar was off limits to the media. All passengers had agreed to leave their communication devices in a waiting room, in designated private lockers. Darcy had requested this personally, decreeing their flight was not to be filmed by anyone on-board under any circumstances. His superstitious tendencies were getting a little off the charts.

  The plane itself had undergone an extensive list of checks and re-checks. Although it had not taken to the air again since its return, every possible test had been done on the ground to ensure it could safely take off and, of course, return.

  Ross, Melanie, Tony, and Tammy had been paid a ridiculous amount to go on CNN’s morning show, New Day. But Darcy had declined the organization’s repeated requests to attend the same interview. He told them he would be happy to speak to them when the plane returned.

  At that moment, he was in no mood to talk to them at all. His mind was already up in the clouds high above the Pacific Ocean, where fate was planning a surprise for him.

  Kylie Roberts had arrived at Vandenberg a few minutes before 9.00am. The flight was scheduled for midday, and the original plan had been for her to drive Emily and Todd up to the base, but Todd had been called in to work halfway through the night.

  At least, that’s what he told Emily, in hushed tones, before he kissed her lips in the darkness. As he left the room, he assured her they would meet at Vandenberg in time to board the plane.

  Kylie was furious. Right after finding out Todd had slipped out of the house in
the middle of the night, she contacted one of her late husband’s friends, who was in the LAPD.

  He assured her he would find out what the hell Todd was doing. But she wouldn’t hear back from him that day.

  Only later on would she learn this friend of Andrew’s had been helping Todd with his mission—but she’d never be able to prove it.

  Dave Collins had said his goodbyes to his daughter Emily at Kylie’s home just before the women had set off to Vandenberg. Both he and Emily had somehow compartmentalized their emotions about the flight. Dave was surprised his daughter shed no tears as they embraced for the last time that morning. He would go to work at the same time they left for Vandenberg, and watch the events from his tower.

  Those of the public who had been fast enough to secure a ticket to the event had access to the area near the building the passengers for Flight 19 2.0 would pass through before catching a small bus over to the enormous hangar, where the A380 was being prepared for its final checks. People watching the coverage would compare the area around the building to the Academy Awards red carpet.

  Passengers were being cheered and treated like Hollywood celebrities, and most of them were taking it in their stride. Most of them were reality TV stars now, and some had let it get to their heads. From the sidelines, reporters were badgering most passengers for one last interview.

  Friends and family of the passengers shouted their final goodbyes from among the throbbing crowd, often to the annoyance of the reporters and camera crews.

  When Ross and Melanie walked down the cordoned-off area, it could have been George and Amal Clooney entering the fray.

  People cheered them while reporters tried to shout over each other for one last word. But Ross and Melanie were done talking to anyone in the media for now. They smiled, waved, and continued on.

  As it was evident they would not be stopping, everyone’s attention turned to the couple behind them.

  These two walked hand in hand, with an almost hilarious look of relaxation amid the lunacy of the moment. You could imagine they’d shared a joint in CNN’s private toilets after their big interview just down the road.

  “Tony! Tammy!” Every single reporter behind the barricade was shouting their names. “Tony!—Tammy!—Tony!—Tammy!” One decided to save some oxygen and only shouted “Tommy!”

  Tony and Tammy thought all the hoo-ha was simply bullshit. As far as they were concerned, they were just getting on a plane. Why they were being treated like royalty or A-list celebrities, they would never understand.

  Just as they were about to take their final steps toward the doors of the building they would pass through to get to the plane, Tammy heard a word among the still frenzied shouts of their names.

  She thought she must have imagined it.

  Mommy.

  She was about to shrug it off, but instinctively she turned and looked to the nearest point along the barricade, only a few meters away.

  Beth.

  Tammy had said her last goodbyes to her children a few days before in St Louis, telling them this was nothing more than a joyride and she would return a week later. It was the only way she could make them stop crying.

  Oh, my God, she thought.

  Noah stood next to her, barely able to see over the barricade.

  And then she saw Brandon standing behind them.

  Tammy stopped dead, nearly yanking Tony off his feet. She let go of his hand and walked straight to Brandon, Beth, and Noah at the barricade.

  “What are you doing here?” Tammy shouted.

  Beth and Noah looked up at her with panicked eyes. The noise and madness around them were not helping at all.

  Brandon looked at Tammy before peering over her shoulder and making eye contact with Tony, who was standing a few meters behind.

  “I made the biggest mistake of my life, betraying you,” Brandon said.

  “I’ll never be able to make it up to you,” he said, holding out his hand to his ex-wife. Tammy looked down at her kids and ignored his attempt at making physical contact with her.

  She reached down and kissed both her children. “I love you guys,” she said, giving them one last embrace. Beth tried to whisper in her ear to tell her something secret.

  With all the noise, Tammy couldn’t hear it.

  She looked at Brandon and shook her head.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” she said, feeling her emotions taking control. “What made you think this was a good idea?”

  Brandon’s face turned ashen. “It wasn’t my idea,” he blurted out amid the commotion, as a figure behind him pushed past, heading for the barricade and Tammy.

  “It was mine,” the screaming woman shouted.

  Teflon Fanny.

  She had a gun in her right hand, and she launched herself over the barricade.

  Reporters, camera crews, and strangers scrambled to get as far from Annie and her silver handgun as quickly as they could.

  Tony lunged forward, instinctively putting himself between the gun and the woman he’d fallen in love with.

  Less than a second later, two shots went off in quick succession.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Todd looked down at the Glock.

  He’d fired his service revolver many times, always at one of the many LAPD firing ranges dotted around Los Angeles.

  Todd had always loved the way it felt when the gun in his hand discharged a bullet. He didn’t mind the puff of smoke, either.

  Todd had acquired this particular gun from sources he’d rather forget.

  On the streets of Compton, they’d called it a jacked burner.

  A stolen handgun.

  But Todd didn’t give a flying fuck what it was called on the streets, as long as it was unidentifiable and had a threaded barrel for the silencer.

  The 33-round magazine he’d scored as part of the deal was a nice bonus. The silencer came from another source, but Todd had luck on his side. It fit the gun like a glove.

  Todd had devised his plan to murder his father’s killer not long after he’d learned of the murder. He’d just had trouble finding the right time to do it.

  When Emily had pleaded with him to come on the Darcy Airlines A380 with her, he came up with a new plan, to do it on the very morning of the flight.

  If the plane had disappeared once before—it could do it again. If he were on-board, he’d be safe from the consequences of his actions. It also meant it was now or never.

  He’d tracked Tuesday long enough now that he could almost forecast what the asshole was going to do on any given day.

  The guy was virtually nonexistent, as far as the records of the government agencies Todd could access through his secret sources. But Todd now knew that he slept on the streets of Westmont and Compton most nights.

  His mother was a ghost, having disappeared years ago. There was no record of a father. If the fucking prick hadn’t killed Todd’s father, he might even have felt sorry for him.

  In the early hours of the morning, Todd had tracked him from his usual hang out, the McDonald’s at Westmont, to one of the punk’s favorite places to spend the night—his hideout. The I-105/110 interchange, also known as the Harry Pregerson Interchange, was a jumble of roads, railway lines, freeways, overpasses, and—just for the sake of it—more overpasses.

  That juggernaut of concrete and bitumen, as you’d expect, made for a few good hiding places. Tuesday’s little nook was directly underneath the South Grand Avenue on-ramp to the Harbor Freeway, just off Imperial Highway.

  Some nights, Tuesday would check out the skip at the Jack in the Box takeout on the way to his hiding place, and every so often scored a couple of free tacos from customers who had ordered but apparently had not wanted to eat them, throwing them in the bin still in their wrappers.

  Knowing where his target was headed, he took an alternative route, around the other side of the Jack in the Box, down Harbor Gateway North.

  The bushes around the rim of the restaurant parking lot gave Todd ideal cov
er from Tuesday and the streets nearby.

  From a vantage point less than 20 meters away, Todd watched the punk slip underneath the overpass and settle into his ramshackle cubbyhole. Todd had scoped it out the night before. What a goddamn mess, he thought.

  A small mattress, more suited to a child under ten, lay beneath filthy blankets and flattened-out cardboard boxes. Todd had searched quickly for any weapons but found none. He was quietly confident the asshole was not packing, but just to be safe, had acquired a bulletproof vest that he wore underneath his black skivvy.

  He readied himself to move.

  One last time, he looked up at the night sky and thought of his father.

  Then he pointed up and said, “Payback, Dad.”

  Then he began to move toward his target.

  The Glock was secured safely in Todd’s armpit holster, which had been specially modified to take the silencer. The extended magazine, fully loaded, rested in Todd’s right back pocket. When he got closer, he would take the gun out, slide the magazine into the ass of the jacked burner, and with a click, he’d be ready to go.

  He had a powerful Maglite torch, loaded with brand-new batteries, strapped to his right thigh; he meant to catch this asshole like a rabbit in a spotlight.

  He reached the entrance to the burrow and in one swift motion pulled the Maglite out and pointed it into the darkness. He hit the switch and pointed the Glock in the same direction.

  Tuesday, stunned by the powerful light, gasped and struggled to free himself from the blankets and cardboard he’d had on top of him a second ago.

  “What the fuck?” Tuesday shouted before seeing the end of the silencer.

  “I ain’t done nothing wrong, man,” he said.

  He sat up as Todd stepped a couple of feet closer.

  “You a cop, doh?”

  Todd looked him over and wondered if he’d ever been more pissed off at anyone. Nope.

  Seeing him up close for the first time, Todd felt as if he were pointing the gun at a 14-year-old kid. The guy looked much younger in the powerful light. His hair was short and unkempt. His clothes were typical streetwear: a tank top, and baggy jeans with oversized runners, white. All filthy.