by G L Rockey
Taking the CD player from his briefcase, Zack said, “Listen to this tape. There is a national conspiracy going onPresident Armstrongit’s all a plot, a coup d'état.”
Glenda looked at the flight attendant then closed her eyes. “Has this guy been drinking tequila or what?
“I don’t think so.”
Glenda squeezed the steering yoke. “Get him the fuck outa here.”
Zack pleaded. “Listen to me, please. The rioting, the national emergencyit’s all a plot, orchestrated by the President, his E.I.C., to declare a national emergency, so he can listen to this recording, please.”
Glenda looked to the left, listened, then flipped her microphone on. “Roger, have a very ill passenger, heart attack, will get back to you.” She flipped the microphone off and looked at Zack. “You still here. I thought I”
“Why do you think they want you to land at Andrews?”
“What is this, a quiz show?”
“It’s a military base. They know I’m on board and I have this CD.”
Glenda shook her head. “Get him out of here.”
“Listen to me, please, I’m telling you the truth. Those fighter jets, all that’s going onwhat’s happeningif it looks like a duck”
“It’s a duck.” Glenda paused. “You know” She paused, thinking about what Zack had just said, wiped her lips. “How long is this recording?”
“Not long.”
She looked up, “Why me?” looked to the fighter jet to her left, paused, then flipped her mike on and spoke. “Roger, heart attack passenger critical, beginning initial descent.” She turned the microphone off and looked at Zack. “Play it.”
He snapped his CD player on.
After a dozen evasive answers for the Air Force’s benefit, several feigned sloppy maneuvers, the recording ended, and Glenda’s eyes met, pupil-to-pupil, Zack’s..
Zack spoke first, “That was the President’s media guru, Dr. Barbara Lande, describing that infamous video that you’ve surely seen on television the past few daysthe one that started all this cockamamie crud.”
“Cockamamie crud,” Glenda shook her head. “You meanthat’s the famous Cerebellum, Dr. Barbara Lande?”
“None other, and Cerebrum and Medulla Oblongata.”
“Sounds like Lande.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“I’ll be a daughter of the Lone Star State.”
“You can’t land at Andrews.”
“Tell that to those fly boys with the guns on my wing tips.”
“There must be a way to outsmart them.”
“You know, I’d say you were a crackpot if it wasn’t for those jet jockeys out there. That they’re there, I mean, like you said, kind of confirms something is up.” She looked at her co-pilot. “Don’t it, Herb?”
He nodded.
“It’s true,” Zack said.
“Okay, folks, so what do we do now?”
“Don’t land at Andrews,” Zack said.
“Like I said, what do I tell the cowboys out there with the pea shooters? ”
Co-pilot Herb said, “Baltimore is thirty miles north of Andrews. You could tell them you’re going to follow their request, contact the tower there, then”
“You’re into this, aren’t you, Herbs.” Glenda paused, glanced at Zack, said, “I don’t even know you’re not some screwball spy escapee they want.”
“Well, think about it for about ten seconds. With all you know, what is going on as we speak, those fighter planes out there, what you said earlier, this recording.”
Their eyes met for a long moment then Zack said, “anyway, make a wise decision, Captain.”
He turned to the flight attendant. “Please take me back to my seat.”
Glenda said, “Wait a minute,” and indicated the cockpit jump seat, “stick around Zack, have a seat.”
Zack sat.
Glenda: “Okay, I don’t like orders, especially from Air Force jock straps, and I got no guns to play with.” She gave the Air Force pilot out her left window a salute with her middle finger, then opened her microphone, “Roger that, lading at Andrews, contacting tower, have a nice day.”
The Air force jets acknowledge then advised theat they would escort her to final approach.
Glenda to co-pilot, “Listen up, Herbs.”
Chapter Fifty Two
9:40 p.m. EST
Sitting in the jump seat behind Captain Glenda, Zack pondered staying alive and thought, More outrageous than fiction, non, history and that too. Amazing what has happened on the evolutionary path toto what?
He looked past captain Glenda to the distant lights of the District of Columbia glowing up into the night sky, mumbled, “Wonder if Beno is still at her friend’s house?”
“You’re mumbling, Boobie,” Glenda said.
“II’m sorry.” He turned and there, through the front windshield, he watched the landing lights of an airport grow larger as the aircraft descended.
“That’s Andrews, Boobie,” Glenda said. She listened to airport controllers’ directions then spoke, “Roger that, roll out to the last turnoff and stopground vehicle will escort us to a hanger. Have a nice day.” She flipped the microphone off. “Jerks.”
The Air Force jets tipped their wings and were gone in an instant. Glenda held the yoke with her left hand and squeezed the throttle levers with her right.
“Easy does it. I hope you’re right, Boobie, or we’re in a whole lot of chili pepper trouble.”
Amid calm pilot chatter, Glenda joked as the plane dropped. “Here we gooo, Boobiewhere is it?theretouchdownannnd, hit it”
Glenda’s movements over the controls were quick and masterful as she and Herb chattered to each other.
Zack said to himself, I think she’s enjoying this.
“Hang onto your seat, Boobie, this is no-woman’s land,” Glenda said.
“One o’clock,” Herb said calmly.
Glenda banked the plane right. A large cargo plane climbed to the left.
“Wow, didn’t see that one,” she smiled.
Zack swallowed hard and looked out the side window. The headlights of speeding vehicles on some expressway were showroom close. He needed a cigarette. The plane banked back to the left; and glancing down, he watched a clump of trees flash by, near enough to touch.
Then the plane gained scant altitude, leveled off, and Glenda spoke to the co-pilot. “Call BWI air control and declare an emergency.”
“They’ll ask what nature.”
“How ’bout out of fucking fuel”
Chapter Fifty Three
9:55 .m. EST
“Buckle up tight, Boobie,” Glenda said to Zack.
Zack tugged his seat belt and viewed the twinkling lights that dotted the rising landscape below. In the surreal silence, his thoughts mixed a thousand memories, wishes and might-have-beens—Fifty-two spins around the sun, and you die in Marylandnot good time to think of futuresThey say it all flashes byas you get closer to the end you pray or pay or somethingdo you have a choice?Heaven and helland even now the doubt. But the intellect concedes the doubtfeeds the doubtwhat’s that?free willwho the hell is Joe Case anyway?
He recalled a verse from Ecclesiastes, 9:11: “I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happens to them all.”
Time and chance happens to them all—that explains it. Bus hit by a train, baby dropped down a wellthe tornado that killed Frick but left neighbor Frack untouchedtwo seconds either waysenseless, luck of the draw.
He shook his head. And then there’s omnipotence, knowledge of past, present, and future. How can that jog alongside free will?
He mumbled, “Logic of Tweedledee.”
Glenda said, “You okay, Boobie?”
“Yes, thank you.”
&n
bsp; He thought about the times he slugged it out with himself, his bishop, his conscience; forgiving, forgetful, young-at-forty-five Elizabeth, Sister Ursula’s lead-pipe cinch turns out to be a monkey-wrench curse. Then there’s O’Brien.
“You mumbling Boobie or praying?” Glenda said.
“Praying.”
“You think it helps?”
“I’m still working on it.”
He went back to his thoughts: Maryfirst day of fall semester. She strolls in to his classroom, a gift dropped through the ceiling, lands front row, center. Trolling from the start. Was that the sign I had been seeking? How do you know? Some signs are between the eyes, others a glimmer at night, a passing train, black nights, no light, no hope, no nothing. Can we never know the truth except we die? But then, think about it—I was never really afraid to die. Honestly, I almost long for the adventure. If only I could believe. It’s called faith, Jocko. Augustinian faith. Help me to be pure, Lord, but not just yet, got a few things to doright.
Zack felt that presence again, Joe Case, and heard that in-your-face voice, How many steaks can you eat a week?
“You’re mumbling again, Zack,” Glenda said then addressed the co-pilot. “Listen up, Herb. Don’t nobody pick their nose just yet, this is going to be one helluva gotcha landing.”
Zack watched yet another string of approach lights growing larger as the plane descended like a falling star to the Baltimore airport. He observed Glenda, in a blur of beeps, flashing lights and quick movements, calling out this and that to the co-pilot, switching things and looking like she was a kid at a game in a video arcade. He noticed her smiling.
She really is enjoying this, he thought.
“Buckaroo time” Glenda shouted.
The jet hit the runway with a jarring thud. Zack watched Glenda slam controls and stiffen her legs. The engines thundered.
Zack’s seatbelt tightened around him; he fought the pressure forward. He looked at the runway lights flashing by. The tires screamed over muffled human screams and shouts from the rear.
“We’re not going to make it,” he mumbled.
“You’re mumbling again, BooBoobie.” Glenda’s voice shook with the vibrating airplane. “Anyway, I’m going to getyou roolled out to the end of this runway. When this crate stops, hit an emergency exit in the cabin and get your little fanny in the clover, soto speak. Then it’s up to yooou, okay?”
The plane began to slow, and Zack smiled. We’re going to make it. “Got it.”
With a final little jolt they came to a stop and Glenda took a deep breath. She looked at an army of distant red flashing lights streaming toward the plane. She said to Herb, “did we just land at BWI?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She looked at Zack and shook her head. “The emergency vehicles are rolling, Boobie. Better hurry and duck it, ’cause if you’re wrong about this, my tush is going to be flying Eskimo pies to Alaska and you’re going to the lethal injection table.”
Zack said, “Captain, where are you from?”
“Parts unknown, why?”
“You ever know a Joe Case?”’
“No, why?”
“Nothing.”
“Looks like plenty of running room over that fence, Boobie. You better get your butt moving.”
Chapter Fifty Four
10:05 p.m. EST
Clutching his briefcase, Zack breathed hard in the high grass and weeds. What a few thousand cigarettes will do, he thought.
He looked up. Like a far-away amusement park, the glow of the airport terminal in the background, emergency vehicles flashing red lights and sirens charged toward the plane.
He slithered up beside a chain link fence and tugged on the cold steel. The roar of a jet shook the ground. He looked up and saw the wheels retracting. Jet exhaust settled over him.
He touched his cellular telephone tucked inside his jacket pocket: Call Benowhat was that number? He started to reach then remembered, the match book on which he had written the number was in a pocket in a clothes hamper on board Veracity. His thoughts were bouncing like ping pong balls bouncing on a cement floor: What was that young man’s nameBoston555-BENOget to a pay phone, leave your cellular number. Noleave the pay phone numberthis is insane.
In front of him he looked at a razor-wire-topped fifteen-foot fence.
Over the top is out, he reasoned. He looked down and there, in front of him, was a small opening in the earth at the bottom of the fence. He whispered to himself, “Fifteen-foot fence, razor-wire on the top, hole at the bottom, figures.”
He heard Jocko say This is not the time to editorialize, get moving.
Chapter Fifty Five
10:30 p.m. EST
Running, jogging, walking, Zack noted that Friendship was the name of a park he found himself in. After what seemed two miles, he came upon a rusty Dorsey Road street sign. He looked to the other side of the road. Next to a park information building and display, a pay phone glowed under a dim light.
Catching his breath, he focused on two thoughts: Armstrong’s goons killing him, and getting in touch with Beno. On the goons—goons are goons. On Beno—she’s probably in jail or worse. Call her office numbermessage servicebuggedyou have any dazzling ideas, Jocko? Shut up and call her.
Sweating and spent, Zack crossed the road and reached the audio pay phone. Exuding casualness, he leaned against the plastic bay and surveyed the area. Nothing unusual. He swiped Jim’s credit card and pressed Beno’s emergency number, 555-BENO. After two rings a pleasant female voice answered.
“This is Senator Beno’s messaging center.”
“Boston there?”
“No.”
“This is Zackary Stearn, editor of The Boca, Miami. I must get a message to Senator Beno.”
“Sirthe Senator is not available, no one is available, the emergency”
“You do not seem to understand. This is the emergency. I was to meet her”
“Sir”
“What happened to that nice young man, Boston Smith? I talked to”
“He’s not on duty now.”
“Look, I don’t have much time. Boston had a number Beno could be reachedshe’ll know. Believe me, please. Give her this number, I’m at a pay phone, 410-555-3561.”
“Sir”
“Please, the Senator will know.”
Pause.
Zack said, “Trust me, I was to meet her, trust me.”
Pause. “Well, all right, I will try to relay the info to the Senator, but”
“Thank you immensely.”
With his little finger, he depressed the receiver switch and talked into the dead phone. Minutes passed. The phone rang. He released the switch and said, “Senator.”
“Zackary.”
“Now do you believe?”
“I do not know what to believe.”
“I do. You in a car?”
“No, I’m at the friend’s home. Why didn’t you call me direct?”
“I misplacedahwe don’t have much time. This phone is probably bugged. Your friend have a car?”
“Of course. But Mr. Stearn—”
“We don’t have much time. Anybody know you’re there?”
“No, ah”
“Where are you?”
“I told you, at”
“You drove there?”
“No, my friend picked me up”
“Good.”
“Mr. Stearn, this is very”
“I know, I’ll explain everything later.”
“Where are you?”
He thought about that for a moment but there was no other way.
“Somewhere around Baltimore airport, expressway, a park, Friendship Park.” He looked around. “On Dorsey Road.”
“One moment, I’ll ask my friend.”
“A moment may be too long.”
“What?”
“I’ll wait, hurry.”
He watched
fifteen seconds tick off his watch.
Finally, Beno came back on line. “Zackary, yes, we know where it is.”
“Can you pick me up?”
After another moment, “We’ll be there as quickly as possible.”
“Hurry.”
Chapter Fifty Six
11:01 p.m. EST
Zack crossed back over the road from the phone. The wind was picking up, and ominous lightning and much thunder to the east portended a storm was approaching. He hid behind a tree. The wind blew leaves and twigs. He wiped the sweat from his face with his palms. He looked at his watch and began to wonder: Will Beno make it? Goons. How far can she be? What if she doesn’t show? Dance, Jocko. Trouble is
Waiting, minutes passing, thoughts careening, he sat on the ground opened his briefcase and began writing on a yellow pad.
Writing, pausing to think, doubting, time passing, lightning and thunder overhead, Zack talked to himself, Give her another ten minutesif she doesn’t show up, look for a cab, get to the airport. Stay away from airports, got to get back to Miami. Rent a carhold it. There, coming down the road, headlights, that’s a limo.
A long white limo approached. He squinted his eyes. Must be Beno. You hope.
The limo stopped and the rear window lowered. A small light illuminated the passenger area long enough for Zack to catch a glimpse of the Senator. He moved from behind the tree and toward the car.
The rear door opened.
“Zackary, get in,” Beno said.
He entered and closed the door behind him. The limo began to move.
Her fragrance reminded him of Mary. “Senator Beno.” He extended his right hand.
“Zackary.” She shook it. “You look, ah, frazzled.”
“Whose limo is this?”
“My friend’s.”
Zack wiped his face and turned to look out the rear window.