“What’s that? Oops, sorry,” the woman said as her bag clocked me in the side of the head. It didn’t hit me hard, but given that I’d had a concussion pretty recently, I saw faint stars all the same.
“Ow!” I said. “Do you mind?”
“Well,” the woman said, “If you’d moved…”
I sighed and closed my eyes, then I counted slowly to five. I wasn’t going to get into it with a crazy woman on an airplane that I would have to sit next to for the better part of the day.
“Yes, of course,” I said instead. “It was totally my fault.” I made myself as small in my seat as possible while the woman got settled. She unloaded half of her bag into the seat pocket in front of her, and spread herself out to take up both arm rests.
“Ma’am,” the flight attendant said, coming back to their row, “Ma’am, I need you to put your seat belt on. The flight is about to depart.” And we’re waiting on you, was the unspoken thought I heard in the annoyed, exhausted flight attendant’s voice.
“Can I get some wine?” the woman asked, and I stared at her.
“No, Ma’am, I’m sorry; we’ll be doing beverage service a bit after take off.”
“How about if I don’t put my seat belt on until you bring me a bottle of chardonnay?” the woman asked back, and I put my head in my hand, closing my eyes.
“Ma’am,” the flight attendant said firmly, “your seat belt is a matter of your own personal safety; it’s not a negotiation. Please put your seat belt on now. Beverage service will begin shortly after take off.
“These fuckin’ skinny bitches think they own the world, am I right?” the woman said to me in what I presumed was supposed to be a whisper but was, in fact, a slightly louder than normal volume. “Though I’m not sure you’d know, being a skinny bitch yourself.” I rolled my eyes and looked up at the flight attendant. Minding my own business, and here I was: a skinny bitch.
“Ma’am, if you become belligerent, you may be asked to leave the plane,” the flight attendant said. Her voice was automatic, as if she had been trained in exactly what to say in the event that an overly-perfumed, drunk woman would be the last person on a flight and would start demanding things before she’d even gotten settled.
Still, the flight attendant’s response surprised me and I arched my eyebrows. Calling someone a fucking bitch didn’t qualify for belligerent yet?
“Fuck you,” the woman said in response, lifting up her fat middle finger over my head and shoving it right into the flight attendant’s face. I nodded, not in agreement, of course; I knew that the woman had just purchased her one way ticket off of the plane.
A moment later, before the woman had even retracted her finger, a man in a uniform appeared standing by my seat.
“Okay, Ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with me,” he said in a firm tone.
“I’m not going anywhere without my friend here,” the woman said, grabbing my arm. I felt my eyes widen in surprise and a small amount of pain as the woman’s fingernails dug into my upper arm.
“Are you two together?” the air marshal said doubtfully, looking at me. I looked up at him with the most pained expression I could manage. “Yeah,” he continued. “I didn’t think so.”
He was a nice looking guy, I realized as I scanned his body. Obviously, a man in uniform had an automatic amount of sexiness that most non-uniformed men didn’t possess, but, even without the air marshal badge, this guy would be cute. His chestnut brown hair was spiked on the top of his head and shorn close to his head on the sides. He had brown eyes, which I would normally have described as dull, except his had a glow to them, gold or something, that gave them depth and soul.
Brad, a voice in my head said softly, and I flushed with guilt.
“All right, Ma’am,” the air marshal said. “Let’s get going.” He reached in and lifted the woman out by her elbow, knocking me around a bit as the woman struggled. Soon, another two marshals were standing in the aisle, one of them creating a space for me to slip out.
“You’ll be safer over here,” he said. A struggle ensued as the three air marshals restrained the now screaming, swearing woman and removed her from the plane. Everyone’s eyes were on me because I was so close to everything going on. I could only imagine what they were thinking.
Forty-five minutes later when the plane was finally ready to take off, I was back where I’d started: an aisle and an empty seat on either side of me. The twenty-something had taken off his headphones with all of the fracas, though, and he turned to me and tugged lightly on my sleeve with his fingertips.
“Crazy bitch, huh?” he asked. “She was drunk; I could smell it. Did she hurt you?”
It was this last question that made me take notice and actually look at the man, who was pretty close to my age. I looked over at him and he was staring at me with concerned eyes.
“No,” I said. “She didn’t hurt me. Just annoyed the piss out of me.”
“Well, good,” he said. “Because you look like you’ve had enough… hurt…” he paused as if trying to think of exactly the right word, “for a while.”
I muttered in agreement, but he kept his eyes on me as if he was looking for a more significant answer. “Um… yeah,” I said. “I guess I have.”
“Well, can I buy you a drink?”
I almost said yes. I looked at his earnest expression, hopeful and seeking, and I almost, almost said yes. After all, if I meant what I’d said to Brad, that I was going home to continue my real life and end the fantasy life I’d been living with him, there was no reason to not let this nice, fairly cute man buy me a drink.
“No,” I said. “I have a boyfriend,” I said instead. I ignored the brief look of rejection on his face, and I turned instead to fix my gaze on the tv screen on the back of the seat in front of me.
“Okay, then,” he said. He paused a moment longer and I could feel his eyes on me. Then, he shook his head and put his headphones back on and tuned out the world and, most importantly, me.
Brad
“Well, at least he didn’t arrest you on the spot,” Simon said grimly. “That’s something.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I half expected him to put cuffs on me as soon as we left the hospital with Cas. I’m not going to tempt him further, though; he’s after me.”
Simon stirred some non-dairy creamer into his coffee and then lightly tapped the spoon on the edge of the cup. It was a habit of his, something I’d seen him do hundreds of times; it meant he was deep in thought.
“And he thinks it’s you,” he said finally. “The big mastermind. The one he’s got take down. His white whale.”
“Oh fuck no,” I said, shaking my head. “He doesn’t have me confused for Manuel Brown. He has no idea of the scope of what he’s investigating. We had a few conversations and, even based on what he told me he would arrest me for, he’s got no clue. I could turn him onto Manuel, but then I’d have a lot more to be worried about than just being arrested.” I grimaced at the idea of turning Patrick loose onto Manuel. Antoine would be dead within an hour.
“Or,” Simon said, “you could just go to jail for a while. It would prove your loyalty to Manuel.”
“I don’t think stripes look good on me,” I said, sipping my own coffee. The trouble was, I needed to be out in the world to coordinate all of the aspects of the arms deals currently going on at the six warehouses I had going just this month alone. And, I needed to get my son. And, to complicate things even more completely, I had a girlfriend to deal with. Had, past tense, pushed through my brain like acid. I wondered if I was ever going to end up in a normal relationship, or if that was something that was out of my reach like, surprisingly, so many aspects of a normal life.
Simon did have a point, though; going to jail for even a few days would prove to Manuel Brown that I wasn’t going to roll over and produce his name for agents that came sniffing around. Of course, I reasoned, this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. It wouldn’t be the last. I could go to ja
il; I’d probably never actually spend even an hour there before my lawyer got me out.
“I could probably end up making a good show of it,” I said. “You might be onto something.” I wondered if Antoine was awake or asleep right now, as I sat talking indirectly about him and his future. I wondered what he was wearing… what he was doing. These were the thoughts that tore me up on a regular basis.
“Well, you could also always go back to South Africa,” he finally said. He tapped the spoon on the side of his cup again and I nodded.
“That’s a likely alternative,” I said. “It gets me out of the country, gets me away from the NCA and Patrick Shim, and still keeps me in good graces with Manuel and his crew. I think that’s the best choice I have until things blow over a little. Agent Shim will get caught up in something else before too long.” I narrowed my eyes at the thought of him and Cassie spending time alone together. “Something more his speed. Right now, he’s trying to gnaw his way through a buffet. As soon as someone comes around and offers him a more reasonable bite of food, he’s going to realize how exhausted he is and take the switch.”
“If he’s smart,” Simon agreed.
“And, if he’s dumb,” I said, “then he’ll just end up dead.” I shrugged and sipped my coffee. Simon smiled grimly and nodded. We’d both seen it too many times before.
“When are you going?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and calculated in my head any last minute transactions that would need to be dealt with here in London, and weighted them against the knowledge that Patrick Shim was, as I sat there, likely gathering up warrants for my arrest.
“Later today,” I said. “I don’t want to waste a lot of time.”
“And Cassie?” Simon asked. I thought I detected a change in the tone of his voice.
I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter, reaching for my wallet. “Cassie left on a plane for the US this morning.” I threw a twenty on the table and looked across to Simon, daring him to say anything.
He didn’t… he was smarter than that. “I see,” he said, nodding. “Well, let’s get out of here and get you set up for your trip. Have you talked to Istanbul yet?”
We walked out of the café and our conversation turned away from women and NCA agents and back toward logistics of negotiations and development. We agreed that Simon would handle some pending business with Istanbul while I traveled, then we would have a video conference once I was safely in South Africa to get everyone on the same page.
I got back to my house and walked through, noticing that, without Cassie around, things seemed especially quiet. Too quiet? Maybe. It was too soon to tell. I didn’t allow myself to think of her as being gone, of having left. When I began to let my mind wander in even remotely that direction, I would start to get a pain in my chest that seemed more like a heart attack than was probably good for me. I busied myself packing and, when I was ready, I got onto my plane and headed back to South Africa.
Cassie
When I saw the air marshal again, I thought for a moment that he was coming to my seat to apologize, to check in to see if I needed anything, or to let me know that I’d helped them and he was grateful (that last one might have been a bit more fantasy than anything else, but, what’s the harm?). I didn’t expect that he was going to show me his badge.
“Ms. Young,” he said.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, feeling my face sort itself into a questioning expression that matched the tone of my voice. Something wasn’t right.
“I need to see your passport for a moment.”
I took it out of my purse and handed it to him. He glanced at it, then took out his cell phone. For a moment, it looked like he was comparing my passport to something on the phone, then he put the phone away. “I’m really sorry to do this to you, especially after what just happened, but I’m going to need you to come with me.” He was still holding my passport. I reached for it, but he pulled it away.
“I’m not with that bat shit crazy woman,” I protested. “I’d never seen her before, not even here before we boarded the flight.”
“It has nothing to do with that situation. I don’t want to have to handcuff you, so please just come with me and we’ll get what I’m sure is a misunderstanding sorted out and get you onto the next plane to the US.”
“I’m going to miss my flight? What’s going on?” I stood and began to gather my things, feeling a mixture of fear, anger, and panic over how I was going to get back onto this plane—my plane—as soon as possible.
“Please, Ms. Young.”
The air marshal grabbed my bicep gently but with a firmness that let me know he would stop being gentle if I gave him any sort of reason, and we walked off the plane. Neither of us spoke as he led me back out the gate I’d walked through an hour earlier and down the hall of the airport. At the first security checkpoint we came to, he stopped.
“In here,” he said, gesturing to an unmarked door. He keyed in a code and put his thumb onto a black square until a light turned green and I heard the door unlock.
“What in the hell is going on?” I demanded. “This is a serious misunderstanding, and I want it taken care of.”
“Ms. Young,” the air marshal said, “My name is Agent Andrews. I had to take you off the plane because when the officers arrested the woman next to you, they ran the ticketing information for all of the passengers in her immediate vicinity. Your name came up with a hold; I’m amazed you even got onto the plane.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I said. I felt like I was in a dream. This air marshal, who had looked so handsome while he was taking out the crazy lady next to me, now looked like a threatening entity, standing large and forceful in front of me.
“Your passport was tagged; you’re essentially on a no-fly list,” he said. “An NCA agent is on his way here and he’ll question you, either here or at Headquarters, and you may or may not be able to leave London in the near future.”
I sat back, completely stunned. Brad shot through my mind. He had messed with my passport somehow, or gotten someone else to. But why? Why would he have done such a thing? Why wouldn’t he have just asked me to stay?
“Do I get a phone call?” I asked.
“You’re not under arrest,” Agent Andrews said. “You’re being detained for questioning, but you’re not under arrest.”
“So… did that answer my question?” I tried to keep my tone mild, but I was pissed off and confused, and my ability to censor myself was quickly disappearing.
“You can make all the phone calls you want,” Agent Andrews said, not taking my bait. I quickly took my phone out of my pocket and, under Agent Andrew’s watchful eye, texted Brad.
I’m stuck in London at the airport. No fly list. What the actual fuck? What did you do?
I waited and waited for a response, but more than ten minutes went by and nothing came. Furiously, I texted Patrick.
He responded immediately. I’m on my way. Are you okay?
Less than twenty minutes later, Agent Andrews’ phone buzzed and I watched him answer it.
“I see. Right away, Sir,” he said, and walked over to the door. He opened it and Patrick walked in.
“Agent,” Patrick said, a grim expression on his face. I observed immediately that he was in “cop mode” and he would treat me accordingly. I braced myself for being roughed up a little.
“She came up on no-fly, but she’d already gotten onto the plane. I don’t know how it could have happened, some sort of glitch in the system, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Patrick said. “It happens more often than people think, especially at places like Heathrow and JFK. The system isn’t foolproof. But, it looks like you did a great job, Agent… Andrews.” Patrick made a big show of looking at Agent Andrews’ badge. “I’ll take it from here.” He looked at me. “Ma’am, stand up and put your hands behind your back, please.”
I complied and winced as the cool metal of silver handcuffs pressed against my wrists.
“Could you be more gentle, please?” I asked through my teeth. He was probably being more gentle with me than he would be with other criminals, but he was still being pretty rough. He tugged the cuffs when I said that.
“I need to make sure they’re secure, Miss,” he said. He turned me around and put his hand on the back of my neck. “That her stuff?” he asked Agent Andrews, nodding at my bag.
“Part of it. She checked some luggage that didn’t get pulled off the flight. We’ll get it sent back from JFK when the plane lands.”
“Awesome,” I said. “No clean underwear for a week, then, huh?”
“We’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” Patrick said. “Let’s go.” He made a big show of pushing me out of the room with my bag tucked into a large paper shopping bag. He didn’t say a word to me until he got me outside Heathrow and had me in the back of a black car with a small revolving light glowing red and blue above the driver’s side door.
“Seriously?” I said, rubbing my wrists where he was removing the handcuffs. “You’re putting me in the back?”
He rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I was the first agent on the scene. You’re damn lucky. I saved you a strip search and a lot of humiliation, my dear.”
“But my underwear is on its way to New York City,” I said.
He ignored me and closed the door, then walked around to the driver’s side. He started up the car and pulled back out onto the road.
“Given that you look like someone beat the shit out of you eight ways from Sunday and you just landed yourself on the no-fly list, I’d say that you’ve got a lot bigger problems than having to buy yourself some new undies. Have you given much thought to how you ended up in this mess?”
He was referring to Brad, of course.
“Yeah,” I said, “the funny thing is, I’ve known Brad for a few months now, and I didn’t have any trouble at all like this until I came to London. And met you. Suddenly, I’ve gone from having a nice, normal life to being handcuffed in the back of a police car.”
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