Nate

by Mercer, Dorothy May

  The message had indicated the contact person was willing to meet at the airport. That helped. Sally grabbed a tray and moved down the cafeteria line, picking up a few items from the breakfast offerings. She selected an outside table near the entrance, so that her contact could find her. It was a strange and different person sometimes, so all Sally could do was wait the half hour allowed for this visit.

  Sally started in on her breakfast. No telling when the person would arrive and who it would be. Finishing her food, she kept her eye on the time. If the contact didn’t show up, that wasn’t Sally’s problem, so long as they paid her, of course.

  Clearing the table and refilling her coffee cup, Sally glanced at her watch. She would give it another ten minutes and then she had work to do.

  No one showed, and so Sally reached for her things and started to rise. Just then a teenage girl, dressed in jeans and a crop-top, ran up and pulled out the other chair. Breathlessly, she spoke, “Sorry I’m late.”

  Sally resumed her seat.

  “Hello, Sally.” The girl grinned and greeted Sally as if they were old pals. Her chest heaving, she continued, “Washington traffic. I ran all the way from the cab stand.”

  Sally glanced at her watch, “You are so late, I only have a minute.”

  “This won’t take long,” said the girl. “Your instructions are to locate and make friends with this man.” She shoved a picture at Sally. “The description is on the back.”

  Sally picked up the picture, studied it for a moment and turned it over to read the back. It wasn’t one of her regulars.

  “I’ll take that,” said the girl removing the picture from Sally’s hand.

  “Let me see that again,” said Sally.

  “All right, for just a few moments. Memorize the details quickly, I have to leave.”

  Sally concentrated on the picture and details. “Do you have his name?”

  “No, you are to learn that, and report. Do not lose contact with him. Get close to him. You know how.”

  “Why?” asked Sally.

  “That is all I know.” The girl grabbed the picture and ran off without another word.

  Amazed, Sally shook her head. Well … okee-dokee. I guess I can handle that, she thought. Onward to the next chapter in this crazy day.

  Sally’s 11:43 AM flight was out of Reagan into Dallas Love Field. Flight #1715 , DCA to DAL was actually on Virgin America airlines, which was a partner of Alaska Air. It was a bit unusual for her to work a Virgin Air flight, but they were short-handed and she agreed to do it for a friend. Besides she would pick up extra money for that leg, double-duty actually. The itinerary changed planes in Dallas onto an Alaska Air flight #3379 continuing on to Seattle-Tacoma International, landing there at 5:42 PM. It was the only Alaska Air Flight of many out of DC to SEA-TAC that stopped in Dallas. As such, it was a popular one for folks doing business or having interest in the huge airline company, because Dallas was the World Headquarters of their international trade. The company had offices in over 300 cities and did business with many countries, not just in airplanes, but in all sorts of technology, military hardware, space hardware and top-secret designs.

  This would be a long day for Sally. Although it did not sound long because of the changing time zones, it was actually nine hours

  ~~~~~

  Greeting the captain, crew, fellow flight attendants and boarding passengers kept Sally busy and her mind occupied for the next hour or two. Serving the first-class passengers left little spare time. The first break came after lunch was served. Sally leaned against a bulkhead and rested while her guests were busy eating. It was only when she had a chance to revisit her “part-time” assignment for the day that she allowed her eyes to roam over the passengers wondering which one fit the picture. This was not easy. Too many of them were middle-aged business men. Sometimes they all looked alike. Sally wished there had been one distinguishing feature that would set the target person apart from the rest. But, maybe that was the point. The subject had no distinguishing features. That is what made him perfect. Whatever made him special was just exactly nothing.

  Sally struggled to remember what was on the front and back of the man’s picture—middle-aged, medium height and build, round face, slightly receding hairline, moderate complexion, medium voice, no jewelry, drinks coffee black, no other distinguishing features. Come now! thought Sally. Takes his coffee black? That’s all? Give me a break. Well, okay, I’ll just have to use the process of elimination.

  She started sighting down the aisle, eyeing each business man. Some she already knew. Guessing their ages, she sorted out several more for being too young or too old. Concentrating on those remaining, she rejected them, one at a time. Either they wore jewelry, were too short, tall or fat, had long faces, no hair, or too much hair. That left just three to consider. She gazed at each one in turn, comparing them to the picture in her mind’s eye. She was stumped. It could be any one of the three.

  Pondering what to do, she had an idea—maybe the voices and coffee would give them away. Picking up the coffee pot she moved down the aisle, pausing to offer refills, making a point to look each of her three candidates in the face, if possible. Speaking directly at the first candidate, she smiled and said, “May I refill your coffee, sir?”

  “No thank you,” he said in a low bass voice.

  Sally mentally crossed him off the list.

  The second candidate shook his head no. Sally had to think quickly to get him to say something. “Is there anything else you need?

  He held up his cup for a refill and nodded.

  Sally noticed that he used creamer in his coffee, but she needed to be sure. “Are you enjoying your meal?” she tried again.

  “Good,” he said in a deep voice. Just one word, but it was enough for her to smile and move on to the last possibility. When she approached this man’s seat she noticed that he became busy reaching down under the seat for something—whatever he had placed down there.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said, “May I refill your coffee?”

  He shook his head and continued to look down, away from her.

  “All right, sir,” she said. “Just push that call button up here, if you need anything.” She hoped he would look up at the call button, but he only murmured, “Mm-mm,” and nodded.

  The voice sounded medium, but she couldn’t be sure. Sally noticed that he drank his coffee black. Maybe this was the only clue she would get. Sally sighed and moved on to serve the others. This was turning out to be more difficult than she expected. Maybe she would not get close to this man, at all. All she knew, so far, was his name on the passenger list, George F. George. Well, that was a start, if it was a real name it certainly was a distinguishing feature.

  From time to time, for the rest of the flight, Sally used her short breaks to pull out her cell phone and surreptitiously take pictures of the three passengers whom she had originally identified. Mr. George F. George turned out to be impossible to photograph. He kept his head down most of the time. When he finally fell asleep for a nap, Sally thought she got a couple of shots, but they turned out to be useless. It was only after they landed in Dallas that Sally was able to get a video of his retreating back as he left the plane.

  At this point she had to put the phone away lest other folks notice. In fact one of the other crew members asked her what was going on. “Are you having trouble, Sally?” she asked. “I noticed you on the phone a lot.”

  “Thanks for asking,” Sally smiled back and tried to cover up. “No, nothing like that.” she shrugged and got busy with something in the galley.

  Mr. George was stopping here, not continuing on to Seattle, and so there was nothing more to do. Sally would make her report and forget it. It was one of her frustrations and typical of her assignments for the lobbyist group. There was never any follow-up. It was as if her reports simply disappeared into a black hole. If it were not for the good money, she would ditch this job, as there seemed to be very little work resulting in accomplishing a
nything.

  ~~~~~

  Run-Around

  Miles away, Rob Goodrich was experiencing similar emotions. He hadn’t been able to learn anything about the vandalism complaint. His calls to the police department ended in frustration, pretty much receiving the run-around. They were in the business of not telling victims anything about a “so-called” ongoing investigation. They used that excuse to operate on a closed circuit. Truthfully, Rob doubted they were doing anything.

  He reasoned, “Maybe the problem might be that I just need to show up in person.” And so, he paid a visit to the local police station. At the front desk, he shifted from one foot to the other for several minutes before someone bothered to wait on him. No one seemed to be in any hurry as they sauntered from file cabinet to desk, to computer and back to a file cabinet. Rob made some noise, he cleared his throat and tried to catch someone’s eye. It was amazing how people seemed to go about their activities as if the front desk wasn’t even there. Finally, he spoke up, “Er … excuse me,” he began. Only one person on the far side of the room look up at him and then right back at the papers he was studying. Rob tried again, “Hello, is anyone helping here?”

  “Good afternoon,” one clerk greeted him from across the room, “There is no one at the desk right now. We’re short-handed today.”

  “B-but, I’m looking for Officer McGillicuddy,” Rob stammered. “Is she in?”

  “I’m new here,” the clerk shrugged and turned away

  “But, isn’t there anyone who can help me?”

  No one answered.

  Rob opened his arms wide and shook his head, “I can’t believe this!” he said in a loud voice. A couple people looked up without saying anything. Another person yawned.

  By no means defeated, Rob turned and slammed out of the precinct station. What next? he wondered. Well, I guess I could get back and spend some time checking on my car.

  He had driven it down to a car restoration place, which happened to be downtown, only a few blocks from the police station. Having jogged over to the station, he would walk back. At least those people were helpful. I guess it makes a difference when they are getting paid to keep the customers happy. It would take about half an hour for the people to make an evaluation on the cleanup project for Rob’s car. The estimator had walked around the car, going “tsk-tsk” and shaking his head. “Yup,” he concluded, “it’s eggs all right. We don’t usually get these until Halloween. Gonna take some time.” He lifted the hood and peered inside. “Hmm,” he chewed on his cigar. “Might have to do a steam-clean in here.”

  “What’s that going to cost?” Rob asked.

  “Can’t say for sure,” said the man, “Depends.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haf-ta’ put it up on the hoist. See what’s underneath.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Maybe thirty-forty minutes. Ain’t ya got something to do? Go see your girl and come back. I’ll have an estimate all wrote up for ya’.”

  So, Rob had gone to see his girl, not that she was really his girl. No matter, that hadn’t worked out so well.

  Back at the car restoration agency, he walked in and braced himself for the bad news.

  A woman looked up from the cash register. “Good afternoon, may I help you?”

  “Robert Goodrich. I’m here to get the estimate on my car.”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Goodrich. I have it right here.” She leafed through a stack of papers and pulled out a computer printout nicely done in triplicate. “Here you are, sir.”

  Rob picked it up and began reading down a list of items. He had no idea how complicated such a clean-up would be. Each item had a number, name, time required and price tag. Bottom line, $569.99. A small whistle escaped through his teeth.

  “Is everything all right?” asked the clerk.

  “Oh sure, this is fine … I guess.” He let his voice fall.

  “Scott’s Body Shop does a fantastic and thorough job, Mr. Goodrich. You can be confident that your car will look, feel and smell as if it just rolled out of the showroom. Shall I schedule the work?”

  “Well, I’m wondering whether I should run this by my insurance company.”

  “That is perfectly permitted, Mr. Goodrich, but I can assure you we are the very best in town, sometimes the only one in town for certain problems and conditions.”

  “Thanks, I’ll get back to you,” said Rob, thinking I may have one of those conditions.

  “In the meantime, can you drive your car?”

  “Well, yes I drove it down here, but I couldn’t see out of all the windows. I had to scrape the windshield off as best I could.”

  “Um, I see. Well, then maybe it isn’t safe for you to be driving it very far.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Perhaps you could phone your insurance adjuster from here.”

  “I’ll do that. May I use your phone?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll show you into the lounge.” She led him down a short hall and into a visitor’s lounge.

  No wonder the estimate is so high, Rob thought. This is some fancy place.

  “You will be comfortable right in here, sir. Use the phone on the desk. I think you will find everything you need, computers, television, video games, and refreshments in the mini-kitchen over there.”

  “Thank you,” said Rob and blew out a breath, ready to get busy and accomplish something.

  Nate -THE SEARCH –

  Dorothy May Mercer

  Chapter 7 Eyes on Alert

  T his was his third and last flight of the day. Nate seldom had more than two, unless they were really short flights. This evening flight would be a forty-five-minute hop across Lake Michigan into Chicago—no big deal. Flying into the setting sun would be beautiful.

  After four days on the road, he was tired, ready to get settled down for the night and fly home tomorrow. One nice thing about this job was that he would have four days off … well … only three if you don’t count the partial day he would spend flying home. It was unusual to have his last flight be close enough that he could fly home that same day.

  Tomorrow’s flight home would take most of the day by the time he waited in line, checked in, boarded, and flew coach just like any other passenger. Off-duty meant there was no telling what seat he would have.

  Nate took his seat on the aisle and fastened his seat belt. This would be a “dry” flight, no drinks, no food, not even a peanut. There was no time for such service. Between the time spent getting up to altitude and then descending into O’Hare, there was no more than fifteen or twenty minutes at cruising altitude. For the most part passengers stayed in their seats.

  Nate was seated in coach just behind the first-class section and very close to the front of the plane. And so once the seat belt sign was switched off, he immediately got up and slowly walked back to the lavatory. There was one man in 14B whom he wanted to see again.

  Earlier, Nate had noticed this man in the holding area. There was something about him that Nate didn’t like, something in his downturned eyes and the way he seemed to move his hands. They were never still. His dress shoes did not fit with the blue jeans he wore. Most people wore sneakers with jeans. Also, the jeans were brand new and seemed ill-fitting. Small details, of course, but they caught Nate’s attention. He had gone so far as to follow the man to the men’s room to watch his gait and mannerisms.

  Nate had had a gut feeling about the guy. Something didn’t add up. He had moved closer to where the man was seated in order to observe him, and then positioned himself behind the man when they waited in line to board. Nate was able to study his mannerisms and catch a glimpse of the man’s rather odd name.

  Nate slowly walked the full length of the aisle again. This time he stopped at his own seat to sit for a minute to quietly retrieve his backpack from under the seat in front of him. Nate wanted to hold this close for the rest of the flight.

  Once again he moved to the back of the plane, this time with his b
ack-pack in hand. Entering the lavatory, he removed his high-tech weapons from the pack, placing one in his pocket, one in his belt and two throwing knives in his boots. Plastic handcuffing devices were already in his left pocket. He left the lavatory and casually leaned up against the back wall with no plans to move until this plane was safely on the ground.

  Perhaps nothing would happen, but he was on guard.

  Ten minutes passed. Nate could see Lake Michigan down below. Soon the pilots would request permission to begin their descent into O’Hare. Nate could imagine the communication that was now going on between the co-pilot and the in-route controller.

  “United Flight 302 to Control, requesting permission to descend to 10,000 feet.”

  Nate’s eye roamed over the passengers, back and forth over seat 14B. The air was bumpier at this lower altitude. He expected the seat belt sign to flash on momentarily.

  Suddenly the man in 14B rose from his seat and lurched toward the front of the plane, hanging onto seat backs to steady himself. Nate was up the aisle in a flash, directly behind the man who pulled back the curtain to the first-class section and opened the lavatory door.

  Nate held him back with a strong hold of the man’s arm. “Sir, excuse me,” said Nate. “This is the first-class section. Your lavatory is in the back.”

  “What?” He tried to jerk away. “Oh … sorry,” said the man.

  “In the back.” Nate spoke quietly, while pulling on the arm.

  Just then the seat belt sign came on, along with the pilot’s voice. “Please take your seats and fasten your seat-belts. We will be landing in Chicago in ten minutes.”

  Two flight attendants moved up. “Sirs, you need to take your seats.”

  The man looked at the attendant, “I’ll only be a minute.”

  “No sir, you need to take your seat,” the hostess insisted.

  “Can I sit here, please?” he asked, pointing at an empty seat in first class.