by G L Rockey
After evasive replies to the Air Force, several feigned sloppy maneuvers, the recording ended and Glenda’s eyes met Zack’s.
Zack spoke first, “That was the President’s media guru, Dr. Barbara Lande, describing to President Armstong’s Elite Inner Circle the making of that infamous fake 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 Dr. Barbara Lande?”
“None other, along with the two other of President Armstrong’s E.I.C.–Novak and General McCallister.”
“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.”
“You can’t…”
“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 the Air Force you’re going to follow their request, 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.”
Zack 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, then opened her microphone, “Roger that, lading at Andrews, contacting tower, have a nice day.”
The Air force jets acknowledge then advised that 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, history 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 and 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.
“I hope you’re right, Boobie, or we’re in a whole lot of chili pepper trouble.”
Amid calm pilot chatter-flaps, gear down-Glenda joked, “Here we go, Boobie”
Zack felt a bump as the wheels touch the runway then Glenda thrust the throttles forward and the aircraft began climbing.
Glenda’s movements over the controls quick, 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.”
She then turned to Zack, “Buckle up tight, Boobie.”
Chapter Fifty Three
9:55 .m. EST
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 spins around the sun, and you die in Marylandnot a good time to think of futuresthey say it all flashes by as you get closer to the end…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 traintornado that kills Frick but leaves 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–slug that out with free will?
He mumbled, “Logic of Tweedledee.”
Glenda said, “You okay, Boobie?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He thought about the many times he slugged it out with himself, his bishop, his conscience; forgiving, forgetful, Elizabeth, Sister Ursula’s lead-pipe cinch…“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: Mary O’Brienfirst day of fall semester, strolls into my classroom…a gift dropped through the ceiling lands front row, center…trolling from the start, was she 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, nothing. Can we never know the truth except we die? But then, think about it—I was never really been afraid to die. Honestly, I almost long for the adventure. If only I could believe. It’s called faith, Jocko. Augustinian sentiments: 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, Boobie,” 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. T
he 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, Boobie.” Glenda’s voice shook with the vibrating airplane. “Anyway, I’m going to getyou rolled out to the end of this runway. When we get this crate stopped, hit an emergency exit in the cabin and get your fanny in the clover.”
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.
Hearing distant sirens, he looked back.
Like a far-away amusement park, he saw in the glow of the airport terminal and emergency vehicle flashing red lights.
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 settling over 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.”
Chapter Fifty Five
10:30 p.m. EST
Running, jogging, walking, Zack found himself at a four lane roadway. Looking to the other side he saw a gas station/convenience store glowing under dim light.
Catching his breath, he focused on two thoughts: Armstrong’s goons killing him and getting in touch with Beno.
“Goons are goons,” he thought, “And Beno’s probably in jail or worse. Call the number she gave you…”
Sweating and spent, Zack crossed the highway, noted a street sign––Aviation Boulevard/Cromwell Parkway Drive––went inside the store and asked if they had a pay phone.
After a pause, a clerk said, “A what?”
After explaining his cell phone had been stolen, he produced his business card, told the clerk he had to make an important news-related call.
“Local call?”
“Yes.”
He was shown to a small office with, setting on top of a cluttered desk, a land line phone.
He thanked the clerk, sat, and reached to retrieve the match book that he had written Beno’s phone number on when he talked to her earlier. Touching his shirt pocket, he remembered, the match book on which he had written the number was in a pocket in a clothes hamper on board Veracity.
His thoughts bouncing like ping pong balls bouncing on a cement floor: What was that young man’s name at Beno’s answering service Boston
He pressed O and a recording directed him to dial 411 for operator assistance which he did and got Beno’s D.C. office number.
He dialed the number. 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. I talked to her earlier. Believe me, please. Give her this number, I’m at a gas station, she can call me.”
“Sir”
“Please, the Senator will know.” He gave her the gas station phone number.
Pause.
Zack said, “Trust me, I was to meet her, trust me.”
Pause. “Well, all right, I will relay the info to the Senator, but”
“Thank you immensely.”
He hung up. Minutes passed. The phone rang. He picked up, “Senator Beno?”
“Yes, Zackary where are you?”
“Somewhere around Baltimore airport, a gas station at Aviation Boulevard/Cromwell Parkway Drive, know where it is?”
“One moment, I’ll ask my friend.”
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?”
“Mr. Stearn…”
“Zack…look, we don’t have much time.”
“Zack…”
“Other than your friend, does anyone know where you are?”
“Well… just my friend and her limo driver…I flew in from Vermont when…”
“Have you noticed anything suspicious?”
“Mr. Stearn, this is very”
“Zack…I know, I’ll explain everything later, where can I meet you?”
After another moment, she said, “Ah, look, why don’t I just have my friend’s limo driver pick you upwhere did you say you were?”
“Gas station at Aviation Boulevard/Cromwell Parkway Drive.”
“Well, alright then, it may take some time.”
“Thanks…wait…how will I know it’s you?”
“We’ll be in a white limo.”
Chapter Fifty Six
11:01 p.m. EST
Thanking the clerk, Zack bought a cup of coffee, went outside and stood by the entrance.
The wind picking up, ominous lightning and thunder to the east, he wiped the sweat from his face with his palms. He looked at his watch and began to wonder: Will Beno make it…Armstrong’s goons…how far away can Beno be…what if she doesn’t show…if she doesn’t show, look for a cab, get to the airport…back to Miami…
Time passing like a Salvador Dali melting clock, Zack clutched his briefcase and talked to himself, Give her another ten minutes hold it…
He noticed a long white limo pull into the convenience store parking lot and stop.
He whispered, “Beno…you hope.”
He stepped to the limo and the rear window lowered. A small light illuminated the passenger area long enough for Zack to catch a glimpse of Senator Beno’s familiar face.
The rear door opened.
He entered, closed the door behind him and extended his right hand, “Senator Beno…Zack Stearn.”
The limo began to move. He looked at Senator Beno–reading glasses hanging from a thin gold chain around her neck, jet-black hair combed with a pompadour wave in front, warm brown eyes discerning him.
Zack wiped his face and turned to look out the rear window. “You notice anybody following you?”
“No…Mr. Stearn, I must”
“Zack.” He locked eyes with her. “Senator, we are in deep doo-dah-day.”
“These are momentous times, indeed, but”
“Senator, do you have a drink in this wagon?”
“Ah, well, yes, I think, in there.” She indicated a small compartment. Zack slid it open, snatched a bottle of Dewars, a cocktail glass and pour
ed. “You may need one of these after you hear the recording I have.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do.” He put the bottle back.
“Why so?”
He pulled a long drink from the glass. “Senator, do you realize our President is planning a military takeover, even as we speak?”
“Mr. Stearn, perhaps you had better go easy on that scotch.”
“A coup d'état is taking place.”
“I think you may be over-reacting. This is a tragic situation we are witnessing, but”
“Senator, there is a plot to overthrow the government, believe me.”
“How do you know that?” she said.
“I know.” He took out a Camel. “Mind if I smoke?”
“I’d rather you didn’t, but go ahead.” She looked at him. “Mr. Stearn”
“Zack.” He lit his cigarette.
Beno said, “You know, this is really extraordinary, meeting like this.”
“Senator, that may be the understatement of the century. Listen to this recording, you’ll recognize the voices of Armstrong’s E.I.C. brain trust—Leo Novak, Dr. Lande, and General MacCallister.”
He opened his briefcase, removed the audio player and started the recording.
The faint sound of the limo’s soft rubber tires thumping along some unknown road, they listened.
When the audio recording finished Zack looked for Beno’s face but she was staring out the opposite window. He caught a reflection of her sad expression in the darkened glass.
Lightning illuminated the night. Thunder followed and water droplets began pelting the limo. A hard rain began.
Zack finished his drink in one long belt then spoke. “Fun stuff, huh.”
“That was”
“Right. Armstrong’s Elite Inner Circle: Lande, Novak”
“And General MacCallister.” She touched her lips. “Mr. Stearn, where did you get that recording?”