“Okay,” she responded warily. “Be careful. Call when you land.”
“I will. Love ya.”
***
The young woman at the fuel counter smiled as I approached. “Did you have a good week, Mr. Goldberg?”
“I did. I had a great week.” She handed me my bill. She had an innocent, pretty face, short brown hair, and hazel eyes. She appeared to be in her early twenties. The tag on her shirt let the world know her name — Ashley.
“Will you be coming back next month?”
“Yes, I think so. Will you be here?” Oh, my God, am I flirting with a girl, just a few years older than my daughter?
She smiled. “Yep, nine to five, five days a week.” Her eyes conveyed a mischievous twinkle. “Do you live far away?”
“Not too far. In Salisbury, Maryland.” Why am I dawdling with her?
She looked at the computer displaying the aviation weather map. “It looks like you won’t have a problem. The wind is from the west at five miles an hour. That’s a bit of a tail wind for you. There are reports of a nasty front coming over the mountains, but it won’t reach the DC area until midnight. You’ll be home by then.”
“Great, I’m anxious to get there.” Her eyes were captivating. Was she interested in me or simply bored? I couldn’t tell.
“You must have business here in DC. Are you a lawyer? We get lots of lawyers.” Ashley turned away to process my credit card. When she faced me again, the top two buttons of her shirt were undone.
“No, I’m a teacher. I teach statistics courses for government agencies.”
“And you’re a pilot, lucky you.” Scoundrel that I am, I kept my left hand under the counter.
“You know, I’ve been working here for over a year,” she continued, “but I’ve never been up in a small plane. Could you take me for a ride sometime? I mean, if it is not too much trouble.”
“Can’t do it today. How about next time?”
Her eyes sparkled. Her smile showed all her teeth. “Gee, that’ll be great. I’ll bring refreshments.”
“Ok then, I’ll see you in a few weeks — Ashley.”
She grabbed the receipt from my hand. “Here’s my cell number, call me.” The back of the receipt now had her name in flowery cursive along with her phone number. She transformed one of the zeros into a smiley face. “Thank you, Dan! I, like, totally can’t wait!”
I walked stiffly down the stairs to my plane. After a while, my heart returned to its normal rhythm.
I did my pre-flight inspection and organized the cockpit just the way I liked it. I needed three charts to transit the controlled airspace and get to my destination. I folded each and fastened them to my clipboard for ready access. It was a routine flight, one that I had done many times. First, I had to get clearance to transit the Washington-Baltimore air space. I knew from experience that the middle part of the day had a lot of commercial traffic. Small, private aircraft are at the bottom of the priority list and often are ordered to delay their departure.
That day was different. Washington control gave me an immediate ten-minute window for takeoff. The controller warned that if I missed the window, I would have to wait at least an hour on the ground. I taxied towards the runway, anxious to get into the air.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a car careen into the small parking lot outside the fence. A few seconds later, Ashley’s voice came over the radio, “Uh, Mr. Goldberg, there’s a woman here for you. She says it’s important.”
“I’m about to take off. What’s her name?” A cold chill went down my spine. In my heart, I knew her answer.
“Maria.”
“What does she want?” I thought we were through with each other.
“She says she needs to talk to you.” There was a pause. “She seems very upset. Should I call the authorities?”
Everyone with an aircraft radio within the surrounding five miles could hear our conversation. Somewhere, in a windowless FAA facility, the conversation was being recorded for posterity. Most airplane communications are clipped and to the point. Often they have a certain swagger tone that is supposed to convey casual competency. Now my girlfriend’s name was broadcast for all to hear.
I had only seconds to make a decision. A twin-engine plane, a Piper Seneca, was heading towards the runway. My plane blocked its path. I had only minutes left before my take-off window would close.
To hell with Maria! She has no claim on me.
But her name brought back memories of our time together. I could hear her laugh, feel her touch, even remember her smell. My hand refused to advance the throttle; my feet refused to release the brakes. Instead, I pressed the microphone button and said: “Ashley, she’s my friend. Let her come down to the apron once I park.”
I canceled my flight plan with ATC. The Seneca heard this and stopped short on the apron, giving me just enough room to pass, reclaim my parking spot, and shut down the engine.
Maria ran down the stairs carrying a large purse and an overnight bag. She misjudged the last step and fell flat on her face, tearing a hole in the knee of her jeans.
“Dan, Dan, open up!” she shouted when she got to my plane.
“Maria! What the hell are you doing here?” Ashley, all business now, watched us from the top of the stairs, her cell phone in one hand and a portable aircraft radio in the other.
“We have to leave! Now! Don Ricardo and Marcos are dead! They tried to kill me!”
“Don Ricardo and Marcos tried to kill you?”
“No, estupido! The men who killed them tried to kill me. We need to go before they get here.”
“They know you’re here? They followed you?”
“Stop asking stupid questions. We need to leave now!” I looked at her and did nothing. I don’t like being told what to do with my airplane. I didn’t trust her. She scammed me once. I didn’t want to be her patsy again.
“How did you know I would be here?”
“I didn’t, I just had to guess. You told me you had an airplane, remember? Besides, I had to warn you!”
I shook my head. “I don’t know — ”
“Dan, I think they know I’m here. If we don’t leave, they’ll kill you too!”
Maria’s face had changed completely. Long streaks of mascara ran down her cheeks, her hair was a mess; her silk blouse sported a large sweat stain. Crazily, she was never more beautiful to me.
“Stop looking at me. I know I’m a mess. I got a call from Marco’s security man an hour ago. He found Don Ricardo’s and Marcos’ bodies. He was sure that were coming to get me. I packed and got away just in time. Let’s go!”
Somehow, the terror in her voice and demeanor overwhelmed my remaining hesitation and hurt pride. “Get in,” I said.
We threw my carefully arranged maps, her purse, and overnight bag into the back seat. She was shaking so hard, she couldn’t connect her seatbelt. I did it for her and put a set of headphones on her head. I started the engine and announced my plans. “Gaithersburg traffic N-two-three-five tango taxing to the runway for immediate takeoff.”
Ashley was still on the balcony. She responded, “Tango, do you want me to contact the authorities?”
“Negative Gaithersburg, I got it. Sorry about the confusion. Tango is rolling toward the runway.” I wasn’t sure that I believed all of what Maria was saying, but it was clear that we were in this together, at least for now.
I knew that I couldn’t request my original flight plan. Besides bringing Maria back to my home airport would be awkward, to say the least. Heading west was our only option.
“Washington Center, N-two-three-five-tango departing Gaithersburg, heading West, VFR.”
“Roger, Tango, climb and maintain 2,000 feet. Avoid controlled airspace.”
But we couldn’t take off. The twin-engine plane that had passed me earlier now had command of the single runway.
“Dan, let’s go. What are you waiting for?” Maria asked. She squirmed in the seat, looking towards the parking lot.
/> “I’m waiting for the plane ahead of us to take off.”
“Can’t you just pass him?”
“That’s an airplane, not a car. It’s a runway, not a street. No, I can’t pass him.”
Not impressed by my lecture, she asked, “Why doesn’t he just go?”
“I don’t know. He might be waiting for clearance, or he might be checking his engines. For all I know, he might be sitting there talking to — ”
Maria screamed. “Dios Mio, they’re here! Let’s go!” She grabbed my shoulder and pointed. A large black SUV braked into the parking lot. “You need to leave. It’s them!” Three men got out. One tried to open the gate leading to the apron. When he realized it was locked, he started unpacking a rifle. Two others ran up the stairs to the office. All my considerations about the veracity of Maria’s story vanished.
Ashley’s voice came over the radio: “Hey, what the hell? You can’t bring guns here. No, you can’t go out there! Help! …”
The glass door leading from the office to the outside stairs exploded. Ashley stumbled out, blood spurting from a neck wound. She collapsed on the banister rail. The two men followed.
I pressed the microphone button praying that the pilot in the twin was listening. “Piper Seneca at Gaithersburg, this is the Cessna right behind you. Shots have been fired at the office. Departing immediately, using the taxiway to your right.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I gunned the engine and released the brakes. The Seneca started its roll at the same time. With its two powerful engines, it quickly got ahead of us.
We heard more shots coming from the office. Four black holes appeared on the side of the Seneca’s cabin. Over the radio, we heard, “Gaithersburg traffic, Seneca rolling. What? We’ve been hit! What?”
The big plane slowed. I gained on him. For a moment it looked like my left wing would touch his right wing — a disaster for both of us. I edged to the right as far as I could, my right wheel off the asphalt and on the grass.
“Dan, he’s going to shoot,” my co-pilot shouted. I turned to see where she was pointing. One of the men had what looked like a high-powered rifle aimed directly at us. I held my breath, expecting an impact.
There was none. “He missed,” she shouted. I looked to my left. The bullet hit the Seneca’s wing. Aviation gas flowed onto the runway. Another shot. His right main tire exploded, then his landing gear collapsed. The wing burst into flames. The engine transformed the four-bladed propeller into shrapnel.
Deadly pieces flew a dozen feet in front of us. Instinctively, I pulled back the throttle and stepped on the brakes, but not soon enough. A chunk of something hit the left tail section. More shots. More holes in the twin.
“They’re trying to kill me,” Maria screamed. She unhooked her seatbelt and crouched on the floor. What about me? God damn it!
The flaming wreckage swerved to the right, coming towards us. I couldn’t stop in time. I didn’t want to. Two men with pistols came running our way.
I released the brakes and pushed the throttle all the way in. I had to get airborne.
Slowly, slowly the airspeed needle crept towards the green. The Seneca was still moving towards my path. My engine’s RPMs approached red line. Still not fast enough. Maria screamed something in Spanish holding her crucifix to her lips.
The tip of the Seneca’s broken wing caught a runway sign in the shallow drainage ditch between the runway and the taxiway. That arrested just enough of its sideway momentum. We were able to pass and get airborne!
The radio exploded with reports of the incident. ATC issued commands, many of them contradictory. I turned off the radio and continued in silence.
I had no idea where we were going. I had no idea where I could land. Looking down, I saw the Potomac River pointing west. Like a trout, I followed it upstream.
“Where are we going,” Maria asked. She had climbed out of her hole and re-fastened her seatbelt.
“Where do you want to go?”
“New York. Take me to New York. I have family there. I’ll be safe.”
“No way. I’m not going there. I need to get home. But first I need to land somewhere and talk to the authorities. I need to explain to the FAA that I had no part of what happened there.”
“Dan, you can’t go home right now. You can’t talk to the authorities. I certainly can’t. If you can’t take me to New York, let’s land somewhere where I can take a shower.”
I grabbed my maps from the back seat and searched for a destination. I had enough gas to fly for four hours. That would take me as far west as Columbus, Ohio. But, I wasn’t interested in distance. I wanted a nice, quiet location where I could figure out what happened and get rid of my troublesome passenger.
The small town of Cumberland, Maryland seemed like the perfect choice. “We’re going to Cumberland.”
Maria said something in Spanish. It contained the name of a barnyard animal, but I wasn’t able to understand the verb. She turned away from me, staring blankly into the middle distance. She held a tissue to her scraped knee.
The welcome silence let me resume my connection to the plane. All in all, we (the plane and I) had not done badly. I’ll have to repaint the part that was hit by the debris.
My plans for the future were as wrecked as the twin engine plane burning on the runway in Gaithersburg. For the first time in my adult life, I had no plans. I had run out of future and was doing my best to hold onto the now.
Chapter 14
On the Lam
I set my GPS and other instruments. My mind shut out the world as I focused on my heading and altitude. Then Maria asked, “Why is that light blinking?”
“That’s my transponder. It lets air traffic control know where I’m at. It sends a signal that shows up on their radar.” I was in no mood to give her a lesson in navigation.
“Turn it off. Turn it off now!” I ignored her. Where does she get off telling me how to fly my airplane?
I didn’t respond, and she reached for the control panel. I slapped her hand away. “God damn it, woman, keep your hands off my controls!” I pushed the button to turn the transponder off.
But she wasn’t done. “Give me your cell phone.”
“Why?”
“They can track us using your cell phone. Give it to me, I’ll turn it off.”
That seemed reasonable, and I complied. She turned it off and put it into her purse. Her hand came out holding cigarettes and her lighter.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.
“I’m trying to light a cigarette. Can you shut the vent or whatever is making the breeze?”
I slapped her hand a second time. Her lighter flew into the back seat. “Don’t you realize they’re 60 gallons of high octane aviation fuel in a 30-year-old tank about a foot above your head? You’ll burn us alive.” She grunted and reluctantly returned the pack back to her purse. “That was my favorite lighter.”
I pressed my advantage. “One more time, how do you know that Marcos and Don Ricardo are dead?”
“Marcos gave each employee a special cell phone to use only in emergencies. We knew that if the phone rang, we had to run. I got the call at nine this morning. Miguel, Don Ricardo’s driver, told me that he found their bodies. He said the killers were coming for me.”
“Why did you come to me? Why didn’t you go to New York or Puerto Rico or somewhere? How am I going to explain this to my wife, to the FAA?”
“I came to you because I didn’t know where else to go. The Cartel has contacts at the major airports. They knew my car. Also, Miguel heard the men from the Cartel talking about el piloto. I had to warn you.”
“Okay, so you got the call, what did you do?”
“I packed my bag and ran. I knew that you worked at the Parklawn building. I didn’t know where in the building and I couldn’t get through security, so I waited for you in the parking structure. I waited and waited. I had to pee, but I didn’t want to miss you, so I squatted between two cars.”
The
image of Maria with her pants around her ankles crept into my brain. My face must have betrayed my thoughts.
Maria smiled.
“Go on, what happened,” I pressed.
“I went to the top floor and kept an eye on the building entrance. When I finally heard you shout ‘I’m free,’ I ran downstairs, but by the time I got to your floor, you were gone. I knew you were going to a small airport, but I didn’t know which one. Finally, I found someone who told me about Gaithersburg and how to get there.” She took a breath. “When are you going to land this thing?”
“In about an hour.” I still wasn’t satisfied. Maria’s story was like a Russian doll. Every time she explained one thing, other questions emerged. Of course, I was hiding things as well. We were a strange partnership.
The Maryland countryside rolled below us. The Potomac, a half-mile wide when we started, had diminished to a lazy stream. We passed over Antietam and Sharpsburg, Maryland the sites of the greatest loss of life during the Civil War. The thought of all that bloodshed did little to put my worries about the blood I had witnessed. What about Ashley? Did she survive?
I landed without incident and taxied to a vacant spot at the end of a row of little-used single- engine planes. Before she could unbuckle her seatbelt, I grabbed her arm and said, “What the hell is really going on? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“They tried to kill me. I got away. Let me go.”
“Not good enough. You know something.”
An older gentleman came out of the administration building to look at us. I waved acknowledgment. He disappeared back into the building.
“Fuck you, Dan.” She reached for the door handle again. I tightened my grip on her arm.”
“Ow, that hurts.”
“Tell me what you know.”
Maria sighed. “Okay, let go of my arm … ” I did. She leaned back against the seat.
“Years ago, long before I joined the firm, Marcos imported cocaine, from Columbia and sold it wholesale to dealers in New York. Don Ricardo made him stop when the DEA intercepted one of his shipments. That’s when they transformed their real estate business into a money laundering operation. Don Ricardo helped the Cartel buy houses, apartment buildings, and shopping centers earning a healthy commission. It was a good arrangement all around.”
Flying Blind Page 11