“Let me guess—it’s either whitening toothpaste or tanning oil.”
“Nope, it’s a book about the naval academy.”
Brett, aside from always being tan and having inhumanly white teeth, was also a graduate of the United States Naval Academy, and it was his third most annoying obsession.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” he responded sarcastically.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t. So, how’s Yvonne? Did you two have fun in San Francisco last night?”
“Yeah, we did, actually.”
“It must be nice to be able to work with your girlfriend.”
“Yeah, and it makes it a hell of a lot easier to hump.”
Brett’s girlfriend Yvonne had been on the Vandenberg yacht while a lovely woman named Tiffany had worked on the plane, but, due to romantic entanglements, the two had switched positions. In the corporate world, this kind of partner and job swapping would have likely gotten all of them sent to HR and fired, but they were lucky to work for an eccentric pair of billionaire twin brothers. I walked through the main salon and on to my cabin, which resided near the rear of the plane. It was my home away from home, and everything looked as it had the day before with the exception being that they had changed the sheets and brought in fresh towels. I stowed my things then headed out to the main salon to wait for takeoff by spending my time browsing through the latest copy of Wired magazine. I quickly learned that things were still moving ahead at the speed of thought in the nerdisphere, and the movers and shakers of the digital age were creating new technology faster than the world could possibly figure out how to use it. I heard talking coming from the front of the plane and looked up to see two of the Topless Agenda’s key members making their way to the main salon. In front was the esteemed Senator Douglass Matheson and behind him was the billionaire industrialist Daniel Vandenberg,
“Afternoon, boys. Didn’t know the Illuminati would be joining me on the flight,” I said, as I put down the magazine and stood up to greet them.
“We wanted to meet with you personally to go over some last minute details.”
We all shook hands and sat down, and, soon thereafter, Brett came over the intercom and told us to put on our seat belts and prepare for takeoff. We all strapped in and waited as the large jet made its way out to the runway and got in line behind a 747 that was just taking off. A moment later, the two 110,000 horsepower engines throttled up, and the entire plane vibrated until the brakes were released, and the behemoth started tearing down the runway. Within seconds we were airborne and climbing into the sky, with each of us held firmly in place by the substantial g forces. Through my window I could see the East Bay, and I imagined Estelle down there somewhere, sitting in traffic in that white BMW. All of a sudden, I heard the starboard engine spool down, and the plane bucked slightly, before leveling off. A second later, Brett came over the intercom to inform us that the number two engine had overheated on takeoff and had to be shut down. Consequently, we would be returning and making an emergency landing back at SFO. Lovely.
“Ever had any trouble with your Jet before?” I asked Daniel.
“Never.”
Jets were actually highly maintained and crashes incredibly rare, so it was therefore pretty fucking unusual to have an emergency like this suddenly spring up. My thoughts, of course, turned to two key events, the first being the fact that I had been followed and almost killed by a German the previous day, while the second was Estelle’s interruption of my morning dump. Either one or both of those events were, I suspect, related to the cause of this potentially catastrophic situation. I looked around the cabin and noticed Senator Matheson looking particularly concerned as he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.
“This might be a good time to tell you guys about something,” I said.
“What would that be?” Matheson asked gravely.
“Yesterday, I was nearly killed by a German tourist.”
“Why in the hell would a fucking German tourist try to kill you?”
“Well, he was posing as a tourist, but in reality he was more likely an assassin.”
“And why are you telling us this now?”
“Because I think it’s related to our current predicament. It turned out that the kraut’s car was registered to a company in Dubai, the very place we’re headed at the moment. That’s way too much of a coincidence, so I think it’s possible that our little air emergency here is an intentional attempt to kill me, or potentially even all of us, which could also mean that someone knows about this operation and is trying to thwart it.”
“Can we talk about this later—assuming we all survive?” Vandenberg asked.
Matheson leaned back in his chair and looked troubled as he thought about my news. He abruptly turned to me and was about to say something when we heard the port engine spool down.
“Fuck! That doesn’t sound good,” Vandenberg said.
“I should have taken my own jet,” Matheson responded.
“Maybe we all should have,” I added.
Brett’s voice came over the intercom saying that we had also lost the number one engine and should prepare for an even more extreme emergency landing. There was nothing quite as terrifying as being in a noisy jet when it suddenly stopped making noise—especially when you were several thousand feet in the air. We had lost both engines and were now nothing more than a glorified glider, which meant the only power would be coming from one of the generators that kept the flight controls functioning. We were therefore in a very similar position to Air Transat flight 236, which had lost power over the Atlantic Ocean back in 2001 and had to glide in for an emergency landing in the Azores. Everyone had survived that landing, so I was praying that we would be just as lucky. What I wouldn’t give for a parachute right about now, but sadly all I had was a Senator and a billionaire, and neither would be very useful in a crash landing.
I looked out the window and saw South San Francisco off to our left and the water below coming up a lot faster than I’d ever experienced. Suddenly, the number two engine came back on line, and the plane’s descent slowed ever so slightly. Maybe this would have a happy ending after all. We sat and calmly waited for the worst or best to occur. It turned out to be the best, as the plane dropped down and made a hard, though successful landing on the runway. We had to come in faster than usual, so now our fate fell on the skill of our pilots and especially the brakes, which were already straining against the mass of the large jet, as they only had the aid of one of its reverse thrusters. I gazed out my window to see the terminal racing by, and I was starting to wonder if we were ever going to stop in time. At last, the big plane started to slow down and finally came to rest only feet from the end of the runway, where I could already hear the sirens blaring from the fire trucks and emergency personnel who were racing up the tarmac. We unbuckled and made our way to the front of the plane to find Tatyana, Wendy, Yvonne, and Brett all looking surprisingly calm, considering we had all just survived a crash landing on a jumbo jet. They had even been so thoughtful as to have the door open and the emergency slide inflated and ready to go.
“Dubai sure looks a hell of a lot like South San Francisco,” I said.
“With enough oil money, you can apparently build anything these days,” Tatyana said.
“If you two are done making your jokes, it’s about time we vacate the jet,” Brett interrupted.
“In all seriousness, nice job, guys! And Brett, I’ll never make fun of your white teeth and excessive tan again.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right—but good job either way. I owe you all a fancy dinner and a night on the town.”
“I’ll hold you to that pledge,” Tatyana said.
“Come on, we better exit and let them clear the plane,” Brett said.
Everyone waited their turn then jumped on the slide, and it actually ended up being pretty fun and something I’d always wanted to do—without the crash landing part, of c
ourse. An EMT approached us to make sure we were all OK, then we were herded onto a plus sized golf cart and driven over to the terminal and ushered into a private lounge. An airport official arrived soon thereafter and had a private meeting with Matheson. Upon finishing up, the man left, and our esteemed Senator came over to give us the latest news.
“They’re going to transport all our luggage over here, and in the meanwhile, we should use the time to regroup and plan our next move, so I’m thinking we should probably take this conversation to a more private area.”
The three of us moved over to the bar on the other side of the room, and Matheson grabbed each of us a shot of whiskey. We clinked our glasses and drank the shots. Normally, I never drank during the day but surviving my first plane crash was a special occasion.
“Finn, based on what you told us, and what happened today, I think you’re right, and we have to assume that this operation has somehow been compromised.”
“And that means that someone knows about the Topless Agenda, which also means it might have a leak,” I said.
“Yeah, though I find that to be utterly impossible, as all of our members are beyond reproach.”
“Hopefully, anyway.”
“Well—to be safe, I think that from here on out, we only communicate with each other.”
“And continue on with the mission?” I asked.
“Absolutely, which means putting you on a commercial flight and getting you to Dubai as quickly as possible. If someone is trying to sabotage this operation, then we need to try and stay a step ahead.”
“Oh well, I guess I’m back to the dismal existence of flying commercial,” I said, a little sadly.
“First class is not exactly dismal,” Matheson responded.
“Well, if you’re correct then I’ll be sure to use the Topless Agenda as my travel agency from here on out,” I said.
Matheson frowned at my childish enthusiasm as he poured himself another drink. Obviously he had never flown coach and was therefore bewildered by my excitement to get bumped up to the front of the plane. He picked up his phone, and two and a half minutes later I had a first class ticket booked on an Emirates Air flight to Dubai. Fifteen minutes later, our luggage arrived, and it was time to prepare to leave for my flight. I joined Tatyana, Wendy, Yvonne, and Brett on the other end of the lounge and could see that the stress from earlier was starting to show on their faces. Sure, three of them were former Navy pilots, but I imagine the lack of ejection seats and parachutes took all the fun out of a crash landing.
“You continuing on your own?” Tatyana asked.
“Yeah, sadly.”
“Too bad, I was looking forward to another flight together,” she said.
“Me too. Maybe we’ll see each other on the return flight if all goes well.”
The two of us had shared a hell of a shower aboard the Vandenberg jet a while back, so I definitely was a little bummed we wouldn’t be flying together. She gave me a hug and a kiss, then Brett came forward, and we shook hands.
“Good luck and remember to brush,” he said.
“Yeah, and floss—only the teeth I want to keep.”
“I’m Tag, by the way,” I said, to Wendy, who I had yet to officially meet.
She was, of course, beautiful, but, unlike the other Vandenberg employees I had met thus far, was a redhead, and she sported a scant few freckles, which, combined with her blue eyes and full lips, made her look like the consummate all American girl that you’d expect to see on the cover of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.
“Nice to meet you. It’s too bad we haven’t had a chance to get to know each other better,” she said, her voice belying a charming Southern accent.
“Well, hopefully another time—preferably when we don’t have any engine trouble.”
Last up was Yvonne, and we shared a hug that ended when Matheson intervened and led me away from the others, so that he could subtly slip a flash drive into my hand.
“Everything you need to know is on there. Study it on the plane then destroy its contents before you land.”
It sounded a little like an intro line from a Mission Impossible movie, and I had to smile.
“It won’t self destruct on its own in five seconds?” I asked.
“No. So you’ll have to get creative. Maybe soak it in your martini or something.”
“That I can do, though I have a related question. What about my gun? Will I have any trouble checking it in?”
“No. Leave it in your checked luggage, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
I said my final goodbyes, shook hands with Matheson and Vandenberg, then joined the airport security guy, who had been patiently waiting to take me to my gate. I grabbed my carry-on bag and my laptop, and we boarded a golf cart and headed off to the international terminal. They took me past security and brought me right to the boarding ramp, where I bypassed the passengers waiting in line and walked directly onto the plane. I made a left and found the flight attendants lined up and looking very official as they awaited the arrival of the first class passengers. They were all female, pretty, and wearing a beige uniform with a red hat that had a cream colored silken scarf hanging down from the right side, obviously intended to be evocative of a veil, which would give passengers a little foreshadowing of exotic Arabia. I showed them my ticket, and the nearest one, a pretty brunette with olive skin and dark almond eyes, led me down the left hand side of the plane to my seat.
“Welcome aboard Emirates Air, Mr. Finn. My name is Asma, and I will be your primary flight attendant for the journey to Dubai,” she said.
“Good to know, though please call me Tag or Finn. No Mr. is necessary.”
“Finn it is. Now, is there anything you would like before we take off?” she asked, her lovely dark eyes coming alive.
“You mean right now? While we’re still on the ground?”
“Of course.”
“Sorry, I’m still adapting to life in first class.”
“Is this your first time?”
“Yep, I’m a virgin. It’s officially my first time in first.”
“Then I shall have to make sure your first time is as special as possible.”
“Thank you, Asma, and it makes me wish all my first times were with you.”
She gave me a flirtatious smile then moved on while I put my laptop and small carry on bag on the floor and settled into the spacious first class seat. It was more like a living room recliner, and the instruction manual showed that it apparently converted into my own private cabin when I was ready to go to bed. I’d read that Emirates Air’s first class accommodations were amongst the best in the world, and now I’d have to agree—even more so, after having spent the majority of my life in one of those shitty seats back in coach, where I was invariably squeezed between an irritable alcoholic and someone with a hacking cough. The former would eventually fall asleep, but the latter was the real problem, because he or she would cough for the entire flight, and, since commercial airlines saved fuel by recirculating most of the air, the sick person would end up spreading their germs to the entire compartment. This explained why everyone in coach had a tendency to get sick on long flights, and it made me wonder why people even went on vacation to somewhere exotic if they arrived with a cold or the flu and ended up spending their time in bed.
The rest of the first class passengers began arriving, and in my immediate section I saw a pretty Asian woman, a wealthy looking couple with their teenage daughter, five guys in suits, and, directly behind me, was another suit, though he had an attractive woman with him who was either his associate or his girlfriend. He ordered a scotch the minute he sat down while his female companion ordered a mineral water, which was a much wiser decision when it came to long distance commercial travel. The mucous membranes tended to dry out in the thin air and drinking plenty of water counteracted that fact and made it much less likely to pick up one of the many viruses circulating through the plane’s air conditioning system.
Asma came alo
ng again, and I ordered a mineral water as well. In coach, they wouldn’t even offer you a pillow at this stage of a flight, let alone a beverage, and a moment later I was enjoying my sparkling water as the Airbus A380 disconnected from the jetway, backed up, then began taxiing out to the runway. This was also my first experience with the goliath of the skies, and the brochure said it had a cocktail lounge on the lower level that I hoped to check out later after I was good and hydrated. The massive plane rolled onto the runway, applied its brakes, and waited for takeoff.
A minute or so passed, then the engines started spooling up, making the massive jet vibrate until the brakes released, and it started accelerating rapidly down the runway. The airport and its outer buildings sped by faster and faster, and the g forces pushed me back in my seat as I settled in for my second, and hopefully successful, takeoff of the day. The big jet left terra firma and climbed up into the mostly clear San Francisco skies, and I looked out my window to see that we were passing over Colma, the city just south of San Francisco. It was an interesting, if not slightly morbid place, where its dead residents outnumbered its live ones by a thousand to one. I suppose San Francisco needed somewhere to bury its many residents, and this made Colma a veritable metropolis for the dearly departed.
The jet leveled off at its cruising altitude of thirty five thousand feet, and the ride was surprisingly quiet and smooth, with the mammoth size of the plane making it hard to believe that we were actually flying. The fasten seat belt sign turned off, but I chose to keep mine on out of habit and the fear of random turbulence. Of course, it felt a little silly to be so cautious, considering all the mischief I had gotten up to on the Vandenberg private jet, but I was back to flying commercial and, therefore, taking the proper precautions.
Asma arrived and took my lunch order and, instead of the run of the mill gruel that I had gotten back in coach, I now chose chicken pesto pasta and a spinach salad on the side. Fifteen minutes later, the food arrived, and I dug in and enjoyed the best commercial airline meal I’d ever tasted. Full as a tic and with my blood sugar well into normal levels, I pulled out my laptop and inserted the flash drive that Matheson had given me. A second later, the icon popped up on my screen, and I double clicked it with more than a little trepidation. The file was in PDF format, and the first page showed a present day image of Farid Ardeshir. Judging by the shallow depth of field, the photo was obviously taken from a distance with a telephoto lens, but it was clearly the man I remembered. It was strange to see my old friend again and looking at his face instantly took me back five years to Tehran, Iran, and the unusual circumstances of our first meeting.
Gordita Conspiracy Page 6