by George Jehn
He nodded his head.
“Use an approximate figure of three quarters of a million each.”
“Without robbing a bank?”
“Without even touching the money. Look, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose. You won’t have to worry about O’Brien or your job. You’ll be out of harm’s way and have enough to tell O’Brien to fuck off, if that’s what you want. And it should take only a short time to carry out.”
“We use guns?”
“No violence and no one will get hurt. All we do is our normal routine with some minor variations.”
“What you just dropped on me goes against everything I thought I stood for,” Erik somberly replied.
“Then I guess I’ve already told you more than enough. Think it over and let me know. Let’s join Woody, before he gets suspicious.”
“Now you wait a fucking minute. You’re can’t leave me dangling like a yo-yo at the end of a string again, like at Parkers. You’re asking me to make a life-altering decision.”
“Sorry, but I have to know you’re a hundred percent in before saying anything more,” Christina replied in as blasé tone as she could muster. “Just let me know whatever and whenever you decide. But remember, your time is quickly running out,” not letting on that without his participation her plan couldn’t work.
Inside the dump called the Boston employee cafeteria, Woody was nowhere in sight. Erik wanted to eat alone, his stomach already full—of Christina. After pecking at the overcooked steamed chicken and rice he left to perform his pre-flight inspection. As the day swiftly morphed into twilight, he could feel the penetrating New England dampness Christina had mentioned. The sogginess of the rapidly cooling air made him shiver. Or was it out of fear due to what Christina had said? With fog slithering into every nook and cranny of the field, in the short time it took to check the jet’s exterior, the entire airport became blanketed in a white quilt. Once in the cockpit, Woody informed Erik, “I figured you guys were running late so I did the cockpit preflight inspection for you.”
Erik thanked him, but his mind was elsewhere. During an uneventful flight to LaGuardia Erik brooded over Christina’s offer. He was being corrupted, but didn’t see he had much choice. Staring at the deep indigo sky stretching like a twinkling canopy as far as the human eye could see, even with its open ended vastness, Erik felt trapped, but, if he agreed to go along..? Reality dictated there were no options. His thoughts turned to Carol and what she would think. For now, he was her hero and for the first time he felt close to capturing a unique commodity. What would happen to their relationship if he betrayed everything she believed he stood for? This was tempered by the thought of what would happen if he lost his job and owed a hundred grand.
The big jet commenced its descent toward the New York City lights, powerful beams reaching so high into the pitch-black night, even in a jet it seemed like you were looking up at them. Erik was normally mesmerized by these rays penetrating the polished, silver moon crescent hanging in a starlit sky replete with a few wispy clouds sailing across it like ships on a flat expanse of ocean. This sea of night appeared unsullied, the same as he was, until now; until Christina Shepard had flown into his life. Although rationalizing, trying to justify or deny it, he was traveling into an unknown landscape more akin to the life and death culture below him in the city that devoured everything in its path. Yet, to reach his lifelong dreams and ambitions he had to hold onto this job. Reality grabbed him. He would step into the darkness and release some heretofore concealed inner beast. When done, he would hopefully be able to recapture his personal Doctor Jekyll and seal it away back in the bottle, never to emerge again. He tried to justify this decision by believing it wasn’t the journey, but the destination that counted. Where would this train, in this case plane, take him? Erik felt a sea of change rolling through him as powerful and unstoppable as an incoming ocean tide, believing his life would probably never be the same.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Although Christina wanted nothing to do with David’s baggage rip-off, while taxiing into the gate she saw him lurking in the shadows under the terminal. After parking, Woody and Erik said their goodbyes and she was alone in the cockpit. David had to know the guard was aboard because the armored vehicle was planeside, but she lost sight of him as he drove around the left wing of the 727, careful not to pass under it. Management was adamant about this as any baggage piled too high could damage the wing, making the action grounds for immediate dismissal. She saw him again as he drove off as if to place six or seven pieces of luggage on the carousel, but he stopped in the deep shadows, opened a bag and dumped its contents onto the cart, simultaneously throwing some other items onto the ground. Just then, Christina spotted another man dressed in a jacket and tie headed directly toward David. She immediately sounded the warning horn, but a jet was taking off on the adjacent runway, which must have drowned out the signal. Simultaneously, the cockpit door swung open and a mechanic entered.
. . .
David felt a light tap on his shoulder. His heart jumped into his mouth as he wheeled around.
“Can I help you?” a heavyset man with a prominently displayed gold-colored badge hollered to him over the deafening noise.
David was prepared in case something like this happened and was quick on his feet. “Why, uh, yes, if you don’t mind. These items bounced off the cart when I hit that bump,” he said, pointing to a protuberance built into the ramp to keep rainwater from flowing under the terminal building.
. . .
“Captain, you don’t have to activate the wheel well warning,” the mechanic declared, pointing to the overhead instrument panel where Christina had her finger poised. “We’ve already plugged in the external power.”
“Oh, thanks,” she sputtered, trying to see what was happening on the ramp. Someone was speaking with David, who kept glancing up toward the cockpit. Was he implicating her? She had already concocted a seemingly plausible explanation about why a pilot wouldn’t be involved in a nickel and dime scheme. There was nothing further she could do, so Christina grabbed her flight bag and drove home. She paced back and forth, glass of wine in hand, totally stressed out, afraid of a seizure. Would the police knock on the door at any moment?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The heavyset guy helped gather the contents and handed them to David, who stuffed them back inside the suitcases. “Thanks for the help. I try to be careful whenever I drive over that spot,” David stammered, pointing to the bump, “but sometimes I forget.”
“That doesn’t seem to be a very smart location to put a speed bump.”
“It’s not a speed bump. It’s there is to keep the water out.” Changing the subject, David asked while pointing to the man’s badge, “You work for the airline’s security department?”
The man shook his head. “No, I’m with the Feds. I’m here to check on an incoming shipment,” pointing to the jet.
“Well, thanks for the help. I really appreciate it,” David replied, not wanting to seem overly interested.
“At least now someone will be happy to get their belongings back,” the man said with a smile as he strolled off.
After what seemed like an eternity, Christina finally heard David’s car pull up and park outside. She yanked open the door. “What happened? I saw the big guy come over to you and—.”
“Thanks very much. Why the hell didn’t you warn me?”
“I tried. But you couldn’t hear because a plane took off. Are you okay?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he answered with a smug smile on his face. “He believed me when I said everything fell off my cart. He was wearing a federal government badge but I couldn’t make out the department. He said he was checking on whatever was on your plane.�
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“I was afraid he collared you.”
“He actually helped me pick the stuff up.”
“You better back off, ‘cause if that fellow worked for the airline..? It’s not worth it over a lousy few bucks,” Christina reiterated with a frown.
Ignoring her comment, David changed the subject. “What the hell’s on your flight? First there’s the guard. Then, the armored truck and now there’s this guy checking. All of these people wouldn’t be involved unless...”
“I haven’t been able to come up with anything. It’s probably top secret,” she interrupted. After another pause a pensive Christina added, “But you have to stop with the bags.” David said nothing. “Did you hear me?”
“No way.” David hesitated a moment and added, “Well, maybe after a few scores?”
“You’ll get caught,” Christina insisted.
“Then don’t do the lookout thing.” If she wasn’t involved he didn’t have to share anything.
“Fine. I won’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Erik’s eighteen payments were calculated at $1965.33 per month, including interest. After receiving notification he again called the bank, hoping they would push back the starting date or lower the monthly amount.
The manager stated, however, in what sounded like a recording, “We’ve been more than tolerant for well over two years. Per your request, we rearranged the financing so you could settle up over a longer period and also moved back the starting date. I’m sorry, but nothing more can be done.”
Erik could picture this guy probably sitting at a big desk on his fat butt, not caring what effect something like this would have on Erik’s life. Since assistance from his parents was kaput, maybe Carol would help? He didn’t want to ask, but pondering his dilemma, saw no other alternative. As the looming first month’s deadline neared, he approached her, nerves on edge.
“I’ve got a serious problem. It’s so bad it could cost me my job at the airline,” he timidly informed her.
Erik hesitated. “I took out a loan to pay for my initial flight lessons because back then everyone, the bank included, believed pilot jobs were easy to come by. But then a recession hit and most pilot jobs flew off into the sunset for a while. I haven’t started making enough yet to repay it and they’re demanding I begin next month.” He gulped. “I read the airline’s operations manual and if I default and management learns, they’ll fire me for fiscal irresponsibility. I’m hoping to come up with some money in the near future, but could you help me a bit, maybe with the first and second installments? I’ll repay you. I promise.”
“How much?”
“It’s just under two-thousand per month.”
Realizing this situation was not good, the following day she withdrew all the cash from her savings account, money she’d put away from various babysitting jobs. But it contained a bit less than the first month’s payment. Erik put up the rest so at least now he had some breathing room.
. . .
Prior to their next flight Christina approached Erik in the noisy, purely functional operations office and whispered, “I want to fill you in on the rest of the details. Let’s chat in the cockpit again tonight. We’ll manufacture some excuse for not grabbing a bite with Woody.”
After the second landing in Boston, Woody asked if Erik and Christina would be joining him for dinner.
“I have to stop in the ladies’ room first,” Christina replied.
“And I have to call my girlfriend,” Erik lied.
“Don’t you folks like me anymore?”
“Not like you?” Christina smiled and added with a wink, “I’ll be there shortly.”
While walking across the ramp, Woody eyed Christina and Erik still in the cockpit, apparently immersed in conversation.
Erik inquired, “What’ve you cooked up?”
“I can’t tell you if—”
“I’m in. It’s final.”
“Okay. A while back I discovered we transport cash in our cargo compartment on the nine o’clock LaGuardia flight.”
A nervous Erik began drumming his leg with his fingers like a tap dancer, now having an idea of where this conversation might be headed. “How did you find out? Whose money is it?” he interrupted, recalling his mother’s favorite saying when it came to money. “The richest person isn’t the one with the most, but one who needs the least.”
“Ever wonder why we’re always delayed on the final LaGuardia leg?”
“We’re waiting for connecting pass—”
“That’s just the standard bullshit. I thought it odd this happened every night, especially since I noticed the same guy boarding each time.”
“The same person?”
“Not only that. He takes the identical seat, 3-D. I also receive official notification a sky marshal is on board.”
“A sky marshal? That makes no…”
“The guy also wore a United States Treasury Department badge when I saw him on the ramp, but there was no sign of the badge when he boarded. To confuse things even more, according to the rules, a sky marshal isn’t supposed to delay the flight or take the same seat every time so I was baffled. Everyone I asked claimed ignorance.” She continued, “One night, a bit past nine an unmarked van pulled up alongside and this same guy hopped out. After supervising the unloading of some heavy-duty satchels into our forward cargo bin, he sprinted up the Jetway and took the same seat. As soon as he was onboard, the agent announced we were ready. This is the same scenario almost every night.”
“How do you know we’re carrying money?”
“Since I’m the captain, I wanted to know what the hell was going on. So one time I went onto the ramp to find out. As I walked around the nose of the plane, the guards pulled guns on me.”
“Guns? I thought you said no violence?”
“There won’t be. I surprised them,” an exasperated Christina said. “May I pulleeze finish? I rifled through the company’s computer looking for the details and was able to dig them up. It’s a highly classified Treasury Department operation.” Christina hesitated and leaning closer to Erik and with her sweet breath on his face, whispered, “The guy has a dual role, working as a sky marshal and also guarding the sacks, which are full of old, worn-out paper currency—.
“So close, yet so far,” Erik again interrupted.
“Close enough. After they’re unloaded, the old bills are probably taken somewhere in New York City where the money goes through a shredder. I’ve seen clear plastic pillows with cut-up bills stuffed inside. But catch this. The amounts listed on our flights were in excess of four million each time and these large shipments are what cause our delays.”
A grimacing Erik felt as though his stomach was run through a shredder knowing the feds were involved, meaning the FBI. “This happens every night?”
“I’m not certain about Friday, but the money’s on board Monday through Thursday. From what I witnessed the ground portion is overseen by a number of people, but once it’s aboard this guy assumes sole responsibility. And we have a unique opportunity before departing on 22 Right.”
“How so? It’s impossible to get into the cargo compartment from the cockpit.”
For about fifteen minutes, Christina outlined her step-by-step plan and when finished, Erik just whistled. “It sounds crazy, but just might work. Hell, if they’re going to destroy it anyway, it’s almost like we’re not really stealing. But have you figured out every detail, because I’m wondering if there’s anything you don’t know about this or might have overlooked? And, what about Woody?”
“I think I’ve got every base covered. But Woody remains a big question.” Qui
ckly glancing at her wristwatch, Christina saw only thirty minutes remained before departure. “We need to decide, but I’m against bringing him in. The forward cargo compartment is directly below and aft of his seat, so he can’t see it. Plus, if we include him it’s less for us.”
“I’m not certain we can trust him,” Erik added.
“Me neither. But look, we don’t want to make him suspicious, so let’s join him now. I also want you to think matters through, because I still need a bit more time. I have someone lined up for our needed third person, but haven’t spoken to him yet. I know your first payment is due in a couple of days, and...”
“I paid that.”
“How? I thought you said you were broke?”
“I approached my girlfriend, Carol.” Erik watched to see if there was any reaction from Christina after he mentioned her. There wasn’t. “After I told her my job was at stake, she cleaned out her bank account. All she had was enough for the first month’s payment, but at least now I’m covered ‘til August.”
Christina frowned. “You cannot tell her—anyone—what we’re up to.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t,” an annoyed Erik responded with a grimace.
While walking to grab two takeout burgers, a solemn Christina informed him, “After the job we’ll be prime suspects. This means no calling each other from home or on any cellphone you might have, and definitely no emails. From what I’ve read and heard, the world we now live in is becoming a giant listening device for a bunch of faceless bureaucrats. Maybe I’m only a gene away from the crackling winds of paranoia, but there aren’t many secrets anymore, so let’s touch base only in person or via a pay phone. This way there won’t be any records.”
“You’re paranoid all right,” Erik replied, feeling a bit like that himself, “if paranoia is defined as acute awareness.”