Flying Too Close to the Sun, George Jehn [freda ebook reader txt] 📗

first. He finally replied. “Get some cash. It might be possible for me to rifle through some passenger bags. Even though all the checked bags go through x-ray machines, there are still some idiots who put money in their luggage. If I did come up with something the first suspects would be the TSA people x-raying the bags. I read where some TSA workers at JFK airport were arrested for making off with eighty grand from some Pakistani asshole who stashed it in his suitcase.”

“I don’t know?” Christina replied, shaking her head. “There were some United Airlines baggage handlers like you in Los Angeles who were nailed for stealing items from peoples’ luggage. It wasn’t cash but other junk they fenced for pennies on the dollar. That’s a lot of risk for some nickel and dime stuff.”

“I could do it quickly because the bags can’t be locked,” David added, ignoring her comment, “but I’d need a secure location.”

“I don’t like your idea, at all,” Christina whispered, shaking her head.

“I could do it in the one dark corner under the terminal near where you park on the last flight. It’s in the deep shadows and as far as I can tell there are no video cameras. You could act as my lookout. Wait ‘til the other pilots leave, stay in the cockpit and act like you’re checking something. You can see me, but no one else can. If someone approaches, sound the wheel well warning horn. Three toots then two, then one. I can just throw the bag back onto the cart and drive off, with no one the wiser. I can look for an expensive Gucci piece of luggage. Who knows..? I can do a test run tomorrow night.”

Christina relented. “All right, but don’t take any petty-ante stuff; only twenty-five grand in cash, or more.”

“Sure.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Erik entered the austere flight operations office where the emphasis was strictly on functionality and greeted Woody, saying nothing about his tense meeting with O’Brien. A few moments later, another captain named Jason Schmidt introduced himself, stating he was filling in for Christina. All the flights came off without a hitch and nothing was mentioned about the previous evening’s events.

.     .     .

Christina returned the following day, another dreary one with low ceilings and restricted visibility. As she was filling out the flight paperwork, with just the two of them present, Erik asked, “Where were you yesterday? Did you speak with O’Brien?”

“I called him and he gave me the day off. Why do you ask?”

“There was a voice message on my home phone directing me to come to his office and when we met I got the distinct impression he was attempting to pin the Boston problem on me. Did you say anything?”

“No. But remember what I said. You need to study and be better prepared.”

“You bring up anything with him about Woody?”

“Whatever I said stays between O’Brien and me.”

“I felt threatened and I don’t know why he acted like that,” Erik added.

“He is not a nice person, so take some advice and steer clear of him. I got the impression he doesn’t care for you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just my gut feeling.”

Woody arrived a short time later and the first three trips came off without a hitch. Prior to the final leg, however, the gate agent again announced there would be a delay awaiting a passenger. Christina was once again handed a paper stating they were waiting for a sky marshal who would be seated in 3D. While trying to make sense of this mystery, she noticed a set of approaching headlights on the ramp loading area. Any activity like this past departure time was unusual and she assumed it might somehow be connected to the delay. She stood and glanced out through the rain-distorted right rear cockpit window, allowing her to observe a section of the ramp neither Woody nor Erik could see. The window was cold to the touch because unlike the front ones, it wasn’t heated. She could make out a dark panel truck pulling up planeside, when a lanky young man in a raincoat with a shiny badge affixed hopped out, trying to shield his head from the light rain with a newspaper. She recognized him as the sky marshal. Was this some sort of government business? A couple of airline baggage loaders appeared out of nowhere but the fellow with the badge shooed them away with a simple hand motion. They ambled off, waited until the guy’s back was turned and one returned a simple hand motion, the middle-finger salute. The young policeman or whatever he was, finally uttered something into a small microphone affixed to his raincoat collar and several unformed guards immediately exited the van and began unloading large, dark satchels onto a belt loader going directly into the forward cargo bin. They seemed to handle each with extra care, like something precious might be inside. Christina used her sleeve to wipe off the mist her breath was leaving on the window to get a better view of this puzzling scene. Through the drifting low cloud cover she caught quick glimpses of the brightly lit downtown Boston skyline off in the distance. A moment later the uniformed workers got back into the truck and drove off, while the fellow with the badge walked briskly toward the front of the plane. Her attention turned to the cabin, where he carefully folded his coat, placed it in the overhead compartment and took window seat, 3-D on the right side. There was no sign of his previously-visible badge. Just then the agent said they were ready to depart.

After returning to her seat, Christina wondered what could be in those sacks. If it’s money I sure could use some. But how could money or anything of value be connected with the sky marshal program?

.     .     .

US Treasury Agent Christopher Norton took his assigned seat and heard the familiar high-pitched whine of the jet engines starting,