Chapter 11

Coming to America

The pilot pulls off the highway onto a small dirt road and they all get out all groggy and cramped, and cold now in the pre-dawn dark. And half awake it feels like spilling out of a warm nest and into an eerie dream in the shadows of the sudden unfamiliar ground. Not moving now, no whining engines lulling you to sleep; and unsteady in this fantasy land of shadows as they pull the aircraft up behind a storage building.

“Now to get some fuel” says Andy. “I can do that” says the pilot “don’t worry about it…just, must have gotten lost out here somehow, I guess.” Andy goes up to him and shakes his hand “if you ever need anything, anything okay, just let me know.” “You should kill me” says the pilot looking at him through bleary sleepless eyes “cover your tracks.” Andy smiles “now you’re thinkin army.”

He turns to quickly survey the scene around him as the others gratefully smile and wave to the pilot. Then they’re gone, the three of them moving out through the quiet poorly-lit streets of the little town at a slow jog, double-time more or less, looking for transportation. At first it feels like you’re always off-balance or falling down hill after the cramped hours in the small plane; then it feels more like you’re moving fast and getting nowhere, like stuck in the mud.

Everything appears as washed in different shades of gray or soft brown in the wee hours, illumined by infrequent bare yellow light bulbs glaring from an old building or a pole every few hundred yards or so. It’s a poor little town, not much here. Goats and sheep baying in the distance, the smell of oil or raw petroleum from barrels somewhere. Zoltep spots an iron gate in front of a fenced-in area secluded by trees. He motions to the others “rich people” he says.

They hop over the gate and creep up the driveway, ending at a locked garage beside a nice-looking brick home. Andy opens the lock on a side door and enters the garage. A shiny new car sits quietly in the middle of the spotlessly clean floor. “Go get the gate” he says to the boy “oh, and check for alarms, okay.”

He looks for tools around the room then opens the car and pops out the ignition switch with a large heavy screwdriver. Then soundlessly he opens the garage door. “Get in, steer” he whispers to Maria as he goes behind to push the vehicle down the drive and out to the road.

The two young men push the car along toward the highway, running now as they get it going at a good clip while the girl steers, trying to see through the pitch black night. When they reach the highway, they slow to a stop and Andy connects the ignition wires to start up the motor and then they’re on their way. Zoltep smiles as he hops in beside the girl “you a car thief now, Princessa.” She looks at his happy face “there’s room in the back, isn’t there.” “We’ll go back there later” he says, as the girl makes a face at him.

“I should go home” she says to Andy, for no real reason, just wanting to hear what he thinks. “And do what” he asks “I think they know how to handle these things you know; the fewer people around, the better.” “I wouldn’t be in the way” she says, taking the hint. “Do you know what your grandfather told me. He told me to keep you safe; and that means, out of… target range.”

“I’m riding through Syria in a stolen car” she says. “I’ll protect you” says Jori “you safe, in my hands.” “Are they washed?” “Ha-ha” he says to her “you think I’m… a greasy little street-orphan, don’t you.” “I didn’t say that.” “Maybe not” says Zoltep “but I heard it anyway.” With nothing else to say she asks him “so where do come from, anyway; how did you get involved in all this… shit. You’re just a kid.” Zoltep doesn’t say anything. He’d asked for it, but now he can’t find the right words. “Jori’s a greasy little street-orphan” says Andy “but he’s sensitive about it, so be nice.”

Zoltep is willing to let it go at that, but the girl insists “Jori, tell me, I want to know.” “What?” “Where you’re from… how you got mixed up in this.” He thinks for a moment “I… don’t know… where I’m from” his voice is quiet soft reflective; Andy doesn’t much know about the kid’s past, and he has to strain to hear him “my parents, or whoever, not parents I guess, we… were gypsies” he kind of motions slightly with his hand, like that’s something pretty awful; or not, depending on your point of view.

“I remember Italy… I liked Italy, its warm there, sunny.” He stops, with tears in his eyes. The girl sees this and puts her arms around him and pulls him to her. “It’s okay” he says “I’m alright… goin to America, with the princessa.” “Well…” says Maria “how did you get to be, hooked up with, these secret service guys?”

“You tell her, Andy” says the boy, not knowing if his jumpy heartbeat is from all the pent-up emotions, or from the beautiful girl hugging him like that. “Okay” he says “let’s see…” he takes a deep breath and tries to sort it out in his mind, to make it like a logical sequence of things. “I was in Iraq, and we’re hunting for Sadcam. And there aint no good future in that.” “The Americans found him” says the girl. “Yeah” says Andy “but not like they found him by finding him. After all that time of looking, somebody finally gave him up. But that’s okay, they got him, anyway.”

“I thought we… didn’t have any troops, in Iraq” says the girl, interrupting him “I thought we were… not involved in that.” “Oh, we aren’t. Just… a few, crazy volunteer-types, you know; um, instructors and so forth, special forces guys. There’re only maybe a dozen or so of us. Hell, we don’t even fight under our own flag. Just go in… as Italians, or Brits, or something, fake id and all. Yeah, and nobody even knows who we are. Just, you know… f you gonna train people, gotta get that hands on, you know.”

“So…” she says, trying to sort that out “our country is officially opposed… or neutral, I guess, in this war; and you’re there fighting, with them?” “Interesting, huh?” he says, but then trying to explain it to her “it’s… just training, just combat situations. Real, you know, not mock up or anything. And, I don’t even take sides, I mean… it’s not our war, just go there, and… do your job.” The girl doesn’t say anything, trying to understand how any of that makes any sense, so Andy continues.

“So… then I’m in Afghanistan, okay, looking for Bin Laden, and not no good future in that either. So, figure… have t’get up to north Pakistan, no man’s land… and…  can’t do it.” “How come” she asks. “Don’t got the look” he says “don’t got the talk. Up there, they kill you for that, just for that; it’s… you can’t get in; you just can’t.” “So you got Jori…to do that?” she asks him.

“It’s the only way” says the boy “I mean… I got no past, you know, that could come back on me, if… somebody checks you out, like background and stuff. No… people to… well, you know; and I really, actually got in. But damn, even at that; it’s a tough place; pretty shaky stuff.” Then thinking about it, he adds “rather be with you, Princessa; you all soft, nice, smell good.” He sniffs at her neck. The girl does nothing, and that surprises the kid as much as anything. “You’re a nice boy” she says, which to Jori has that well that’s better than nothing, quality to it.

Nearing Damascus and the incredible Mediterranean sunrise breaking over the horizon. Andy squints his eyes and peers through the searing red sun trying to find signs leading to the airport. Then he sees one and quickly swerves the car onto the exit ramp and follows the signs endlessly through the outlying areas of the big city until finally they’re alongside the large quiet mass of morning sunwashed buildings and runways.

“What now, Captain?” asks the kid, like waiting to hear the plan, expecting to be scrounging for passports, money, and other stuff you pick up by bumping into the right tourist. “Chryssalis Charters” says Andy “we goin first class on this one.”

He parks the car in the ramp and they head over to the large terminal building. The charter service has a small rented hangar out on the tarmac. There’s someone waiting there as they approach. “We’re the Japanese businessmen” says Andy in a no nonsense tone. “I… was expecting a couple of Afghan heroin smugglers” says the man. “Okay” says Andy “we’re the Afghan heroin smugglers.” “Look more like a government agent with a Malvian princess” says the man “but don’t make no difference to me.”

“You our man?” “Welcome to invisible airlines” says the guy “we never saw you, never heard of you.” “I got no money” he tells him. “Yeah, well I reckon your king is good for it, doncha think.” He looks over at Maria “you sure are a pretty girl.”

They get into the small jet aircraft. A man approaches the plane carrying several metal containers in his arms. “What’s that?” asks Andy from the doorway. “Breakfast” says the pilot “guy on the phone said you might be hungry.” The man hands them the containers and then the pilot prepares for take off. The plane taxis down the runway then races forward and lifts off with no radio traffic at all.

As they level out, Andy sits down in the co-pilot’s seat “only one pilot to fly all the way to the states?” “Rules” says the man “just get in the way of things a person wants to dos. Go” he says “eat, relax, enjoy, don’t worry about a thing. Okay?”

Andy goes back to the cabin area where Maria and Zoltep are tearing into the hot English breakfast. “We’d have waited for you” she says, mouth full of eggs and marmalade toast “but we didn’t want to.”

He sits down in a soft leather chair which sort of swallows him up into a leaning back position. Then he opens up the container with the steaming hot eggs sausage beans tomatoes fried toast and coffee. It’s almost too good to be true. Maria looks at him with a big smile and like she’s thinking the same thing. He quickly eats every bit; not even thinking of have to fill up now because you never know; like battlefield rations, or your last meal maybe. It’s just that it all tastes so good.

And so different here now, all of a sudden, free from all the worries, leaving all that on the ground, and behind you. Heading away to somewhere, unknown, far away, but gotta be better than where you been and all the stuff back there.

He drinks down the wonderfully strong coffee, and leans back to light up a cigarette and thinks back to that supper, earlier, with the general… when was it, last night, yesterday, seems like a long time ago, or a different time even, a different life. Things happen, on some particular day, and then nothing’s ever the same again from that point on. He looks out the window into the blindingly sunny blue sky and the white puffy clouds, like pillows you could get out and walk on, with no worries, not a care in the world, now; all lifted up and off you, like when you take off down the runway like that, and just gone.

Then he looks over at Maria and Zoltep leaning back on the sofa by the window asleep in each other’s arms. Cute kids, he thinks, a greasy little street-orphan and a skinny little princess. He has another cup of that wonderful hot coffee and another cigarette then leans back and closes his eyes, wondering what America’s gonna be like.

Some time later they touch down at a small tropical airstrip that looks like a primitive shangri-la type wild green jungle. The uneven hills are covered with trees and brush but all shining like a thousand points of light in the shimmering sun cascading down onto the bleached white cement.

Andy wakes up and goes over to the pilot “are we there.” “Azores” says the man “halfway; gotta refuel, top off the tanks.” “Okay” he says, and adds “I thought… the Yanks owned this place.” “Yeah” says the man “they think so too. Just adds, to the cost of doing business.” “How’s that” he asks, half asleep with jet lag. “Well, the Americans like to keep track of who comes and goes on their planet. So y’gotta pay the Portuguese t’say the right thing, you know, keep everybody happy.” He gets up to go out and do the transactions “best stay inside, keep the shades down; never know who’s gonna be watchin ya from the hills.”

Andy goes back to the others and makes sure they got all the window covers pulled down. Zoltep and Maria are stretching and waking up “where are we” she asks. He looks at the girl thinking what it’d be like to wake up next to her in the morning “we’re refueling, in the Azores” he says, hoping the pilot is telling him the truth; ready to try and fly the plane outta here himself if he isn’t.

After a bit the pilot comes back and looks at the three of them “we got a flight plan to Halifax. Where you guys wanna go?” “Just… like to get back up in the air” Andy tells him. The pilot understands and goes into the cockpit, preparing to take off.

Once airborne, he veers left, and heads straight into the blinding midday sun. Andy comes in and sits down beside him. “How’s New York” he asks. “Out of the question” says the pilot, then adds “unless… that’s, where you really wanna go.” “Well, how bout… close as possible.”

The pilot runs this through his mind, like clicking through pages on a computer screen. Down the coast maybe; or inland… low and slow, over the little New England states. “See what we can do” he says.

The sun is murderous, pouring in through the windshield and Andy has to shield his eyes with his hand. The pilot, with cap pulled down over heavy dark glasses says to him “go on in the back, get some more rest; we’ll be there soon enough.”

He goes back to the cabin where Zoltep and Maria are already sleeping again, this time each on their own sofa with blankets and pillows across the cabin from each other. He finds some pillows and blankets from the overhead compartment and decides to do the same, dropping into the big soft easychair like leather seat.

It’s dark by the time any of them awake. Maria and Zoltep smile at each other and look over at Andy. Then the kid sniffs into the air. “Reefer” he says, identifying the aroma coming from the cockpit. The other two do the same and then look at each other smiling. Andy walks forward to the cockpit and opens the door. The pilot hands him a joint and explains “I didn’t think I should indulge, what with the little princessa on board and all, but thought you guys might like to.”

He takes the joint and comes back to the others and hands it to them. It’s good stuff, tastes like it’s been cured with Lebanese hash. “Our pilot is not getting stoned” says Maria. “Nah” says Andy, like who cares anyway. Then all three of them start to laugh at the thought of that. Like maybe the guy’s put it on autopilot and jumped out of the plane and they’re just floating along through empty space like a tin can falling out of a space ship or something. And at the moment they don’t really care.

“Is a hell of a note” says Maria “that the top agents of the Malvian government are getting stoned when they ‘sposed to be guarding me.” “I’ll talk to the recruiters about it” says Andy, inhaling sharply “see if we can’t get better screening.”

The pilot comes back to check on them and they all laugh as he walks in. “Hey, who’s flying the plane” says the girl. “Autopilot” he says, and they all laugh again. He opens a cabinet and hands each of them an ice cold coke “we try to keep our customers happy.”

“We gonna be there soon” he adds “could get a might hairy if... we gonna try for New York.” “Or as close as you can get” says Andy “can you drop us off… like upstate or something, out in the boondocks, or whatever they got up there.” “Well, there’re some empty military bases around there somewhere. I suppose we could try for that, but I’d have to do a touch and go, if that’s alright with you.” “That’ll work” he says, while trying to figure out exactly what it was the pilot just said.

The man goes back to the cockpit, and sends the little craft into a sharp downward angle, gaining speed as they descend. The three passengers feel their stomachs jump and heads spin like the flying carpet’s been pulled out from under them; and get that airline passenger sensation of ‘what goes up must come down’ but not this fast.

“Best buckle in” says Andy, wondering what it’s gonna be like to try and undo the seat belt once they’re a hundred feet under the black ocean water. But the plane eventually levels out and then slightly tilts upward and losing airspeed now as it does so. They’re approaching New York, flying at low altitude, not quite skimming the waves, but close enough, and at minimum speed. But even so the pilot hears that dreaded voice from some FAA center on his radio “unidentified aircraft, you are entering New York airspace, please set your transponder, and state your intent.”

The pilot smiles and taps on his radio for a moment, then replies “tower… this is West Mountain-057. We’re having major mechanical problems up here. Flying blind… nothing but fog up here… sorry… request direct to nearest small aircraft landing strip.” “Mountain-057…what is the nature of your problem… and point of departure.” The pilot quickly checks his computer. “Mountain-57…did you copy?”

“Tower… this is 57…uh …we took off from Moose Jaw, enroute to Clarkes Harbour. But musta overshot that …we must be way off course… our instruments are all haywire… just got radio back working again… uh… where are we.”

“57, you’re… about… 10 miles south of New York City, at about… 500 feet, heading two seven zero… state your intent or be advised we will intercept.” “Uh… tower… I can’t see a thing… sorry. We’re lost in the soup up here, got no instruments …thought that was maybe Halifax… please advise heading for nearest… low traffic landing strip… uh …you’re gonna have to talk me down pal, I got nothin working up here.”

“Uh… 57… I can set you down at… Plainfield…if you can maintain current heading… for approximately… two-zero minutes.” “Roger tower… and hey…”(he taps on the microphone a few times) “ah crap.”

“What’s up” asks Andy. “Well, I guess they’re not gonna shoot us down. I’ll try t’drop you folks in… Aldsburg, then head out… for the boondocks, I guess.”  The pilot spots a small airfield and approaches its longest runway from the wrong end, coming in over the little unlit tower and then skidding to a screeching stop at the very end of the cement. The passengers hop out and scurry into the dark wet grass as the pilot turns around and prepares to take off. He races down the runway toward the small dark tower, then up and gone, flying without lights at very low altitude. “Like back in the war” he says to himself “hope they don’t start shootin.”