Dead Love (4 page)

“Weather looks good for the trip. We’ll try to keep it smooth for you,” said Allen Delaney, the first officer, sitting to the right of the captain.

Maggie smiled. “Great, I will remind you that you said that!” She really liked them both. They were experienced, both former military pilots, and nice guys.

Boarding would begin in a few minutes, and she had nearly finished her preflight duties. Terry was working with her in first class, and Mary, Jackie, and Justin were working in business class. Terry walked up the aisle to join Maggie at the entrance of the plane. It was nearly time for boarding.

She said to Maggie, “How are you?” She thought Maggie wasn’t her usual self but wasn’t sure.

“Okay, I think. I hope I am not getting a bug,” answered Maggie.

Terry and Maggie had been friends and coworkers for many years. Terry Jamison was a senior flight attendant, as well, with just a few years less experience than Maggie. Terry was pretty, single, and knew the ropes. They felt a sisterly kinship, and Maggie enjoyed hearing about Terry’s single lifestyle. Terry knew Maggie’s family and loved her boys. They always bid the same flight and were glad to get to work together.

Terry gave Maggie a hug and said, “Let me know if you start to feel worse.”

She was a little concerned. Terry walked back to her position at mid-cabin.

Suddenly, Maggie felt nauseated, just for a moment, but then it passed. She hoped it was just the lack of breakfast, but she also felt dizzy. She tried to shake it off. She went to the galley and opened a small carton of orange juice, hoping that would help.

The gate agent, Steve, walked down the ramp to the open door where Maggie was waiting and said, “You ready, Maggie?” He noticed Maggie looked a little shaky and pale as she stood leaning against the bulkhead, drinking from the carton.

She said, “Sure, send them on.”

He stepped inside the doorway of the plane and asked with concern, “Are you sure?”

She brushed the feelings off best she could. “Yes, I’ll be fine, thanks. It must be the heat or something.” She touched her brow.

He said, “Okay, but if you want, I can call for a sub. It isn’t too late. You have a long day ahead, and it is a nearly full list.”

“Thanks, but I’ll get through. Maybe something I ate.” She smiled but inwardly had some doubts. She hoped it was nothing.

“All right, Maggie. We’re going to start boarding.”

Maggie said, “We’re ready,” throwing the carton into the trash, forcing herself into her best “meet and greet” position.

On more than one occasion, she had worked when sick. She could do it again, if necessary. Terry was great to work with and would step in if she got sick. Terry was standing near the business class entrance, ready to direct passengers to their seats and help stow carry-on luggage in the overhead compartments.

“Good morning,” said Maggie as the first two passengers came on board.

They smiled back and said, “Good morning.” It was business as usual, except for the queasiness that was becoming harder for Maggie to ignore.

.

9

J
oey came out of the storage closet with trash bags, dustpan, and broom. He grabbed a pair of rubber gloves, out of habit, and put them on. He started along the back wall, eyeing the comings and goings of the crowd, on their way to work. He was often envious, thinking they had better jobs and more exciting lives, but he tried to think positively. He recognized some of the regulars, especially the pretty girls. He saw the blonde flight attendant get on the train, and whistled under his breath. She was “hot.” He loved summer, “short skirt season,” when he could check out her sexy legs. He better put those horny thoughts away until tonight; he smiled to himself.

As Joey surveyed the area, he noticed some debris on the track and took the small concrete staircase down to pick it up. It was just some paper cups and napkins. He kept looking while down there. It was early, and there wasn’t much to pick up after a quiet Sunday night.

He climbed out of the track area and surveyed the already bustling station. He walked toward the rear of platform, noticing out of the corner of his eye, an object behind one of the support pillars, barely visible. It appeared to be a canister, like the kind that cleaning sprays come in, only taller and narrower. It was dark gray with no markings and no lid. He leaned over to pick it up and noticed it had some moisture on it. It was probably nothing. He threw it into the garbage bag and headed for the storage closet to return his supplies and put the trash bag in the large trash can, along with his rubber gloves. Glad that’s done. He would have to clean again before he left his post, but no big deal. Joey’s main job was to monitor the passengers as subway trains came and went. He had a radio in case of emergencies. The police were always nearby, and he could check in with Marty, if necessary.

Joey’s thoughts wandered back to the dark gray canister. Something about it bothered him. It was the norm to find all kinds of junk, trash, personal objects, like combs, cigarette lighters, watches, and all kinds of weird stuff, but ever since the 9/11 terrorist attack, he had become wary of anything out of the ordinary. Just for the hell of it, he stepped into a more quiet area of the station and radioed Marty.

Marty instantly answered, “What’s up, Joey?”

“Probably nothing, but I found an odd looking canister, no lid, no label, with some moisture on the outside of it, and I disposed of it in the trash. Thought I better report it.”

“Did it smell like anything, window cleaner or something?” asked Marty.

Joey said, “No, I didn’t smell it. It just seemed odd to me— that’s all. Plus the fact that it was sitting in a dark corner, behind a support beam.”

Marty said, “I’ll key it in as a “suspicious object report.” Maybe keep track of the bag it’s in so it doesn’t get away from us, just in case, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, CYA time,” said Joey.

Joey knew Marty took him seriously, and neither one let anything slip by them, just in case. They had to be extra cautious with any small thing, which normally turned out to be nothing. But who could be sure? Anyway, Joey signed off with Marty. He kept thinking of the canister, though, and hoped it was nothing. He was glad he remembered to wear the rubber gloves.

It was about 8:30 a.m., that hot June Monday morning, when Marty looked up and saw two uniformed NYPD cops walk into the office.

.

10

G
eorgiana grabbed the phone. Her voice never wavered as she gave instructions to the field office on-call team to check out the public phone from which the “terrorist’s” call had been placed and to notify the New York City Metropolitan Transit Authority and the chief of police. George, having gotten the ball rolling, called Manhattan FBI Field Office Director, Fran Jacobs, filling her in on the few details she knew. George had met Director Jacobs at the FBI Academy. Fran had been one of her instructors and they had become friends. Fran had confidence in George’s capabilities to take the lead on this one.

Her next call was to the Department of Homeland Security, asking to speak to the regional director, Tom Bennett. Mark was listening, taking notes, as Georgiana introduced herself, and began informing Director Bennett of the possible threat to the NYC subway system. He asked George to mobilize the FBI Counterterrorism Task Force as a precaution, and he would alert the Mayor, as well as the New York State National Guard. She told Bennett that the NYPD was currently on scene, and they would be first responders. Her agents, part of the Task Force, would get there soon and do a thorough investigation. There would be no “turf war” only teamwork, especially in the aftermath of 9/11.

Director Bennett said, “Please keep me informed of any potential threat.”

As she hung up, she said to Mark, “Grab some coffee. It may take a while for things to start happening, if this isn’t a hoax. Let’s hope it is.” George made the necessary phone calls as Bennett had directed, and now it was a tension-filled “waiting game.”

Mark, dressed in khakis and a light blue dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, solid navy tie with miniature white polka dots, Glock in his shoulder holster, headed to the half-filled coffee pot. The coffee smelled fresh enough, so he grabbed a clean mug and poured himself a cup. Then he sat down in the worn but comfortable chair across from George. He threw his navy sport coat over the arm of the other chair. He was outwardly relaxed and composed, but she knew his mind was going through multiple scenarios, as was hers. Their eyes met, but neither spoke.

Mark noted the time. It was 8:20 a.m. He watched George walk to the window and knew what she was thinking. His vivid memories of 9/11 wouldn’t go away either. He and his NYPD partner had been among the first responders. They had entered the North Tower and Jimmy had followed Mark up the stairs. The heat and flames were un-fucking-believable. Mark lost count of how many he carried out. Overtaken by smoke and fumes, he had to be treated for smoke inhalation and exhaustion. He never saw Jimmy again. He vowed that day to be at the front end of the problem, never again the back end, making certain there would never be another 9/11.

Mark loved watching Georgiana, her sensual curves visible through the pale silk blouse, softly patterned, golden tones over beige, which matched the dark brown fitted slacks, with the faintest trace of her bikini panty lines showing. The colors were the perfect complement to her long red hair. The flowing fabric hugged her sexy figure, adding to the attraction. Her beige low heels were classic and practical. He knew she had a small pistol strapped to her ankle, and the Glock was in a paddle holster on her hip. The PPK in her purse was a backup. Sweet, he thought. He would tell her soon how he felt, but not now.

Fifteen minutes later, they got the report. No evidence was found on the phone booth, but two police officers were at the scene where the “suspicious object” had been discovered. It was placed in a sealed evidence bag. The Metropolitan Transit Authority had shut down the subway system temporarily, as a precaution. The police officers were questioning the station manager and the subway inspector. The maintenance worker had noticed the odd canister and instinctively knew to set it aside, “in case.” He appeared nervous but not suspiciously so. Joey Caruso had been ruled out as a suspect after a quick background check. They worked fast.

George made the necessary calls, grabbed her purse and brown suit jacket from the back of the door, and said, “Let’s go. We can take your car.”

Mark drove a black Mustang GT, perfect fit for him. He grabbed his jacket, following her out the door, both hoping for a boring and uninteresting day.

.

11

A
fter reaching cruising altitude, Maggie and Terry began the brunch service. They heard the familiar double chime that meant the flight crew wanted to speak to a cabin attendant.

Maggie picked up the intercom, and Captain Wesley said, “Maggie, please come to the cockpit.”

“Yes, John, I’ll be right there.”

This must be important, thought Maggie. Her head was still throbbing, and the nausea and dizziness were getting harder to ignore. The ibuprofen she had taken had not helped. She walked back to the beverage cart where Terry was busy with the morning beverage service of Mimosas, champagne cocktails, Bloody Marys, orange juice, and coffee.

“I need to speak to the crew. I’ll be right back,” she whispered to Terry. They exchanged questioning glances since this was a rare occurrence.

“Sure, Maggie.”

The ride had been smooth, with no storms or turbulence. “Oh well,” thought Terry, “It’s probably nothing.” She resumed serving, handing a flute of sparkling champagne to a passenger.

Maggie, on the other hand, wasn’t sure. She went to the cockpit door and knocked twice—the code well known to the crew— and the door opened.

Maggie stepped into the cockpit, closed the door, and leaned forward, saying, “What’s going on?”

Captain Wesley said, “We just received a report that all the New York City subways are temporarily shut down due to a terrorist threat.”

“Oh my gosh!” exclaimed Maggie. “Is this for real?”

She was glad Mike didn’t have to use the subway to get the boys to school, but her mind raced through other possibilities that were chilling.

“The Mayor said this was just a precaution, but he had to take it seriously, in case it turns out to be legitimate. You know how it is.”

John tried to be reassuring when he realized she was alarmed. “There are lots of kooks that get their jollies scaring people. I just thought you should know. If a passenger picks up something off their Wi-Fi connection, we need to have a ready response. We haven’t gotten word yet from the powers that be whether to announce or not. I wanted you and the crew to be on top of this. Just answer, if questioned, that it is a probable hoax, that we know nothing official, which is true, and that we will report any further information when it becomes available.”

“That sounds plausible, John. I hope you are right.” Maggie continued, “I was on the subway this morning. Glad I made it before it was shut down.” She had pulled down the jump seat as they were talking and began rubbing her temples with her eyes closed.

“Are you feeling well?” asked Allen. “You look a little pale.”

She responded, “I am not sure. I feel a little dizzy and queasy. I may be getting a flu bug or something. It started suddenly. I was fine until we started boarding. I thought it would go away.”

Allen said, “Are you sure you can work? You can just sit it out if necessary.”

“Thanks, Allen, but I am going to try to get through this. We are pretty busy, but we have a few empty seats if I get worse.”

As she spoke the words, she really wasn’t sure. She had never felt quite like this before.

“You let us know,” said Captain Wesley, “and we will do whatever we can to help you.”

He didn’t like the way she was looking. It was obvious she was not well. Her color was off, and she looked shaky.

“You can curl up in a blanket in the back row and rest,” John suggested.