problems with the engines. The replacement part didn’t fit right, so we’re having another flown in from Atlanta . . . Meanwhile, please relax and I’ve instructed the crew to serve soft drinks and complimentary cocktails . . .”
Two hours later.
Serge’s hand continuously pressed the flight-attendant call button.
The woman returned. “How may I help you?”
“I have to get off the plane.”
“Sir, nobody is allowed off the plane. We’ve already pulled away from the gate. Regulations.”
“But you don’t understand . . .”
A gentle smile. “It’ll just be a little bit longer.”
More tapping on the call button. A different arm.
The flight attendant looked at the businessman in the middle seat. “I want to sit somewhere else.”
“As I informed you earlier, the flight is full.”
Serge repeatedly tapped the button.
The attendant maintained poise. “Yes?”
“I can’t go into all the details,” said Serge. “But you really want me off this plane.”
The businessman nodded hard in agreement.
“I’m sorry,” said the attendant. “But they’re just about—”
“This is your captain again. The part from Atlanta fits, and we should be in the air in no time.”
“See?” the attendant said cheerfully. “I told you it wouldn’t be much longer.”
“I still want to get off,” said Serge. “Can’t you just let one person go?”
“The rules are very strict,” she said evenly. “After the doors are closed and cross-checked, absolutely nobody is permitted off the plane.”
At the front of the jet, two men in uniforms stepped out of the cockpit. The main cabin door opened. Sunlight streamed in. The men left. The door closed.
Serge looked up at the attendant. “What the hell just happened?”
“The pilots got off the plane.”
“Why?”
“They reached their FAA limits of how long they can work in a twenty-four-hour period. We’re flying a new crew in from Cleveland.”
“How long is that going to take?”
“Hard to tell because they’re de-icing in a blizzard.”
Serge rocked manically in his seat. “You don’t understand. I really need to get off this plane.”
The businessman leaned forward. “Please let him off the plane.”
“I already told you that’s forbidden. No exceptions whatsoever.”
The attendant began walking away.
“Wait!” Serge called after her. “I’m not finished. I need to—”
“I’m sorry,” said the attendant. “I can’t talk to you anymore. I’ve also reached my twenty-four-hour limit.”
She got off the plane.
Chapter Four
South of Miami
Squawking green parrots in flight.
Other bright feathers.
Thousands. Macaws, cockatoos. Ninety-eight percent humidity. A higher number on the mercury.
The Metrozoo was known for its birds. Plus 1,200 other critters covering 740 acres on the distant underside of Miami, near the end of the turnpike. Hurricane Andrew was a jailbreak, tying up traffic with flamingos and zebras and the so-called AIDS monkeys. It was the oldest such attraction in Florida and the only subtropical zoo in the country.
Three animals started it in 1948.
Just past the zoo’s entrance: an unassuming road with guard gates at intended intervals. The pavement leads through brush, past something called the University of Miami Institute for Human Genomics, before finally reaching what is now the Richmond Naval Air Station.
A smattering of widely separated buildings designate the secure area, some distinctly old by Florida standards. One of the earlier wooden structures was quite the scene from 1961 until it closed seven years later, although there was little fanfare.
Building 25.
Headquarters of Operation Mongoose, otherwise known as the CIA’s campaign to overthrow Fidel Castro.
Sitting quiet for decades.
Until now.
“Let’s take it round the horn,” said field-station chief Gil Oxnart, striding hard into the room without waiting for the screen door behind him to bang shut. “Dazzle me.”
The
Two hours later.
Serge’s hand continuously pressed the flight-attendant call button.
The woman returned. “How may I help you?”
“I have to get off the plane.”
“Sir, nobody is allowed off the plane. We’ve already pulled away from the gate. Regulations.”
“But you don’t understand . . .”
A gentle smile. “It’ll just be a little bit longer.”
More tapping on the call button. A different arm.
The flight attendant looked at the businessman in the middle seat. “I want to sit somewhere else.”
“As I informed you earlier, the flight is full.”
Serge repeatedly tapped the button.
The attendant maintained poise. “Yes?”
“I can’t go into all the details,” said Serge. “But you really want me off this plane.”
The businessman nodded hard in agreement.
“I’m sorry,” said the attendant. “But they’re just about—”
“This is your captain again. The part from Atlanta fits, and we should be in the air in no time.”
“See?” the attendant said cheerfully. “I told you it wouldn’t be much longer.”
“I still want to get off,” said Serge. “Can’t you just let one person go?”
“The rules are very strict,” she said evenly. “After the doors are closed and cross-checked, absolutely nobody is permitted off the plane.”
At the front of the jet, two men in uniforms stepped out of the cockpit. The main cabin door opened. Sunlight streamed in. The men left. The door closed.
Serge looked up at the attendant. “What the hell just happened?”
“The pilots got off the plane.”
“Why?”
“They reached their FAA limits of how long they can work in a twenty-four-hour period. We’re flying a new crew in from Cleveland.”
“How long is that going to take?”
“Hard to tell because they’re de-icing in a blizzard.”
Serge rocked manically in his seat. “You don’t understand. I really need to get off this plane.”
The businessman leaned forward. “Please let him off the plane.”
“I already told you that’s forbidden. No exceptions whatsoever.”
The attendant began walking away.
“Wait!” Serge called after her. “I’m not finished. I need to—”
“I’m sorry,” said the attendant. “I can’t talk to you anymore. I’ve also reached my twenty-four-hour limit.”
She got off the plane.
Chapter Four
South of Miami
Squawking green parrots in flight.
Other bright feathers.
Thousands. Macaws, cockatoos. Ninety-eight percent humidity. A higher number on the mercury.
The Metrozoo was known for its birds. Plus 1,200 other critters covering 740 acres on the distant underside of Miami, near the end of the turnpike. Hurricane Andrew was a jailbreak, tying up traffic with flamingos and zebras and the so-called AIDS monkeys. It was the oldest such attraction in Florida and the only subtropical zoo in the country.
Three animals started it in 1948.
Just past the zoo’s entrance: an unassuming road with guard gates at intended intervals. The pavement leads through brush, past something called the University of Miami Institute for Human Genomics, before finally reaching what is now the Richmond Naval Air Station.
A smattering of widely separated buildings designate the secure area, some distinctly old by Florida standards. One of the earlier wooden structures was quite the scene from 1961 until it closed seven years later, although there was little fanfare.
Building 25.
Headquarters of Operation Mongoose, otherwise known as the CIA’s campaign to overthrow Fidel Castro.
Sitting quiet for decades.
Until now.
“Let’s take it round the horn,” said field-station chief Gil Oxnart, striding hard into the room without waiting for the screen door behind him to bang shut. “Dazzle me.”
The
Similar Books
