Thin Blood Thick Water (Clueless Resolutions Book 2) (9 page)

Bright and early Sunday morning Max prepared scrambled eggs and bacon for their breakfasts while Maggie got dressed. They gulped down coffees, and Maggie washed the dishes while Max loaded her car for the ride to Tweed airport in New Haven. They arrived there at 7:30 AM.  Having filed the flight plan to Ithaca, and topped-off the fuel tanks of the Cessna, they completed a pre-flight check.  By 8:40 they were airborne and heading northwest at 4500 ft. altitude.

The weather was clear and calm, which brought out a heavy volume of flyers making flights out of Tweed and other Connecticut airfields on this day. The air traffic was at the most dense level in which Max had flown during his short piloting career.

“There is plenty of sky to go around,” Max commented to Maggie. “The air traffic controllers have their radar screens full today, for sure!”

“As long as they keep us all apart and we don’t get sucked in by some jumbo jet, I’m happy,” she quipped in response.

Within 45 minutes they were nearing Ithaca and Max lowered their plane to 2500 ft. to set up their approach to the USAP Lakeside air strip. With a crisp hillside breeze blowing directly across the single runway on their final approach, the landing was a little rough and jerky. The light, high-winged airplane bounced twice before finally settling down. During the taxi to the hangar, Maggie glanced at Max and noticed a bead of sweat on his upper lip.

“Well, that was fun!” she said with feigned nonchalance. In reality it had made her a little nervous. Knowing Maggie well enough to sense her mild anxiety, Max looked at her with a calm smile.

“Oh, well you’re just used to flying with expert pilots. You realize that I’m still a green fledgling don’t you?’ he responded good-naturedly, as he taxied the Cessna to the parking area.

“I was fine until I noticed the sweat,” she said, running her finger under her nose.

“Damn! That’s a dead giveaway,” was Max’s faked, indignant reply. “I’m just going to grow one of those neat mustaches that veteran pilots have. They disguise their stress that way and nobody knows the difference.” The small-talk ended as they pulled up to the hangar door.

Gathered in the service area were Brad, Lamar Brooks and Mario Ianozzi. Greetings were exchanged all around and Max introduced Maggie to Lamar, a USAP Partner whom she hadn’t met.  As the group swapped small talk Chip walked over from the elevator carrying his overnight bag and his attaché case.

“It appears that the gangs all here,” Chip said. “Just in time because the shuttle car just arrived. I told the front desk to send it around back, so let’s step outside and greet it.”

Lamar suggested that they might want to take side-arms along, ‘just in case’.  Chip negated that idea on the basis that they’d have trouble getting firearms through customs at the Canadian airport.

A black executive shuttle vehicle with dark tinted windows came around to the hangar door just as the ‘transport-tees’ filed outside. On the way to the general airport Chip explained that Danyel Uhlman was supposed to meet them at the airport customs office. It was not definite, however, since she had informed Chip that a ‘snag’ had arisen with her current assignment and if it persisted she would have to take a pass on the Nova Scotia trip. Chip seemed concerned about that development. Within twenty minutes they arrived at the Ithaca Tomkins International Airport private aviation depot. As a courtesy, a customs officer had been transported from the main terminal and within 7-8 minutes the passengers were cleared to board their departing flight.

The Partnership’s Lear 45 had been fueled and started earlier. It sat idling on the tarmac, wheel chocks in place. The concierge service loaded the luggage as the pilot, Chip, and his co-pilot, Max, checked the exterior surfaces and gear during their pre-flight.

At this point the four passengers (Danyel had not shown up) climbed into the luxuriously-finished cabin with their carry-ons and buckled into their sumptuous Corinthian-leather seats. The four-seat arrangement was two front-facing seats opposite two rear-facing seats separated by the service isle. Each pair of facing seats had a cocktail-type table between. To the rear there was a partitioned flight attendant’s station with a fold-down jump seat. The station contained a stocked mini-cocktail bar, a mini-refrigerator, a microwave oven, and a compact restroom. On this flight there was no attendant. Self-service was recommended.

Chip and Max settled themselves into the cockpit and Max proceeded to set the parameters for their flight on the auto-pilot system while Chip radioed control for permission to take-off. Permission to taxi was given with notice to hold at runway 32 and Chip waved to the ground attendant to pull the wheel chocks. From inside the plane the muffled roar emitting from the two aft-mounted jet engines could be heard, and felt, as the Lear 45 began to move to the taxiway.

After holding for six minutes to wait for an incoming flight to land, the ‘cleared for take-off’ direction came from the control tower. The executive jet accelerated down the runway at full throttle and, at an indicated air speed of 91 knots, the Nova Scotia-bound USAP group of specialists lifted off the runway and climbed into the bright blue New York sky.

Maggie had flown commercially several times but she had never flown in a private executive jet. So far she was very impressed with the fast check-in, customs check, boarding and take-off provided by the concierge service. Of course, she imagined that the cost of maintaining a private maintenance/service contract for the Jet, in addition to the purchase price, was beyond most organizations, not to mention all but a few individuals. “
You get what you can pay for
,” she rationalized silently.

Around fifteen minutes into the flight, Max came back from the cockpit to pass along Chip’s recommendation to the ‘passengers’ that, since there was no flight attendant aboard, they should help themselves to the stock of snacks and beverages in the rear section of the airplane.

“That sounds like a capital idea,” Mario exclaimed, clasping his hands in front of him enthusiastically, does anybody else want refreshments?” Looks of indecision dominated the glances from the other three passengers. “Well okay, I’m in,” continued Mario as he got out of his seat.

“I’ll have a bag of pretzels and a coke,” ordered Lamar. “Bring me a beer,” Brad said.

“Oh, just great,” Mario answered with faked annoyance. “Okay, so everybody clams up just to get me to be the waiter!”

Maggie, sensing that the timing was right for her to gain some camaraderie with Max’s fellow Partners, raised her hands signaling Mario to stop. “Sit back down Mario, I fit the stewardess role better than you,” she told him with a motherly tone. Turning to Max as she stood up, she asked, “Do you and Chip want anything?”

“If you make two iced coffees, I’ll wait and take it up front.” he answered.

“I’ll serve, you go fly the plane,” she directed, walking toward the service section.

As Maggie moved toward the rear service section the men gave her a round of applause and some big foolish grins. Blushing slightly, Maggie gave them a backward glance and smiled. “What a bunch of clowns!” she retorted, as laughter resounded through the cabin. Half turning and shouting back from the pilot’s seat, Chip asked, “Is everything okay back there?”

“Everything’s under control, captain,” Max reported as he started toward the cockpit. “The iced coffee order is in.”

The mood among the crew seemed relaxed but Max sensed that the journey had some form of importance beyond the obvious.  All he could do was stick to the main objective of researching the Bickford Lab acquisition and stay aware of whatever was taking place around he and Maggie until they were back to their ‘home ground’.

After taking the requests for refreshments and delivering the orders in the passenger cabin, Maggie made the iced coffees requested by Max and Chip. She delivered the order to the cockpit and received overly-gratuitous thanks for her service.

“You can look forward to a real generous tip because of this,” Chip remarked, with a wink to Maggie. Chip was obviously a seasoned pilot with close past relationships with stewardesses assigned to work under his command as flight captain.  Maggie detected the double entendre-sounding quip in his comment, and was about to release one of her best put-down remarks when she glanced at Max in the co-pilot seat. She could see that he was furious! She put her hand on Max’s shoulder and calmly responded to the Senior Partner’s comment.

“Thanks for the offer Mr. Chaplain, but if I was working for tips I sure wouldn’t be on this flight,” she responded, looking directly at Chip. She did not try to disguise her distaste at the callous, innuendo-laden comment. Chip was aware of the relationship between her and Max and he knew that Maggie knew he knew.  Whether intentional or not, it was an affront to Max who was seated 20 inches to his right.  Max patted her hand on his shoulder with an understanding glance which silently signaled, “Way-to-go, babe! I’ll deal with him later.” With a faint smile and a nod to Max, Maggie turned back to the cabin area and re-seated herself.

At 10:31 AM, Eastern Standard Time, the Canadian coastal radar flight monitor contacted the Ithaca - Halifax flight. Chip responded and requested clearance for a full-stop landing.  Clearance was given along with the radio frequency and instructions to contact CYHZ tower at Halifax International when reaching the outer markers at the 2 mile radius.

Eight minutes later Chip contacted Halifax International Flight Control requesting permission to land. Permission was given to enter the left-traffic landing pattern for a landing on runway 24.  Max, sticking to the co-piloting business at hand, listened for Chip’s command for assistance during the landing process. He would be activating, and then deactivating, the air brakes as needed, and then the flaps, landing gear controls and the reverse thrusters if needed.  The landing went smoothly and the USAP Lear 45 touched down in Nova Scotia on schedule.

After turning off the runway at the last taxiway ramp Chip looked at Max and gave a thumbs- up sign. “Well done, Co-captain,” he said.

“That was a great ride. Thanks for the flight time,” Max responded in a flat, obligatory manner. “Maybe we can switch seats on the return trip. What do you think?”

“We’ll see,” was Chip’s nearly-dismissive response. He switched to the ground control frequency for taxi instructions to the customs gate. Beyond that no conversing followed except that which was required during the shut-down checklist.

The party went through the customs check and gathered just beyond in the hallway to the main terminal. Chip reviewed the itinerary which included his and Brad’s departure for Montreal after refueling the Lear 45. A service car had been summoned to transport the remaining four in the USAP group to an in-town hotel close to the Bickford Laboratory. It would involve a twenty minute ride to the city of Halifax, some 20 miles south of the airport. The plan was to rendezvous back at the airport, outside the customs area, on Thursday morning at 9:00 AM, for the return flight to Ithaca.

Chip and Brad headed toward the airport arrival/departure restaurant as the research crew of four retrieved their luggage from customs and walked to the terminal exit where the service car sat idling at curbside with its semi-alert driver behind the wheel.  After Lamar tapped in the driver side window to get the driver’s attention, the luggage was packed into the large trunk of the Lincoln semi-limo, the USAP group was seated, and the ride to Halifax began.

The harrowing drive on the narrow, twisting Route 102 South was an interesting event and little conversation occurred among the passengers. The driver, by appearance, was a Native North American descendant. He had done a double-take glance at Lamar Brooks tapping on his window at the airport and seemed to regard the group of passengers as some sort of VIPs. Lamar, part African American, also had Canadian Native American heritage in his paternal lineage. He was made aware of it as a result of his US Navy security clearance background check when he volunteered for training as a U.S. Navy SEAL. They shared words in a dialect unfamiliar to the other three USAP travelers.

During the latter part of the ride through downtown Halifax, Lamar explained how he remembered back to his boyhood days in his Harlem neighborhood of New York City, and some language spoken during the periodic visits by his father’s Native-Canadian parents. The Canadians came and went by train and/or bus. They were dark-complexioned but, like Lamar’s father, in a different way than his African-American mother.

Lamar didn’t come to know the Canadian grandparents very well. They visited several times up until Lamar’s father and mother separated. His father left their home, never to return and, not unexpectedly, it was likewise with his Canadian grandparents.

During the Canadian’s visits, Lamar’s father talked with them in a language Lamar and his mother didn’t comprehend, and it presented a conflicting sentiment to him as a young boy. He was, however, ultra-curious. He watched, and listened in on, the conversations as often as possible and tried to connect the words with facial expressions, hand motions, emphases and anything else that depicted a mindset or an emotion. This resulted in his ability to grasp a fair amount of the content of the conversation.

What Lamar didn’t know was exactly where his paternal grandparents lived. They referred to it in generic terms like ‘the homelands’, or ‘the east, where the sun comes up’, usually accompanied by a gesture in that direction.  Lamar’s father never discussed the location of his homeland with the five children in his family, two of whom, including Lamar, were his, and three others from a different father.