“Shit. SHIT. SHIT! I must stop doing this stuff…”
Jennie awoke, unable to open her eyes because they were glued shut with that yellow gunk from sleep; her mouth dry, sticky, and full of brown crusted slobber. God, how she hated mornings. And to think that last night when she went to bed she had been happy, beautiful, and absolutely full of life – not to mention full of that kid whose name she couldn’t remember – the one from the pub around the corner. Apparently he had woken up before she and gotten a good look at her now, because he, his clothes, and her money were gone.
“Shit” she thought as she kicked what remained of the covers off her long legs and rolled over to the edge of the bed. “Shit. Shit. Shit! I must stop doing this stuff… getting too old for playing with these young kids like this.”
Getting out of bed, her long legs strolled over to the window, slender arms threw back the drapes to reveal a day just beginning, a low bank of clouds hung on the horizon, yet a huge red sun peeking it's top over the edge of the world, wondering if it’s okay to come out and play. It is, thought Jennie, just let me watch as you do.
She tossed the drape over an arm of the nearby chair so the view would remain open to the new day. Turning, she felt to see if she was wearing any clothing. She was. A top. Off it came and fell in heap in the floor. Nothing else seemed to be restricting her.
In the bathroom, she squatted over the bowl as she did her business. “Never sit on the actual bowl, dear,” her mother had told her, “you never know who has been there before you and what you might catch.” Jennie laughed a bit at the thought and the fact that she was still adhering to her mother's teachings. “Oh, momma, how can I be sooo concerned about where I sit my privates when just last night I didn’t care a twit about what I put in them.” She giggled at the memory of last night. Boy, was he surprised!
She started the shower, setting the water temperature just past the point where it was comfortable. She stepped in and under the spray. Her face first, must wash those eyes. Next her neck and chest, lingering a little as she moved down, checking, squeezing, probing – reaching her feet, which she cleaned thoroughly. Another trip back up, and finally, her hair, which she shampooed twice and then dabbed with a bit of conditioner. She stood, soaking the water up waiting for the conditioner to act and then rinsed it too, off.
She stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself as her feet touched the old well-worn wooden floor. She sighed softly, knowing that now was a good a time as any. She was getting old, she thought. Really old. She sometimes couldn’t remember who she was in the morning. Oh, she knew her name and all that, but she was finding it harder to remember what she looked like. She knew today she was a she, and a brown one at that. Ah, she so enjoyed these days. They were full of sun, warmth, men, boys, and, yes, sometimes girls when the mood struck her just right.
Going over to the sink, she looked down at the worn bronze handles of the water taps, turning the one labeled Hot all the way on. She stood, eyes closed, letting the steam rise around her face, breathing deep the misty warm vapors as they swirled around her head and condensed on the mirror in front of her. She slowly raised her gaze from the sink to the mirror, starting from the bottom and going up until she was eye to eye with the image inside.
She couldn’t tell what it was starring back at her, the mirror was so fogged. Laughing a little giggle, she made a small ballerina twirl out and away from the mirror. “Great,” she thought, “now I’ll never know what or who I was last night. But it must have been fun. So I think I’ll leave it at that.”
Fifteen minutes later, an old, wrinkled washer-woman left the flat she had rented in Flitwick. No one paid her much attention - after all, she had been seen there for nearly three months now and the good people in those parts kept their noses to themselves. She was seen by a ten-year-old boy who just frowned and stuck out his tongue when he saw her and then continued on his way. She stepped off the curb onto Steppingly Road and was promptly ran over by a lorry hauling cabbages to the Docks in London's south-side.
The post-mortem exam was most distressing as the cause of death was obvious - the lorry - but the pathologist from nearby Leighton Keynes could not find a single injury on the body. In fact, the body itself was a strange thing, almost totally devoid of color, unless one thought of cold, damp, used gray clay as a color. He thought perhaps an autopsy might be a bit more revealing, but needed a signature from one of the victim's relatives. No relatives came to mourn over the body, in fact, they couldn't seem to idetify her at all. No one in the area had paid much attention to a haggled old woman - there were too many of them.
After waiting seven days without any response, the pathologist, Doctor Milford H. Mumsly, finally signed the Death Certificate as accidental death without performing an autopsy and the body was sent to the undertaker for disposal at county expense. The good undertaker, in keeping with his boss's edict of fiscal restraint, placed the old lady into the bottom of a coffin, tossed a sheet over her, and put the old drunk found over at Steppingly, obviously a longtime patron of the French Horn public house, on top. Together, they were sent to be buried in one of the corners of the local cemetery in an unmarked plot.
The old grave digger felt compassion for this poor, unknown soul, so he gathered up one of those old single placards they used during the war from the back of the shed and scrawled his late dogs name on it. With loving hands he placed the placard on the grave site. "There," he thought, "now ye gotta name to be proud of. Aye… ye was a great friend, and I miss ya terrible." The old man would return to the site every so often. It was he that kept the grass mowed and the weeds pulled. On Veterans Day he put a single solitary rose in the little cup and place it beside the placard. When asked by the others what he was doing, he'd simply tell them he was taking care of his private and they'd nod and leave him alone. When he died, the others went out to see what had kept the old man so happy. They found the placard, so worn and faded from weather and rubbing that they could barely make out the name.
Remembering what the old man had said - and out of respect for his caring of the grave, they banded together and found a small stone they could afford. Apparently the placard had been too small to hold all the deceased's information, so they made sure this one would have space for Private, or at least "Pvt.". They also put a small message to their friend - "In memory of Digger." on it. And so, Pvt. Digger Benjimen was born in death.
********************************************************
The fact that she never returned to the flat went unnoticed as well. A substantial sum of money had been deposited in the bank to pay the rent 'in perpetuity' and was drawing interest - thus the landlord had received an automatic deposit into his account for the rent. The landlord, for his part, forgot to report this income to the tax authorities and eventually forgot about the flat at all. When he died, his heirs closed all accounts he had, including his deposit account, not realizing he owned the flat. The bank, with no one to claim the residual or the interest, advertised the account as required by law, then, after paying the long term taxes, turned the account over to the her majesty's government. And so it was that the small flat became, literally, lost.
"Oh, shag you, you old ass bag!" Norman yelled as he turned and stomped toward the door of the raggedy-assed flat he lived in with his mum, dad, and two sisters.
"Ye get back 'ere this 'nstant! Ya 'ear me! Git back in this 'ouse now - doncha be goin’ out that there door, now me lad! Iffin ya go out that door ..."
'What? Iffin I go out the door what? Whatcha gonna do, take another drink and hit me over the head with the bottle? Well… I've had enough of those little tricks, thank you very much. Next time I catch ya liftin' as much a finger t' me or the girls, I'll break your damned neck, old man."
"Now, Norman. Don't speak to your father like that. He don't mean nothing, and you know how he is when he's drinkin."
"He don't mean nothing cause he ain't nothin’. HEY! OLD MAN! You ain't nothin’, are ya? YA HEAR ME! Huh… just a big pile of …"
"NORMAN! THAT'S ENOUGH. You want to go out then go on! Get the hell out of here. Go on - get with them 'friends' o' yourn. Those good-for-nothin’s that stole ole Mrs. Wiggins grocery money and then pushed 'er cart right into the river. Yeah, go on, boy. Go play with those punk-o pals."
"Maw - why do you protect him! Ya knows what he does… to you … the girls. I promised that when I got old and big enough, I'd be the last thing he'd ever see…"
"Shush, that talk, boy. He ain't doing well now today. Git on out of here now. Do as I say! Git. Maybe you can stay the night with one of those friends o'yours, too…"
He felt himself being shoved forward through the open door.
The cold wind bit into Norman as he stumbled into the hallway. The ten year old that had seen the old lady leaving the flat eventually became twelve, then fourteen - all the while fighting with his mum and pop over his friends, money, and school.
Norman slammed his fist against the soot-covered brickwork of the old house. One day, he thought … one of these days I’m really gonna smack that sot. Ignoring the pain, he turned south down the hall and through the broken lift door. He liked the back steps because nobody used them anymore – they were too dark and scary. He bounded down two steps from the second floor when suddenly he stopped. He backed up the two steps and looked up at the landing to the flat above. He remembered that old lady and suddenly realized that he hadn't seen her in a while - not that he'd been exactly looking, mind you. But now that he thought about it, it has been awfully quiet upstairs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the old washer-woman. There used to be a time when he’d not only see the old woman on the stoop, but also others – young girls ‘n boys, different ages and nationalities. They didn’t see him, he’d been too invisible for that—just a young little snot that no one paid much attention to.. Now he realized that he hadn’t seen anyone or heard a thing for a long time.
He turned and took the step up to the quietness. He half expected to hear someone yell out “Hey, What the ‘ell you doing up there!” but he heard nothing except the creak of the wooden step that hadn’t had weight on it for a long time. He took his time going up the steps, checking each one as he put weight on it, mentally taking notes as to which steps needed fixing or which ones to avoid all together. At the top he stopped and listened, tasting the dust and stillness of the air. No one here. Not for a long time. He went to the door of the loft and gave the knob a tentative twist. Locked. He looked around at the dark, dank landing. Nothing here to give a clue as to where a key might be hiding. Norman might be a punk that could strong-arm some rich-bitch for grocery money, but he’d never been a burglar nor would he be. But he did pop the lock on the door and enter the darkness.
The flat appeared to be empty. The portico was filthy with dust layered an inch deep over the carpet, floor, and everything else. He moved into the small living area and glanced around. The curtain was pulled back and draped over the arm of a chair, exposing a window so covered with dirt he couldn’t see through it. Otherwise the place appeared as neat as a pin, albeit as covered with as much dust as the entrance. The day bed had been made and set up into the wall with care. The bath was equally as neat. Too neat he thought … where’s all the little things an old woman kept? His Ma must have a hundred damned little bottles of stuff sitting around. Nothing in here, not even in the medicine cabinet. The kitchen was a marvel. The flat was like a place out of time – the old washer-woman, the young girls and boys – not a trace. Nothing at all was in the flat, except for what appeared to be a brown clump lying behind the door. He found it when he shut the door, thinking he had heard someone on the steps. Apparently no one had been up those steps for a long time. How in the ‘ell did we miss this? Norman thought.
“Not bad, Normy, old chap,” his inner voice said. “Just keep your big mouth shut and it can be yours.” He picked up the brown clump using his two index fingers. It appeared to be a dress or something. It was made from some silky smooth material that Norman had never seen before. Not knowing why, he searched around until he found a single hanger in a closet. He hung up the item and thought leotards as they slowly unfolded and unwrinkled. He shut the closet with a reverence he really didn’t feel and never opened the closet again.
Norman spent his first night alone in the flat, sleeping in the dusty green chair. The sun came up the next morning, it’s rays cutting through the dirty window and into his eyes. He opened one, shut it quickly, then slowly opened the other. I need to clean that window, he thought, so that I can see the sun when it comes in. “Yeah, right Normy,” his inner voice said. “‘Ell man, you never wake up before one, what the ‘ell make ye think ye care ‘bout see the damn sun start? Get off it, bud, and forget that shit.”
But Norman did clean the window, along with the rest of the flat. He did it quietly and in the dark so that no one would know he was there. And he replaced the lock on the door with one a hell of a lot stronger.
********************************************************
Johnathan Moule picked up the small cube of sugar with the delicacy of a surgeon slicing the jello mold at the hospital picnic. It was done with flair and and a sense of the dramatic. He flipped the little cube behind his back and over his right sholder. He had already picked up another and had it following the first when he very slowly tracked and then captured the first one with the tiny silver fingers of the serving clamp. She didn’t see him catch the second one, but she knew he had. Both went into the tea. “Was that one lump - or two, did you say?” he asked, eyes shining like moonlight as he looked at her trying to see into her soul.
“Three.”
“Ahhh..” Snip. Flick. Another heading toward his sholder. It would never make it. For an instant a puzzled expression, then calm. “Well then. How about I provide two... and you provide the one in your hand?”
“Perhaps I already... ate it.”
“Hummm... pehaps you have. Tell me, Mrs....”
She ignored the question.
“... why did you come to me? What exactly can I do for you?”
“I know who you are. I know what you are. I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t care. I’m looking for someone - and you can help me find them. Discreetly. Quietly. Quickly.”
He looked at her steadily. “Exactly what do you think you know? I have a small joint here, only one employee - me. I keep busy doing good deeds for people I like - and you sister - I don’t like. Sometimes I get paid for jobs. It keeps me in broads and booze. Right now I have more than I can handle of both. Sorry, kid, find another flatfoot and bat those peepers at him.”
“Oh...great story - right out of a Phillip Marlowe isn’t it? That is who you’re pretending to be this time around isn’t it? The name - Johnathan Moule - French origins if I’m not mistaken. Speach patterns, office decor - right out of a Raymond Chandler novel.
Look, you want to be Philip Marlow, go right ahead. It helps me if you are. I don’t care. I’m not looking for you. It’s my sister I’m after.”
She leaned back into the sofa. “Good tea, by the way.”
He looked down. The tea cup was empty except for a small ring at the bottom. A smile crept into the corners of his month. “Must have been that third lump.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“So tell me about her.”
She curled up a bit into the depths of the sofa. “Her name’s Jennie, and she’s a Luthe.”
“A Luthe?”
“Yes.”
“A real, living Luthe?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“385”
“Are you a Luthe?”
“She is my sister.”
“So you said, but are you a Luthe too?”
“Sort of.”
“How ‘sort of’?”
“I can become.”
“Is that all? You must be capable of more than that!”
“I can also bend time.”
“What do you mean, bend time? You mean like slow it down or speed it up or maybe have time ignore you altogether?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I took your bullets.”
“..my bullets??”
“And your underwear.”
“What!! My und... no. No way. You didn’t. You couldn’t! Yo...You did!!”
“Sorry. I needed to prove that I am what I say I am. Listen to me, this is for real. I must find my sister! She’s been missing too long and we want her back home. No more games. Will you help or not?”
“Sorry Sis..”
Too late. She was gone. But not before breaking the only pair of teacups he had. They sure do have a temper, he thought as he swept up the glass. And they don’t give up either. Sooner or later she would be back. He’d best either be making arrangements to get the hell out of dodge or to have her sister all bundled up nice and neat when she did. Dammit! Luthes were supposed to only visit once a grendok and were always supposed to check in anywhere they went! This Jennie must be a wild young one, he thought. Should be easy to find. Just look for the loudest, brashest, most outrageous parties going on in the world and then for the one girl that attends them all. That one would be Jennie. What the hell... he hadn’t had a reason for using his tuxedo in years. Should be fun. Alright... the party’s on the sister. Johnathan picked up the phone and dialed a well used number. “I need a first class ticket, departing today, London Heathrow to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, please. Yes, this evening is fine. Let’s make it round trip but leave the return date open, okay? No, no hotel reservations needed. Thank you. Goodbye.”
He flicked the button, breaking the connection and released it again. He dialed another number from memory. This time it rang a little longer than usual and he was getting antsy. “Ah, Por Favor! Senor! I hope all is well with you and your family? Yes, that is good! Ahh, Raphael, I have news! I am coming home! When? Why, today! I depart this very evening! I expect to arrive early tomorrow morning at the airport. Yes, British Airways, the Concorde of course. No, no one with me - alas - I am alone again. Raphael, please have the car at the airport. The house is still open and in good shape I suppose? Very Good! You see, Raphael, I plan on having the biggest party Rio has ever seen on Saturday night!”
On the sofa, nestled deep within the cushions, she sat. He couldn’t see her, so he missed the smile on her face as she faded from view.
********************************************************
He stepped off the plane and entered into the private transport area between Brazilian Customs and the main entrance of the arrival waiting area. He skipped a step as he pushed open the door that said “Authorized Patrons Only” smiling silently about how much of a patrone he really was. Thirty seconds later he was down the stairs and out into the private parking garage. The heat in the still air was stifling after the conditioned air of the Concorde and the building. The car was waiting exactly where he knew it would be, as was the small white-bearded man in impeccable white shorts, shirt and tie that stood at attention beside the vehicle. His eyes were shaded but he knew they were on him. He walked toward the man, letting the past five years of living in London slide off as easily as the final drop of sweat from his forehead. In the twenty seconds it took him to walk across the parking garage to the car, Johnathan Moule disappeared and Senior Raul Mendoza came home.
“Raphael! My Friend! It is so good to see you again. It has been too long! “
“Ah Senior Mendoza, my compadre! I never thought to see you again, It indeed has been a long time, my friend, a very long time.”
“Alas, it is true. But now that I am back in Brazil, my friend, it is if I never left. The years have been kind to you, Raphael. You appear as strong and vibrant as the day I left. How many papinos now – there were too many to count before I left and I bet there must be at least twice that many more. Am I right, old friend?”
An embarrassed Raphael turned toward the car and opened the drivers door. “I don’t know what to do, senior. Maria seems to explode with child with every beautiful sunset. I try and try to keep myself busy senior and not pay attention when the sun she goes down, but it is impossible in Rio, not to watch the sunset - thus I must be honored with all these children…”
You’re a rascal, Raphael.” He laughed. “How many now? Eight? Eleven?”
“Thirteen, and Maria is expecting again soon. Twins this time! Can you believe it??!”
“Fifteen! Wow! I don’t think I pay you enough to support seventeen people.”
“Oh, we make do sir. Maria is the head housekeeper for your house. I have four boys that keep the outside grounds trimmed and neat. Two daughters do the cooking and shopping. Still another son helps me with the garage and farm animals. You may have hired a single groundskeeper, senior, but you got a whole crew.”
“Whatever you salary was, Raphael, you just doubled it. And put those ninos of yours on some type of retainer, too. I’d hate to lose them after such good training they’ve had. Whatever you think is fair.”
“Oh, no senior. We need not do that. We do fine enough sire, please do not spoil them.”
Mendoza looked over at his long time friend. “You live on the estate, my friend.. You and your family?”
“Si, sire.”
“You treat it as your own? You live and love in the main house? Raise your children to respect the property because it does not belong to them?”
“Si, sire. But we didn’t know you would mind senior! You’ve never given any indication we were not …”
“You understand that you have complete control of the estate when I am away? I do not care where you stay, nor what you do, as long as the property stays up.
And Raphael, one of these days, you will get a phone call stating that I have indeed left and shall not be returning. When that day comes… when that call comes… you do understand that all that you see, all that you’ve done, you’ve done for yourselves.? All that you’ve cared for will be yours?”
“Senior, we are but a poor farming fam…”
“Nonsense. Right now, this instant, you are one of the most respected families in Brazil. Everyone knows you are my family. Why, I bet that after I’m gone, you could run for President and win.”
“But right now, I am here and we have a party to organize. I expect most of Rio to be here and a darned good part of the U.S. as well!”
“Bigger than caranval? Senior??”
“If possible, Raphael, If possible!”
The big V-12 rumbled as he downshifted from fourth to second. They had been traveling south along the main highway toward the heart of Rio. The emerald green waters of the Atlantic were on the left and the emerald green of the rain forest on the right – atop Camelback range. The city lay spread out before them, lights sparkling like diamonds in the sky. To many people Rio is Brazil. Surf, sand, sun and samba! The nation's capital styles itself as the 'Marvellous City' and it's not difficult to see why: colorful, flamboyant, exciting - and that's just the people. Rio is famous for it’s carnaval— a party that takes place here at the end of February or first part of March. Forget New Orleans or the Sydney Mardi Gras, this is the BIG one; nobody knows how to party like the Rio locals— known as Cariocas they've turned it into an art form. Rio de Janeiro is one of the world's most beautiful and photographed cities. It’s divided into the northern zone and the southern zone, linked by the world's longest underground urban highway. Two peaks overlook the city. The Corcovado and the Sugar Loaf Mountain. Rio is sandwiched between them and the world famous Copacabana and Ipanema beaches.
They turned right, heading up the side of the mountain into the thick greenery of the lower rain forest. The big Jaguar XK-E simply purred as it pulled up through the two-lanes, deeper into the jungle. A few minutes and another right turn brought them to the entrance of the estate. Raphael spoke into a transmitter hidden in the car and the gates began to roll open before they got there.
Mendoza never thought about this place when he was away. On every trip back, he wondered why he left. He couldn’t express the happiness and joy he felt every time he rolled past the gates. The care Raphael and his family took of the grounds was astounding. On each side of the lane there were blooming hycthieas and xxxxxxx. Yyyyys hung down from the branches. The sweet smell of honey filled the air around them. The drive itself ran for a good two miles through the hillside, ending in a parking area at the rear of the house. The house was a huge, sprawling, open face structure reminiscent of the U.S. Capital Building. It was imposing from the rear, but not overbearing. It was the interior that generally got to you. The first floor entrance from the parking area was, in reality, the covered roof of the house. From rear to front it covered nearly 3000 feet. The front of the floor was an open overlook with Rio de Janeiro laid out before you, some 600 feet down. The harbor, beaches, and Atlantic all exposed. The actual house was below, build into the side of the mountain.
“Ah! Senior Mendoza! Merci, you are a wonderful sight!”
“Maria! Maria!! My heart flutters just to hear that voice. To look at you brings tears to my eyes, just to think I have been away and not been able to partake of your beauty. Such is my wasted life.”
“Oh, Monsieur, you are so full of crap! But it is good crap. I have missed you.
“Maria, I am full of it, to be sure. But at least I am home. I am home.”
He walked over to the edge of the world and looked out beyond the side of the house. Maria’s oldest daughter rushed to bring him a drink, welcoming him home. As he took it, he saluted one of the most recognized monuments in the world – the Cristo Redentor statue, arms outstretched, a benevolent sentinel over the people of the city. Designed and built by the Brazilian engineer Heitor da Silva Costa in 1931, it stands 2329 feet above the sea. At 222 feet tall the statue stretches into the blue Brazilian sky.
The party began within hours after his arrival, such was the power of the Mendoza name. Once considered the most grand and
wealthiest of families in all of South America, the family had slowly dwindled. One hundred years ago there had been some two hundred direct descendants of the original Raphael Mendoza. Today there was only one. No one would have believed him had he told them he was the original Raul Mendoza.
People began arriving to the house in small groups; long time friends he hadn’t seen in many years, new friends he had never met until now. The crowd overflowed the house and out into the grounds. Maria’s daughter found him to tell him that the contest to see which is the best of the samba clubs (escola de samba) in the city would take place that evening on the Copacabona in his honor. Almost every community has their own samba club and competition is intense. The contest is based on costume, music, rhythm, pacing, color and style. During Carnaval, the competition is fierce. All of the local samba schools rehearse throughout the year and there is even a special street set aside for the promenades - the Sambodramo. The victorious school gets to do an extra parade of honor, usually on the Saturday after the carnival.
He strolled through the grounds, now aglow with decorative candles and strategically placed bonfires. People were not just taking, they were strutting their stuff to live Samba bands and the stands of Astrud Gilberto's 1960's hit The Girl From Ipanema. The slow swaying samba beat blended perfectly with the
sweet aroma from the flowers and the warmth of the tropical breeze through the trees. Yes, he was home again.
As he walked he kept an open eye for the Luthe. She would be here, he was sure. If not today, then tomorrow or the next. He drew a crown wherever he went, so it was easy to spot new blood. He smiled at an old acquaintance and wander over to say hello.
After Icafé (breakfast) with its strong coffee, fruit, breads and cheese, the party began again.
But she didn’t show up. Not that night, and not the day after or the day after that. They had gone cycling, hang gliding, surfing, and, of course partied every moment for three days straight. Still, nothing.
It was time to move on. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t coming – he could feel it. The party had been explosive, a three day salute to the resilience of the Brazilian people and their great penchant for living life to the fullest. Ah… it had been wonderful. He had forgotten how it feels to stay at the peak for days on end. He had become accustomed to the slow, structured, exacting pace of the aristocracy instead of the infectious carpe diem of the bourgeois.
And so it was decided, Raul would need to depart. He seriously doubted he would return. He found Raphael and two of his sons cleaning the grounds near one of the outdoor pools. The grounds were spectacular already. It was hard to envision that just hours before there had been over a thousand people partying on the property.
“Raphael, my good friend! The grounds have never looked better. It is a testament to you and your sons that I am privileged to enjoy such beauty.” He turned toward the sons, both big and bronzed from the sun. “Indeed, it an honor for me to know you, and have benefit of your considerable talents. I cannot express my gratitude enough.”
“Ah, that is enough senior… please, you embarrass me in front of my sons, those that I strive to teach that nothing comes for free… that good only comes from hard work and dedication…”
“They seemed to have learned it well, Raphael. They are working hard today, and I have noticed them working all during the party, not once lifting a cold beer or chasing a hot skirt, eh.. my boys? Is it not true?”
The two boys, both of which must have been in their late twenties, grinned and just kept working. They finally stopped when they realized their father and Raul were waiting for a reply. The oldest finally spoke to him “Yes, sire. Our mother and father try to teach us that it is better to work hard and earn our party. But… it is difficult, sire, for there have been many, many temptations for sure.” He smiled. “We are keeping score, my brother and I. Come Carnaval, we shall even the slate.” The youngest one grinned and practically shout “Yes, and I have the lead!!”
Raul burst out in laughter. “Of course, you are. And as you should! I hope grounds responsibility is not the only responsibility your parents have taught you.”
“Oh, no sire. We have also been taught the value of a cold beer, the honor of a warm-blooded companion, and the responsibilities of a Brazilian sunset.”
“Especially those sunsets!” jabbered the younger one before Raphael had a chance to reach out and clobber him. “Alright, alright… Go, get. Time for you two to get a shower and prepare for dinner. Go. Check with your mother before you do, she may have a final chore for you today, before the sun begins to set…”
They took the tools they had been using and trotted of toward one of the garages. Raphael watched them go, pride swelling on his face. He swirled around to face Raul. “It’s you. Thanks to you they aren’t out there with the rest of them, picking pockets and robbing tourist to stay alive. Thanks to you they have a job, a roof over their heads, self-respect. Dignity. Their sisters are the same. Thanks to you, my efforts at being a father has been much easier. I have not had to compete with the rats in the alleys for food, fight the policia for water, or tourist for respect.”
Raul was rocked back by the emotion in the old man’s face. “Why, Raphael, I never thought you noticed. Of course it was I that kept you and your treacherous family out of the clutches of the law. But I shall no longer protect you. I shall no longer be your benefactor. Beginning here, right now, I am no more.”
The look of surprise on the old man’s face was cause for great laughter, and so he did. He couldn’t help himself. He laughed until tears rolled down his face and he began to cough. The old man thumped him on the back attempting to clear his lungs, and possible his mind as well. When he had gotten his breath he spun on the old man and grabbed his collar, pulling his face close to his own, A small trickle of spit leaked from the corner of his mouth and ran down to his shirt. “Listen ta’ me, you old shit.” He rasped, his voice thicker than a hookers in New Orleans, “There ain’t no more Raul Mendoza. Ain’t been for months now. That bastard done gone did what de’ man said not ta’ fuckin’ do. Me? I just git paid to do a job… it’s a hell of a lot easier than what ole’ Raul went through. Now, We’re done here. Ain’t nobody of good ol’ Mendoza’s family left – we know – we checked ‘em out. And we just made sure down here. So we’s leavin’…. And there ain’t no reason for us to be comin’ back. Unless’s youse wants us to’s, of course. Naw, I didn’t think so.”
“What ever agreements you’s had with the ole’ man, you still got. I also understand that everything been transferred into your names. Good for youse. I’m leavin’ now and I’m gonna take the Jag. You can have one them sissy boys of yourn pick it up at the airport later. Got that, Grandpa?”
Raphael swallowed and looked into the eyes of the man he had known for many years, except they weren’t the eyes he had known. These were gray-green, dark, and trouble. Instead of the cultured gray hair Raphael had always associated with distinguished calm and dignity, there was thick blackness, pulled tight into a pony tale and tied with a diamond stud. Where had this man come from? Raphael knew in his heart that it didn’t matter anymore. He had sensed it with the phone call. Raul Mendoza had been here only a few minutes ago, but was now gone and not coming back. The blackness of the eyes revealed nothing except a depth he could not begin to penetrate.
“Si, Senior. We shall pray…”
The man released him with no gentle push backwards toward the pool. “Pray all you want, pedrone, Go up and kiss the statue’s feet every night for a month, I don’t care. As long as you realize he ain’t comin’ back then everythin’s hunky-dory.” His last words before he turned and strolled toward the garage where the Jag was kept. “Pick it up tomorrow.” He shouted over his shoulder.
By the time he reached the Jag he had gained eighty pounds, gotten a good six inches taller, and had a case of crotch itch you wouldn’t believe. By the time Eduardo Escobar drove through the gates of the estate and on the main road, he had tears in his eyes. The sacrifices he made for his job, he thought, as he really got pissed and kicked the throttle of the big V-2 to the floor. The Jag leapt to it’s feet, the roar from it’s two four barrel carburetors causing a cacophony of sound to explode from the forest all around him. The biggest cat this side of the jungle simply roared louder and blasted down the road – mopeds, bikers, and hikers be damned. He wanted to romp, and by god he was going to.
********************************************************
He pulled into an empty space at the front of the building where they advertised planes for hire. The placard on the front of the parking pad said something about Reserved but he really didn’t care. He left the keys in the ignition and closed the door without locking it. He knew that the next time it would be moved it would be by Raphael only.
He entered the dingy little office and blinked away the internal darkness. For a moment, he thought he saw her sitting of the threadbare sofa watching him, but another blink made that impression disappear. Just what I don’t need, he thought, her following me around. He rang the bell at the counter and waited while the ringing slowly echoed off the whitewashed walls and died without a response. He tried again and was rewarded by an encore performance.
"Bombardier Aerospace", the banner over the back wall read. Well, the owner must be out building bombs… because he sure as hell wasn’t taking care of business in the front. He flipped up the top of the counter that kept the riff-raff from the back office area and strolled down the hall toward hanger entrance. Not a soul in any of the offices today. The hanger door was open and he could hear voices, loud voices coming from inside.
“But it is repaired! I fixed it myself and you inspected it just this morning. You made me put in a new unit for jesus sake! It was a minor misalignment of the gyro, but you acted as if were FOD in an engine. Angelo, the plane is SOLD! We have a customer! It doesn’t matter if the gyro is a little off. Who’s to know!”
“I will! That’s who! Me! And if I were buying that plane for the price we’re asking, I would want it perfect! I cannot and will not accept this ‘good-enough’ attitude. Oh, Sergio, we are brothers, are we not? And yet we are as different as two old goats. Ah… I cannot take it anymore.
"You win. Once we have made this sale, I quit. The business is yours. All of it. I’ll take my half and leave you alone to cut your corners and enhance your profit. But remember, this business is about airplanes! Flying! There are no second chances when things go wrong up there, Sergio. If it were you or me up there, would you fly it? That’s what you need to ask yourself every time you complete a repair or buy an old relic – would you fly it? Or let your family ride in it?"
"As for this airplane…it will be done correctly, or not at all. Everything has been done correctly up to this point. All I’m asking is that you replace those safety wires you put in backwards with the wire running the correct way! You know that those bolts could come loose the way you have them wired! Think, brother. Such a simple thing.”
“Well, well. It’s about time you came to your senses, older brother. You bet I’ll take you up on your ‘offer’ just now. I can see why you never had a family – you would have nagged them right out of existence. As for second chances… since there are none, as you pointed out, then I’m not going to have too many people coming back to complain, am I? Okay, I’ll fix this while you watch… and know it to be correct. But once this plane has left the runway, I do things my way.”
“Dammit Sergio, we are brothers and I do love you – but you disgust me. One day all these mistakes will come back to haunt you.”
Eduardo turned and retraced his steps back to the counter. He patiently counted to sixty before he rang the bell again, this time adding a bellowing “Hello, anyone here?” to the echo from the walls.
“Coming! Be right with you, Senior!” came the expected reply – and the old man. He came as a surprise to Eduardo, who expected to see an old man but found someone full of vim and vigor, just worn down by circumstance.
“Yes, Senior, I am Angelino Gomez. Welcome to our humble business. How may I help you today?”
“I’m here to pick up a plane…a Lear 45. Is it ready yet?”
“Ah, the Lear-45. A fine airplane, if I may say so.”
“Yes, It is.”
“Tell me, Senior…”
“Escobar. Eduardo Escobar.”
“Senior Escobar, are you the pilot?”
“Yes. And the owner. Is the plane ready?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Why not?”
“We have a small final item to correct and a final inspection. It should take no more than ten or fifteen minutes to complete.”
“Then perhaps I can take a tour of the plane while it’s being completed?” and he started toward the hanger.
“I think the time would be better spent if we were to go over your credentials, Senior Escobar.”
Eduardo stopped, a smile at the corners of his lips. Right. He was not going to get away with anything today. He turned back toward the wiry little man whose gaze had never wavered. “You are correct, sir. It would be better served to get the, ah.. amenities, out of the way.”
“I assume you have a license, with appropriate rating certificates?”
Eduardo reached into a jacket pocket that had been empty just moments before and pulled out a thick wallet. He flipped it open with practiced ease until the contents displayed a current pilots license. If the old man noticed that the clothes the man in the photograph was wearing and the clothes the man standing before him was wearing were the same, he never said. He did eye the photograph and then took a long look at the man behind the counter.
“How many hours in type?”
“Amost 4800.”
“Muli-engine?”
“3,260.”
“Ever fly a Lear before?”
“Yes.”
“Well, with 4,000 nautical miles, the Lear has the intercontinental range you need. Plus dependable transcontinental capability you need here. She’s fast and burns fuel fairly slow so she won’t eat you there. With a max range of 4,077 nautical miles and a Max cruise speed of mach 0.83 she’s a pleasure to fly. She can top out at 41,000 feet, above where most commercial airliners fly, and requires less takeoff roll - 5,840 feet. Give her half that and she can land.”
Eduardo laughed. “I’m sure she would. But old man, I’m afraid you got your specs wrong - unless you’re trying to sell me a Challenger 604 instead of the Lear-45. The Lear only has a max range of about 2,00 nautical miles. She fly’s faster – 464 knots max, higher – 51,000 feet service ceiling, and needs less space – only 4350 feet, to take off (give her a little more for altitude around here – say 7,290 feet).”
“Want more information? Happy to oblige. Here’s the list. Enjoy. Takeoff Distance, 4,350 feet, Engine Thrust 3,500 lbs, Thrust to Weight Ratio 0.35, Takeoff Safety Speed (V2) 125 knots, All Engine Rate of Climb 2,180 ft/min, Single Engine Rate of Climb 590 ft/min, Long range Cruise M0,74, Normal Cruise M0,78, High Speed Cruise M0,81, Maximum Operating Speed M0,81, Vmo 330 knots, Initial Cruise Ceiling 45,000 feet, Single Cruise Ceiling 31,000 feet, Unrefueled Range is 1,932 nautical miles and Approach Speed is 123 knots. Lets move on, shall we? Maximum Ramp Weight is 20,750 lbs with Maximum Gross Takeoff Weight at 20,500 lbs. Want to land? The maximum Landing Weight is 19,200 lbs. The Maximum Zero Fuel Weight is 16,000 lbs with the Typical Corporate Basic Operating Weight is 13,550 lbs. She’ll carry a payload of 2,450 pounds with 6,062 pounds of fuel. Those are the specs on the Lear – 45. Do you want to discuss the preflight, post-flight inspections or any of the checklist or anything else on your mind – I’m up and able.”
“No, Senior. I want to see you fly the airplane.”
“You’re my kind of guy, Angelino – do you mind if I call you Angelino?”
Where usually he did care when people seemed to take him for granted, Angelino found that he didn’t really care if this stranger called him anything, and he said so.
Together they walked back in silence to where Sergio was just closing the service door to the compressor. Angelino glanced at him quizzically, causing a quick “I was taking a final look at those new fittings.” from Sergio. He went around and opened the panel Eduardo had seen open earlier and he could see Angelino was still not entirely happy with the finished product. “At least they’re running the right way, now. Although they will allow that bolt to loosen if it has a mind too, it won’t let 'em come out.” He muttered to no one. Sergio blushed slightly and whipped around toward the counter, saying “Well, it’s all finished and ready to go. She’s got 4,000 pounds of fuel and can be topped off anytime before you depart.”
“We’re going for a ride now. Open the hanger doors and prepare us for departure while Angelino and I do a preflight inspection.” Sergio gave a surprised look at his brother. “Are you okay with this? Suppose he never comes back? Has he paid you for the plane yet?”
“No, not yet and he’ll come back. I think I’m supposed to go with him.”
“What a waste of time, Angelino. Sell him the damned plane and let's get out of here. If he can fly it, great, if not, it’s not our concern. The money Angelino, get paid first.”
“It will wait, Sergio. And this is important. We cannot sell something to someone that cannot use it properly. Wait here. We’ll be back soon.”
He came in exactly on speed and heading, with not a rock of the wingtips. He wasn’t showing off, it was just the way he did things, exact, precise. The plane touched down on all three wheels at precisely the same instant, without an appreciable puff of smoke from any of them. Even Sergio noted how the aircraft seemed to float on its wheels before settling gently on its shocks. Inside, Angelino never felt the runway. They taxied up to the hanger where Eduardo proceeded to complete the post flight checklist. He used the kneeboard list instead of relying in it from memory, as someone apt to show off would do, although Angelino had no doubts he knew every word on the list. After shutdown, they departed the aircraft for the hanger. Eduardo wore a smile on his face as he approached the counter.
“Well, she’s ready, right? Just like I said. She’s great… ready to rock and roll…” Sergio blabbered, unable to contain himself. He had thoughts of the money and nothing else.
“Not quite.” Eduardo glared at him. “Number two engine is running 17% hotter than it should, most likely because of that smaller, fifty dollar brass fitting you put in place of the four thousand dollar, stainless steel one. And the brakes are a little mushy because I bet you didn’t let them bleed long enough when you took out the composites. I’m paying you and your brother a substantial sum of money for that airplane out there buddy. And when I pay for anything, anything, I expect to get what I pay for. Now… here’s what I expect you do… first, get that Collins avionics crap out of the plane and replace it with the HUD that’s supposed to be there. Next, get that brass bushing out and the stainless one you got stored in the trunk of your car back in - making sure it doesn't leak this time. When you’re done there, take another small stroll through the cabin. There seems to be a large number of items missing, like doors and seats and curtains. I’m not buying this heap just to smuggle some drugs across the border on a one-way flight. I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re dealing with, but you’ve never seen anyone like me before. I’ll be ready to roll in about an hour. I expect everything to be ready, including top-off, by then. Understood – Compadre?”
“Yeah… sure … what ever you say, man. Let’s move, Angelino…”
“Not him. You. Get your sorry ass out there now and do as I said. You have maybe fifty-nine minutes.’
“What’ya mean not him? I can’t do this myself”
“You took out the stuff by yourself, didn’t you? You think nobody’s going to know? You stupid or just damned dumb? You’re wasting your time. Padre.”
“I’ll help him, senior. He is my brother and needs the help.”
“Forget it, Angelino. He didn’t ask you to help him pull that Heads-Up-Display and throw that Collins crap in its place. He didn’t ask if you wanted to split the $20,000 he got for it either, I bet. What’s the matter Sergio, old goat? Don’t you think I keep up with what’s mine? You have a lot to learn, Sergio, but you never will – you don’t have enough time. You got forty-eight minutes. It’s going to take at least fifty-five to swap that fitting. For every minute you’re over the limit, subtract a hundred grand from your half of the profit. Shit bud, by the time you're through putting back all the stuff you took off and sold, you're going to be paying me money. There's a list on the pilot's seat of stuff that needs doing… I suggest you haul your sorry ass out there and get to it. You can use your buddy Manuel to help, since he helped take it out. The stuff I want reinstalled should be sitting out by the plane by now, including the HUD. And by the way - all the costs associated with getting it back is coming out of your half the profit, too.”
"Eyyy, screw you mister. I ain't…"
Angelino never saw the big man move. One second Sergio was standing there, a scowl on his face and smart remark on his lips. The next, he was bouncing off the wall, a look of surprise on his face and blood on his lips.
"Famous last words, compadre… 'I ain't'. You just don't get it, do you? Maybe you and I ought to go out to the plane and put it back together, just the two of us. Maybe I could teach you some lessons in manners and ethics that way… what cha' say, boy?"
"NO! I mean, I got it. I got it. You want me to put the stuff back in the plane like it was on the spec sheet. Right?"
"Nope. I want you to use the list I told you that's on the pilot's seat. Some of the things you 'liberated' I wanted swapping anyway, like the brakes - those composites just heat up and glaze over any damn way. And you thought you were making money on that deal."
"Okay, okay. I'll get started now, but no penalties when you give me eight hours work to do in one."
"Tough. You're still wasting your time, asshole."
Sergio spun and raced for the hanger, yanking a cell phone out of his pocket as he ran.
"Calling his gang, no doubt, to come and help put all the stuff back." The big man growled. He turned toward Angelino. "I'm sorry I had to treat him like that in front of you. I know he's your brother, but one of these days, you're going to get killed because of his lack of responsibility. You don't owe him anything, Angelino, and he ain't never going to change."
"But he is still my brother, senior."
"Maybe. Here, have an indicator lamp. I popped it out when you were doing the preflight and I was in the cabin. It belongs to the left engine master alarm. You never knew we had only one engine on landing, did you?"
"One engine?! Impossible! I checked the gages and myself and…"
"Naw, you didn't. I told you I wanted to go IFR and used the shroud, which kept the gages hidden from you. I lied to you about everything being alright."
"But why??!"
"Because your brother caused the left engine to fail. On purpose. When we went out to do the preflight, he was closing the left nacelle hatch. He just didn't swap a high pressure stainless for a cheap brass fitting, he made sure it leaked. Your brother really didn't want us coming back from that little trip. With the airplane gone and you gone, there was no splitting the profit."
"…but…but…he's my brother!"
"Is he? Would a brother do that? Come Angelino. You know I speak the truth."
"If you do, then how can you send him out there to 'fix' anything? How can you trust him?"
"I don't. I have my own people in his 'gang'. Those people I trust."
"What do want from me? Do you want to cancel the deal? Oh Senior, I feel awful for what my brother has attempted to do to you."
"Me?? You seem to forget you were aboard that plane, too. And he knew you would be before 'fixing' the engine. It seems he has little regard for both our lives. As far as canceling the deal, no way. Let's finish it up here and now. You have all the paperwork and signatures, I assume?"
"Yes sir, but I will need to take the documents to the authorities and have them stamped before it becomes official."
"I have a proposition for you, Angelino. One that I just considered today so have had no time to prepare. I have seen you in operation. I believe you to be an honest man, unwilling to settle for second best simply for expediency. I need someone like you, Angelino, someone by me side to keep watch, if you will. I know you have no family other than your brother. But it has been proven that you are less than a brother to him. Here's my proposition; I hereby offer you a position as my trusted aide and confidant. You shall go where I go, stay where I stay, and have all of your needs supplied by me. You will, of course, be paid handsomely for your efforts, but it is expected that you should never have need to spend your own money. In addition you will also have your share of the profit from the sale of the plane, which I believe comes to around seven and a half million dollars, right? You may quit at any time, without expectation of reprisal. I simply need the best, most honest person as my advisor, and I think that person is you. What do you say, Angelino? I know it's a lot to have put on you, but I need to know."
"You mean, leave? Get in the plane and just fly away? But who would take the papers to the bank? Who would lock up tonight and put everything away?"
"Yep, just get in the plane and leave. We finalize everything here and now. I have taken the liberty of creating a second set of documents. We execute both sets. One goes to your brother for completion. He will be responsible for getting the documents to the bank and paying off your loan on the plane. All he will need to do is sign the carrier form and all is done. The second set of signed documents will remain in a trusted advisor's hands and will never see daylight unless the first copies somehow mysteriously fail to be recorded - in which case they will be send anomously to the local authorities, where I'm sure they will draw considerable attention."
"So if my brother decides to claim the plane was stolen and keep the money from the sale or tries to collect insurance, he will become deeply in trouble?"
"Yes. And to be honest, I would expect him to do exactly that."
"Yes... I too would expect that to become true. Okay. We have a deal on the plane. A far as the proposition; I have a counter-offer: I will go with you only for as long as I feel I am useful and being used in a useful manner. If ever I feel I am being used, I leave - no questions asked."
"Of course! Welcome aboard Angelino. It's great to have you on my side."
It took another forty minutes to sign the paperwork. The duplicates were made and placed in the trunk of the Jag. When they went out to the plane, a group of four were finishing the interior. Eduardo strolled over and popped the latches holding the port engine nacelle closed and peeked inside. A grin spread on his ruggedly handsome face. Next he checked the nose-wheel steering box, particularly the bleed valve stopcock. He wandered into the forward cabin and took note of the plush captains chairs that had replaced the ragged things from the salvage yard. He thought of how easy it was for Sergio to fool his brother when it came to inferior crap. Not any more, though, he bet. Today had been an eye-opener. A glance in the cockpit showed the HUD in it's place of honor, the Collins radios and Nav systems gone. In their places were the latest and best color displays and instruments money could buy. No need to look further. Damn, his crew was good. He walked around to the front of the plane where only Sergio and Angelino stood. Not a sign of the other three. A fuel truck pulled up to top-off the tanks.
The three walked inside while the fuel was being loaded. Angelino told Sergio of his plans and new employer. Sergio took exception to the steep discount from his profit to pay for the recently refurbished items on the plane. His cut still came to a little over a million dollars and he quickly realized that was a lot of money he didn't have to report. At first he protested loudly about having to transport the final papers to the authorities, because it meant he would have to keep them overnight. When they told him he would have to use the bearer bonds in the packet to pay off the loan on the plane, he panicked, screaming that someone would kill him over such things. It took all of thirty seconds before the light went on in his eyes and he started to agree with the arrangement, in fact, expressed his great love for his brother and hoped he would find happiness is his new life, wherever that may be.
The plane completed its loading with Eduardo and Angelino climbing onboard last, Eduardo in the pilot's seat and Angelino in the copilot's. A flight plan was given to Sergio showing that they intended to head for Bolivia. He was to file it at the tower when he left for the bank. Preflight checks were uneventful and the taxi to the runway took six minutes. Another eight minutes passed before the plane was airborne. In that amount of time, Sergio had already devised a plan to convince the bank and authorities that the plane had been stolen, and his brother - his older brother - must have been a conspirator because he was missing as well. Of course, he would wait until the plane left Brazilian airspace first. He may even wait until he had deposited those wonderful bearer bonds worth all that money into an off-shore bank account. What the hell, maybe he would just disappear as well and let the authorities figure it out - they'd blame Angelino anyway. No, that would be wasting money…if he played it right, he could claim insurance and not only have the plane paid for, but get more money and get away scott free!
********************************************************
The Lear dipped it's right wing in a slow, rolling acknowledgment to an invisible viewer. Angelino looked out the cockpit window but could only see clouds. They were in the middle of the Andes, clouds making the wings of the Lear all but invisible, and yet, glancing at the man sitting behind the controls to his left, Angelino could see that he was not the least bit concerned. They had been flying for almost two hours and were near the Bolivia - Peru border.
"Take her down now." the command startling Angelino and causing him to jump a bit.
"Huh..."
"I said take her down now... but be careful. Stay above 15,000 ASL or we'll be kissing the ground sooner than we plan." Eduardo said again. He didn't even glance at his co-pilot, he just stated the instruction and picked up a map from a stack of papers in the seat tray.
Angelino pushed the control of the Lear and felt the small plane dip as it responded to his touch. He checked the altimeter to ensure they weren't going too low. He already knew that an altitude of 15,000 feet above sea level didn't mean much in the Andes. There were plenty of mountain tops that extended higher than that. He didn't want see one right at this moment.
"Should I radio ahead and request landing permission?" the old man asked. He suspected the answer and wasn't surprised when it came.
"No. We'll not be stopping at an airport. Set the nav system to 15° 48' 0 S lat and 69° 24' 0 W long... there won't be a signal and don't exepct any greeters either." Eduardo flipped up a panel and hit a switch. A black screen came to life and a computer generated voice announced "terrain awareness system activated".
"Here, use this if you get get nervous... it might help if the clouds don't break before we hit the runway." Eduardo glanced at the old man. "It's a little something I picked up from one of Sergio's buddies... think of it as a going away parting gift." He laughed. "I think they were more than happy to get rid of us, Angelino... both of us."
From the color display, Angilino could see that they were flying down the middle of a valley... high peeks surrounding them, Dead ahead lay a flat spot that he didn't recognize from the 3d display. Ten minutes later the clouds seemed to disappear into the thin air. Angelino got his first glimpse of their destination, Directly ahead of the Lear was a huge body of water, the white caps on its waves glistening from the sun's bursts. "Lake Titicaca." he gasped and then jammed a fist into his mouth, realizing he had spoken the name out loud.
Eduardo laughed. "You know this place, then? I thought you might. Have you ever been here... on the lake itself... or on the islands?"
Angelino glanced quickly at his new boss and then back at the controls. He wanted to make sure they were not flying into the lake before he answered. "Everyone knows of Lake Titicaca." he said. "It is a holy place. And Isla Del Sol, the island where Manco Capac and Mama Huaca founded the Inca empire is also holy. The stories are told to our young... the gold chain of the Inca Huascar, thrown into the lake and never found - not even by modern mini-subs and divers. Yes, I know of it. But I have never visited here. I did not believe I would ever see this place..." his voiced trailed off while his eyes locked onto the floating reed islands visible from the air.
"Terrain."
"What is that?" Angelino jerked the controls and the Lear practically stood on its tail, almost stalling the plane. Eduardo swiftly and without concern corrected the sudden angle of attack and put the plan back on the glide slope toward far end of the lake. "It was the TAS telling you that you were getting a little low... but not to worry. It's yours again, Captain." he laughed and settled back into his seat. "Take us down, Captain."
Angelino glanced out at the white caps and the brilliant sun reflecting from the surface. "I'm going to need a hat." is all he could think about as the wheels touched ground.
