Only for her.
I spend the majority of the flight going through the manufacturing specifications for a new factory in Malaysia. If all goes well, I may shift missile production there from its current location in Indonesia. The local officials in the latter region are getting too greedy, demanding higher bribes each month, and I’m not inclined to indulge them for much longer. I also answer a few questions from my Chicago-based portfolio manager; he’s working on setting up a fund-of-funds through one of my subsidiaries and needs me to give him some investment parameters.
We’re flying over Uzbekistan, just a few hundred miles from our destination, when I decide to check in with Lucas, who’s piloting the plane.
He turns toward me as soon as I enter the cabin. “We’re on track to get there in about an hour and a half,” he says without my asking. “There is some ice on the landing strip, so they’re de-icing it for us right now. The helicopters are already fueled up and ready to go.”
“Excellent.” The plan calls for us to land about a dozen miles from the suspected terrorist hideout in the Pamir Mountains and fly by helicopters the rest of the way. “Any unusual activities in that area?”
He shakes his head. “No, everything is quiet.”
“Good.” Entering the cabin, I sit down next to Lucas in the copilot’s seat and strap myself in. “How was the Russian girl last night?”
A rare smile flashes across his stony face. “Quite satisfying. You missed out.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, though I don’t feel even the slightest flicker of regret. There’s no way some one-night stand can approximate the intensity of my connection with Nora, and I have no desire to settle for anything less than that.
Lucas grins—an expression that’s even more uncommon on his hard features. “I have to say, I never expected to see you as a happily married man.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that right?” This is probably the most personal observation he’s ever made to me. In all the years he’s been with my organization, Lucas has never before bridged the distance from loyal employee to friend—not that I’ve encouraged him to do so. Trust has never come easy to me, and there have been only a handful of individuals I’ve been able to call ‘friend.’
He shrugs, his face smoothing out into his usual impassive mask, though a hint of amusement still lurks in his eyes. “Sure. People like us aren’t generally considered good husband material.”
An involuntary chuckle escapes my throat. “Well, I don’t know if, strictly speaking, Nora considers me ‘good husband material.’” A monster who abducted her and fucked with her head, sure. But a good husband? Somehow I doubt it.
“Well, if she doesn’t, then she should,” Lucas says, turning his attention back to the controls. “You don’t cheat, you take good care of her, and you’ve risked your life to save her before. If that’s not being a good husband, then I don’t know what is.” As he speaks, I see a small frown appearing on his face as he peers at something on the radar screen.
“What is it?” I ask sharply, all of my instincts suddenly on alert.
“I’m not sure,” Lucas begins saying, and at that moment, the plane bucks so violently that I’m nearly thrown out of my seat. It’s only the seatbelt I’d strapped on out of habit that prevents me from hitting the ceiling as the plane takes a sudden nosedive.
Lucas grabs the controls, a steady stream of obscenities coming out of his mouth as he frantically tries to correct our course. “Shit, fuck, shit, shit, motherfucking shit—”
“What hit us?” My voice is steady, my mind strangely calm as I assess the situation. There is a grinding, sputtering noise coming from the engines. I can smell smoke and hear screams in the back, so I know there’s a fire. It had to be an explosion. That means someone either shot at us from another plane or a surface-to-air missile exploded in close vicinity, damaging one or more of the engines. It couldn’t have been a direct missile hit because the Boeing is equipped with an anti-missile defense that’s designed to repel all but the most advanced weapons—and because we are still alive and not blown into pieces.
“I’m not sure,” Lucas manages to say as he wrestles with the controls. The plane evens out for a brief second and then nosedives again. “Does it fucking matter?”
I’m not sure, to be honest. The analytical part of me wants to know what—or who—is going to be responsible for my death. I doubt it’s Al-Quadar; according to my sources, they don’t have weapons this sophisticated. That leaves the possibility of error by some trigger-happy Uzbekistani soldier or an intentional strike by someone else. The Russians, perhaps, though why they would do this is anyone’s guess.
Still, Lucas is right. I don’t know why I care. Knowing the truth won’t change the outcome. I can see the snowy peaks of Pamir in the distance, and I know we’re not going to make it there.
Lucas resumes his cursing as he fights with the controls, and I grip the edge of my seat, my eyes trained on the ground rushing toward us at a terrifyingly rapid pace. There is a roaring sound in my ears, and I realize that it’s my own heartbeat—that I can actually hear the blood coursing through my veins as surging adrenaline sharpens all of my senses.
The plane makes a few more attempts to come out of the nosedive, each one slowing our fall by a few seconds, but nothing seems able to arrest the lethal descent.
I spend the majority of the flight going through the manufacturing specifications for a new factory in Malaysia. If all goes well, I may shift missile production there from its current location in Indonesia. The local officials in the latter region are getting too greedy, demanding higher bribes each month, and I’m not inclined to indulge them for much longer. I also answer a few questions from my Chicago-based portfolio manager; he’s working on setting up a fund-of-funds through one of my subsidiaries and needs me to give him some investment parameters.
We’re flying over Uzbekistan, just a few hundred miles from our destination, when I decide to check in with Lucas, who’s piloting the plane.
He turns toward me as soon as I enter the cabin. “We’re on track to get there in about an hour and a half,” he says without my asking. “There is some ice on the landing strip, so they’re de-icing it for us right now. The helicopters are already fueled up and ready to go.”
“Excellent.” The plan calls for us to land about a dozen miles from the suspected terrorist hideout in the Pamir Mountains and fly by helicopters the rest of the way. “Any unusual activities in that area?”
He shakes his head. “No, everything is quiet.”
“Good.” Entering the cabin, I sit down next to Lucas in the copilot’s seat and strap myself in. “How was the Russian girl last night?”
A rare smile flashes across his stony face. “Quite satisfying. You missed out.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, though I don’t feel even the slightest flicker of regret. There’s no way some one-night stand can approximate the intensity of my connection with Nora, and I have no desire to settle for anything less than that.
Lucas grins—an expression that’s even more uncommon on his hard features. “I have to say, I never expected to see you as a happily married man.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that right?” This is probably the most personal observation he’s ever made to me. In all the years he’s been with my organization, Lucas has never before bridged the distance from loyal employee to friend—not that I’ve encouraged him to do so. Trust has never come easy to me, and there have been only a handful of individuals I’ve been able to call ‘friend.’
He shrugs, his face smoothing out into his usual impassive mask, though a hint of amusement still lurks in his eyes. “Sure. People like us aren’t generally considered good husband material.”
An involuntary chuckle escapes my throat. “Well, I don’t know if, strictly speaking, Nora considers me ‘good husband material.’” A monster who abducted her and fucked with her head, sure. But a good husband? Somehow I doubt it.
“Well, if she doesn’t, then she should,” Lucas says, turning his attention back to the controls. “You don’t cheat, you take good care of her, and you’ve risked your life to save her before. If that’s not being a good husband, then I don’t know what is.” As he speaks, I see a small frown appearing on his face as he peers at something on the radar screen.
“What is it?” I ask sharply, all of my instincts suddenly on alert.
“I’m not sure,” Lucas begins saying, and at that moment, the plane bucks so violently that I’m nearly thrown out of my seat. It’s only the seatbelt I’d strapped on out of habit that prevents me from hitting the ceiling as the plane takes a sudden nosedive.
Lucas grabs the controls, a steady stream of obscenities coming out of his mouth as he frantically tries to correct our course. “Shit, fuck, shit, shit, motherfucking shit—”
“What hit us?” My voice is steady, my mind strangely calm as I assess the situation. There is a grinding, sputtering noise coming from the engines. I can smell smoke and hear screams in the back, so I know there’s a fire. It had to be an explosion. That means someone either shot at us from another plane or a surface-to-air missile exploded in close vicinity, damaging one or more of the engines. It couldn’t have been a direct missile hit because the Boeing is equipped with an anti-missile defense that’s designed to repel all but the most advanced weapons—and because we are still alive and not blown into pieces.
“I’m not sure,” Lucas manages to say as he wrestles with the controls. The plane evens out for a brief second and then nosedives again. “Does it fucking matter?”
I’m not sure, to be honest. The analytical part of me wants to know what—or who—is going to be responsible for my death. I doubt it’s Al-Quadar; according to my sources, they don’t have weapons this sophisticated. That leaves the possibility of error by some trigger-happy Uzbekistani soldier or an intentional strike by someone else. The Russians, perhaps, though why they would do this is anyone’s guess.
Still, Lucas is right. I don’t know why I care. Knowing the truth won’t change the outcome. I can see the snowy peaks of Pamir in the distance, and I know we’re not going to make it there.
Lucas resumes his cursing as he fights with the controls, and I grip the edge of my seat, my eyes trained on the ground rushing toward us at a terrifyingly rapid pace. There is a roaring sound in my ears, and I realize that it’s my own heartbeat—that I can actually hear the blood coursing through my veins as surging adrenaline sharpens all of my senses.
The plane makes a few more attempts to come out of the nosedive, each one slowing our fall by a few seconds, but nothing seems able to arrest the lethal descent.
