Loitering with Intent

3

STONE WOKE AND looked out his bedroom window. The gardens inside the U-shaped row of Turtle Bay Townhouses sat, resplendent, under six inches of fresh snow, made glaring by bright sunshine. He picked up the phone and called Jet Aviation, at Teterboro Airport, in New Jersey.

“I’d like my inboard and outboard caps topped off with JetA with Prist and the airplane deiced,” he said. He received an affi rmative answer, then went to his computer and created two fl ight plans, one for each leg, for the trip south, then called Flight Services for a weather forecast, which was highly favorable, even sporting a tailwind, unusual when flying north to south. The downstairs doorbell rang on the telephone system, and Stone picked up the phone. “Dino?”

“Yeah?”

“You have a key, use it.”

“I didn’t want to come in unannounced and interrupt something.”

“Fat chance,” Stone said. “Put your bags in the car. I’ll get a shower and meet you in the kitchen. Tell Helene what you want for breakfast.”

Twenty minutes later, Stone stowed his bags in the car with Dino’s, then joined him in the kitchen.

“I made you eggs and bacon,” Helene said, as he took a seat.

“You’re psychic,” Stone said, sipping his freshly squeezed orange juice.

“How long a flight?” Dino asked.

“We have a bit of a tailwind, so around five hours, plus one fuel stop in South Carolina,” Stone said, gazing out the window.

“I can stand that, I guess. You’re looking at Tatiana’s house.”

“I wasn’t looking at anything in particular,” Stone lied, “just out the window.”

THEY ARRIVED AT Teterboro Airport to find the airplane refueled and the deicing nearly complete. Stone stowed their golf clubs and tennis rackets in the forward luggage compartment and their bags in the rear. After a thorough preflight inspection and a call to Clearance Delivery, they taxied to runway 1 and were cleared for takeoff.

The departure controller turned them south and gradually gave them higher altitudes, but not until they were handed off to New York Center did they receive their final clearance to their chosen altitude, flight level 260, or 26,000 feet. Stone leveled off, adjusted the throttle and switched on the XM Satellite Radio. Dino was already doing the Times crossword puzzle, and Stone started on the front page.

“I hope you made a copy of the crossword,” Dino said, scribbling away.

“If I hadn’t, I would have already strangled you and dumped your body over Virginia.”

Stone had fi nished reading the Times when they started their descent into their refueling point, a small airfield at Monks Corner, South Carolina, which offered fuel prices a couple of bucks less than nearby Charleston.

Half an hour later they were climbing back to altitude, and two hours after that they were crossing the south coast of Florida at last over open water. Key West lay, invisible, another hundred miles south. Dino was squirming in his seat.

“I’ve never flown over open water,” Dino said.

“The life raft is on the seat behind me,” Stone said, “and the life jackets are in a blue zipper bag right behind my seat. In the event of an unscheduled landing, you put on a life jacket, strap yourself into a rear seat, and when the airplane has stopped moving, open only the top half of the door. We’ll float for a while, but if you open the bottom half, the Atlantic Ocean will join us inside immediately. You wrap the rope attached to the raft firmly around your wrist and hand, push the raft out the top of the door and jerk the cord hard. The raft will inflate. You hold it there until I can get out, then you pull the tab that inflates your life jacket and join me in the raft. I’ll bring along the handheld radio and the beacon that broadcasts our position to the Coast Guard via satellite.”

“Then what?”

“Then we wait for the Coast Guard to show up, remove us from the life raft, give us a cup of coffee and take us to a convenient land location.

“How long do we wait?”

“A few hours, maybe less.”

“A few hours in a tiny life raft with you is all I need to complete my day.”

“It’s a character-building experience.”

“And then?”

“We make our way to Key West by available transportation, and my insurance company buys me a new airplane. Feel better now?”

“And I lose all my stuff?”

“No, your household insurance reimburses you for your clothes and buys you a new set of golf clubs and tennis racket.”

“You make it all sound so attractive,” Dino said.

“Don’t worry, it will scare the shit out of you,” Stone replied. FIR S T, THE Y S AW some small islands to their left. Dino looked at the chart. “The Keys don’t run north-south,” he said.

“You’re very observant. They run

northeast-southwest, and

toward the end more west. Look.” He pointed out the window as an island swam into view through the haze. Key West Approach had them down to 1600 feet now.

“N123TF, Key West Approach, report Key West Airport in sight.”

Stone looked to his left and saw an airplane take off in the distance. “N123TF, airport in sight.”

“Fly direct Key West VOR, then enter a left downwind for runway niner. Contact Key West Tower on 118.2. Have a good day.”

“Thanks, and good day,” Stone replied, then switched frequencies. “Key West Tower, N123TF at the VOR, left downwind for niner.”

“N123TF, Key West Tower, cleared to land.”

Stone pointed as they approached the island. “We can see everything from here.” The island was laid out before them, every inch of it. “You been here before?”

“Once, a weekend with the ex. You?”

“My first time.”

Stone turned final at 500 feet and lined up on the runway. He made a smooth landing, and Ground Control directed him to parking.

They unloaded their gear, left refueling instructions and picked up their rent-a-car. Twenty minutes later they were parking in front of the Marquesa.

“Looks like somebody’s house,” Dino said. But after they had checked in and followed a bellman out a rear door, they found themselves in a large courtyard with two pools, surrounded by small cottages. Stone and Dino were shown to a pair of them connected by a front porch, and were soon sitting on the porch in rockers sipping something tropical with a little umbrella in it, ogling some girls in the pool at their feet.

“So,” said Dino, “when do we start looking for this kid, Evan Keating?”

“What’s your hurry?” Stone murmured, sipping his drink and watching the girls. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”