Havana, Baby!

She wrote, "If there is anything I can do as a favor to encourage you to continue writing, please let me know."

I did, and she agreed.

The panel depicted a bird with a red breast, perched on a branch of a tree, holding a snifter, and subtly smiling. There were people tossing a Frisbee nearby. In the distant sky was an airborne plane with wispy contrails behind it. The single word "Peace" was in a thought bubble above the bird.

The unaware might simply think it humorous or cute how a robin would enjoy a brandy in the peaceful atmosphere of a park. The true meaning was that Brandi had given me, her Robin, peace.

After several silent moments, I knew she'd caught the subtext when she dropped my iPad on the cushion and wrapped her arms tightly around me.

"It's printed in today's paper."

"My god, Robin. How in the freaking world did I manage to find someone like you?"

"Happy anniversary, Brandi, and here's to many more," I offered with a soft kiss as my only toast.

We celebrated. Again.

BRANDI
Kansas City International Airport
Sunday, March 15, 2020 7:09pm

"Spark 771, cleared to Lambert via the LAKES THREE departure, COLUMBIA transition, then as filed. Climb five thousand, expect flight level two niner zero, one zero minutes after departure."

Mack read back the routing, and I heard the positive acknowledgment. He requested pushback clearance next.

Once the tractor had maneuvered us out of the gate area, and the marshal signaled with lit batons that we were clear to move under our own power, Mack called for taxi.

"Kay Cee ground, Spark 771, pushback complete from gate forty-three with Quebec, ready to taxi."

"Spark 771, taxi to runway one niner right via delta, alpha, hold short alpha three."

Mack expertly read back the instructions, and I taxied us into the long line of planes waiting for departure. The ground controller asked us to monitor the tower frequency.

The airport was busier than usual. We crept forward as departures took off in six-minute intervals.

"Unknown aircraft northeast and five miles, Kansas City Tower," we heard a controller call.

"What do you want?" was the vague response.

"Approach advises you do not have class bravo clearance. Do not approach the field. Exit the airspace immediately."

"You can fuck off."

Mack and I stared at each other. His jaw went slack.

"What the hell is that about?" he asked.

All I could do was shrug. I'd been flying for close to twenty years and had heard occasional rudeness from pilots and controllers alike. It wasn't common, but I'd never heard anyone so brash or brazen.

"Unknown aircraft, do not continue. Turn right immediately heading two eight zero, vector for class bravo exit."

His response was identical to his prior.

"State intentions," the suddenly very alert-sounding controller inquired.

"To fucking ruin your fucking night," came a cold, calm reply, "and stop my fucking wife's fucking around on me."

"Uh, tower, Cityflight 701, that guy's not lined up for nineteen, it looks like he's headed for taxiway alpha right at us! Tell fire to roll trucks!"

"Oh, freaking hell ," Mack muttered.

He released his shoulder harnesses so he could lean farther forward from his seat.

"Shit, Brandi!" he barked. "He may be trying to crash into one of us!"

"Attention all aircraft on the ground!" the controller frantically radioed. "Disable transponders and ADS-B immediately if able!"

"Won't help," the unknown rogue said. "I see the bitch's plane already."

The plane's landing light came on. I yanked the interphone off its cradle and chimed it.

"Nat, there's an insane pilot inbound who may be trying to hit a plane stopped on the taxiway we're on. Get everyone braced!"

I barely had time to send a text and wondered if I'd ever see its recipient again.

I watched as the landing light illuminated the two planes ahead of ours on the taxiway. I knew we were imperiled given the approach angle I observed. It appeared to be a Cessna 152, but there wasn't enough exterior illumination for me to see it clearly. Our 737 weighed eighty times that of the smaller plane, but I had no idea what forces we'd feel in a direct impact. We soon found out.

It felt sort of like hitting a deep pothole on a poorly maintained taxiway. Mack had the presence of mind to open his window and look behind us.

"Oh, fuck ! Fire! Starboard side! Fire !" he yelled, slamming his window closed.

"QRH!" I ordered after looking out my own. "Evac checklist!"

The QRH is the Quick Reference Handbook , so named for its efficient organization. Without it, there wouldn't be anything quick about the book of almost nine hundred pages of emergency procedures. Mac read down the list rapidly, calling out items, executing those assigned to the First Officer position and waiting on my response for my own actions.

"Nothing to depressurize. Engines to cutoff, make announcement, end of checklist," he concluded.

I didn't have time to ring the purser, so I spoke into the PA, addressing the entire cabin.

"Flight attendants! Port side only, evacuate the plane. Evacuate, evacuate. All passengers must exit left side only! Do not open exits on the right side! Leave all belongings behind. Don't attempt to evacuate with carry-ons!"

I pressed the button on the yoke, hoping the COM radio, as well as my acuity, remained functional because my resolve was to get my pax and crew to safety.

"Kay Cee tower, Spark 771 transmitting in the blind. We are evacuating. Fire starboard side, evacuating to port. Advise trucks to approach starboard. Souls on board …" I rapidly thumbed the manifest to find the needed number. "… one hundred seventy. One seven zero souls. Nine thousand pounds of fuel. Negative hazmat. Transmission ends."

I opened the cockpit door and pitch-black smoke boiled in. I should have known better since the release lever was hot to the touch. I slammed it closed, gagging and choking on the acrid cloud.

ROBIN
St. Peters, Missouri
Sunday, March 15, 2020 7:49pm

I love you said an iMessage which popped up on my screen. Shorter than her norm and lacking the typical hearts and kisses emoji mixes, Brandi's message still made me smile even wider.

What made me smile to begin with was writing the final paragraphs of Book Four. The trip on which Brandi had taken me had put the wind back in my sails. I'd caught an idea having a conversation with Telo Solas during the layover in Tampa that morning. What he termed his "laughable irrational fear" was a strange one. Considering how he was able to work with such things on his mind, it also seemed out of place for a level-headed guy like him.

It was perfect, so I asked his permission to use it as a plot point. He agreed if I would give one of the good-guy characters his father's name. I began working on my MacBook as soon as Natasha made the announcement that use of electronics was allowed.

I edited the manuscript to change the name of a particular character. Search and replace helped swap the name Dan Smith for Ernesto Gonzales. More edits were needed to stitch the main story with the revised events of the climax and conclusion.

Thankfully, the first two thousand words, included as an epilogue in Unhinged , required no revision.

"Yep. Oh, yeah. This is going to work really well," I spoke to myself and grinned as I continued typing.

"Yes. Yeah, he picks it up … is it too heavy for it to carry? he wonders … give it a test drive … Ah, he sighs to himself in satisfaction as his plan comes together. A Pi or Arduino will take care of that … Seventeen all at the same place and time? It's like shooting fish in a barrel, he thinks to himself … Oh, gotta give this bad boy a name. Mark would call it … What would he call it?

"Caveman . Yeah. That's perfect, calling something so technologically advanced the complete opposite … No. Luddite! That's even better !

"Wait. No, back to caveman. Luddites don't swing massive clubs like this … usually. Gotta play with the irony some, Tater," I said, shooting my dog a glance.

Sometimes I talk to myself when writing. Brandi used to tease me playfully about the habit, but she stopped when the royalty checks started. I think it sort of connects my left and right brains together externally, and it often helps in surprising ways. That time, though, all it did was summon Tater's attention. He searched the house until he found his toy which he immediately dropped in my lap.

I stared into his eyes. He stared into mine, looking hopeful I'd understand his request. Fat chance I wouldn't. I chuckled at him. All which remained for me to do was a quick proofread for stupid punctuation errors, misspellings, and other stuff. A title would also need to be chosen. I'd thought of a half dozen already, and my editor and I would collaborate to choose the best one that'd fit my lewk .

"Okay, doggo. I could use a break. Maybe you should be Mark Wright's means of vengeance next time? Give me two minutes to send an email to my editor and we'll play, 'kay?"

Yes, I talked to my dog. What legitimate dog person doesn't? Of course they understand. Not necessarily the words, per se , but certainly the tone of voice. His docked tail wiggled happily and patiently.

Okay, you can breathe. The vacation with Brandi was absolutely the break I needed. Give me until COB tomorrow to polish things up more. The draft is attached. DON'T DO ANYTHING BUT READ IT YET.

Thanks for everything you do. You've always been a great ally and given me air cover, and I appreciate it once again. We'll talk tomorrow.

"Let's go to the other room, okay, boy?" I said, enticing Tater with his toy. "I'm going to veg on some TV and see if I can tucker you out."

I tossed the rope down the longest hallway and heard his feet skidding on the flooring. As he skittered along to retrieve his prey, I selected the Apple TV input on the television to watch something mindless. Tater enjoyed a few moments of tug-of-war each time he retrieved his toy but would usually obey the command to "release." His strategy was to run back to the last place I'd thrown it, so I threw it the opposite direction to confound his expectations and increase his exercise.

"This'll work," I said to myself, selecting a classic British sitcom from the menu to watch Maurice and Roy suggest people try turning it off and back on again.

After a while, the rope was forgotten. Tater was worn out.

My watch beeped near the end of the episode. I looked at the display to see BREAKING NEWS and some text under a local affiliate's logo. I scrolled through the synopsis with my fingertip, then fumbled with the TV's remote trying to tune the station in.

Video was rolling of three airplanes drowned in aqueous foam. There was a column of people on what looked to be a runway somewhere loading into buses. Fire trucks and ambulances were everywhere. Bright lights on all the vehicles washed out the video in places making details difficult to discern. The audio sounded like radio with occasional voices. The chyron on the screen read, Audio courtesy #VAUXAviation / KC Int'l Airport ATC

"Unknown aircraft, do not continue. Turn right immediately heading two eight zero, vector for class bravo exit."

"You can [bleep] off," said a censored male voice.

"State intentions," said the first one.

"To [bleep] ing ruin your [bleep] ing night and stop my [bleep] ing wife's [bleep] ing around on me," said the second.

"Uh, tower, Cityflight 701, that guy's not lined up for nineteen, it looks like he's headed for taxiway alpha right at us! Tell fire to roll trucks!" said a third voice.

"Attention all aircraft on the ground! Disable your transponders and ADS-B immediately if able!"

Transponders equipped with ADS-B report precise locations of aircraft in air or on ground. a caption displayed, Proper equipment can receive and decode the information.

"Won't help, I see the [bleep] plane already."

"Simply horrifying," said a familiar face that appeared on the screen in a box adjacent to the anchor.

"Could it be? Do you believe it's possible another aircraft targeted one on the ground with intent to kill?" asked the latter.

"If that is indeed the case, it will be the first time, outside of war, such a thing has ever happened anywhere in the world."

"Once again, joining us from his home in New York, is retired airline pilot and aviation industry analyst Wes Avend. Wes, other than 9/11, has anything even remotely similar happened in the US?"

"There's been at least a half dozen times in the last fifty years that someone has deliberately crashed an airplane in suicide, and sometimes murder-suicide. The most recent was in Utah two years ago when a man, attempting to murder his spouse and child, flew a Citation⁠—a small twin-engine jet, into their residence. In that incident, the pilot perished, but the others miraculously survived with only minor injuries.

"In 2010, an individual flew a smaller single-engine airplane into a building in Austin, Texas, which housed employees of the federal government, one of whom was killed. Dozens were injured."

"Could this have been a terrorist attack?" the anchor asked.

"I won't speculate. Given what we just heard, it seems unlikely, but it will take investigators months or longer to come to a conclusion."

"Wes, thank you for your time," the anchor acknowledged before more video likely coming from a helicopter took the place of both faces.

"I've just been informed the first airplane destroyed is an InterAir Boeing 737 operating as Flight 771 to St. Louis. There are several passengers and one of the crew unaccounted for at this time."

My blood ran cold when I heard the flight's number. I knew it was Brandi's.

My eyes went to a photograph in an acrylic frame held by a small easel placed on the TV cabinet. It was a photo of myself standing next to my late wife, Corrine, who was sitting in a wheelchair holding our three-day-old son in her lap. Had both of their lives not been taken from them as we drove home from the hospital after his birth, he would have recently turned five years old. The photograph was one Brandi insisted I keep on display, understanding its importance to me.

I found myself choking on my own sobs, listening in fear to what was unfolding.

"Oh, God. Please , God! Please! Don't do this!"

Tater somehow sensed my anxiety and jumped on the couch with an intense stare and cocked head.

"Please! Don't let it be Brandi," I begged the universe. "Please, God! Don't take my wife from me again !"

"The aircraft behind the 737 is a regional carrier, Air Midwest Express Flight 1021 to Columbia. In addition to the two airplanes which were destroyed, there had been two more in front of the Boeing and three behind the Embraer that were able to move themselves safely away from the conflagration. No word on the status of Midwest's crew or passen⁠—one moment," the anchor said, placing a finger to her ear.

"One passenger on the InterAir flight happens to be one of our own. He phoned our producer a few minutes ago. Let's listen to what he had to say."

"I've never seen anything so crazy," said yet another faceless voice. "Everyone was all buckled in for takeoff. We'd been told we were third in line and would be taking off in a few more minutes. Then someone came over the speakers and told us to brace and told us how. For a few seconds, people were just sort of looking around at each other. I'm thinking, why should we since we were sitting stationary on the ground? Then the woman's voice got really intense, and everyone did what she said. A few seconds later, the plane gets jolted really hard. Then I see fire through the window across the aisle.

"Everyone was just sitting there for a few seconds and then another woman started ordering over the speakers to get out of the left side of the plane. I had one of the exit row seats. I never once thought I'd ever be the one to open one up, but I did, and I was one of the first out on the wing.

"There's no slide out there. Those moving things on the wing were all tilted down in the back, sort of like what they look like during a landing, and the arrows painted on the wing show how to slide down it. Even though it was really [bleep] ing hot, me and one other guy stayed at the bottom to help people stay on their feet when sliding down. A thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girl fell and hurt herself, so I had to carry her since she was flying alone. People were pouring out both ends of the plane. I hope everyone got out okay."

My cell rang. It wasn't a text message, it was a call. I shoved the dog off my lap so I could retrieve my phone from the desktop.

"Hello?!" I anxiously said to the unidentified caller.

"It's me," said my wife's hoarse, weak, shaky voice.

"Brandi!" I yelped. "Thank god you're okay! I just saw it on the news. They said one of the crew was unaccounted for. I was so scared I'd lost you!"

"For a few minutes, I thought I'd never see you again. I want⁠—I need you to know how much I love you. I was just informed that one of the crew … um … LaTasha White is missing."

I was saddened and shocked, but still overjoyed I was speaking to my wife.

"I don't know anything else other than the rescuers found three people near the right wing once the fire foam began to disintegrate. We got a headcount of only a hundred sixty-seven after the evacuation, so we knew three were missing. She must have been one of them, and the incident commander is now checking off names on the manifest to find out who the other two are. They bused most of the passengers to a UPS hangar. Some, including me and Mack McGarry, are at a hospital. There was a smaller plane behind ours which was almost fully involved in fire by the time Mack and I got out. I got sick in the grass. I'm hearing there's a lot more absent from their count. It's probably really bad."

"What happens now?" I asked, hoping she couldn't tell from my tone of voice that I'd been crying.

"Union people and airline reps are already on a plane on their way here. We've been told we have to stay in Kansas City until the NTSB says otherwise. I'm pretty damned sure I won't be flying as a pilot for a while."

"Hey, babe, remember this wasn't about anything you did or didn't do. It sounds to me, based on the early news, that you and your crew did everything right."

"Then why did LaTasha have to die?" I heard her sniffle.

"I don't know, Brandi. I wish I could give you answers. I'm saddened and angry anyone did because it sounds like this was intentional. I'm especially glad you're okay."

"Yeah, but my phone is gone. It probably fell out of my pocket when I had to climb out the window. I'm on a landline in the ER."

"Don't worry about your phone, Brandi. It's replaceable. Where are you now?"

"Saint Luke's. I inhaled a lot of smoke and was having trouble breathing. The paramedics didn't like my oxygen level, and a nurse who just came in is telling me I have to put my mask back on."

"Do what you're told. I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm guessing it'll be close to midnight. I'll bring your old phone with me and try to get it activated tomorrow morning. What else do you need me to pack for you?" I asked, assuming everything she'd taken with her was destroyed.