Havana, Baby!

"It'll be okay, Brandi," Cameron encouraged. "I'm sure of it."

ROBIN
Tuesday, March 17, 2020 9:12am

After wishing my wife good luck and seeing her out the door to her meeting, I removed my MacBook from its bag and placed it on the kitchen table to begin polishing the end of the manuscript I'd promised to complete the day before.

I witnessed some sweet, tender affection between Ryan and his lovely wife before she departed for her deadhead to St. Louis for the beginning of a three-day rotation. They didn't seem bothered at all that I was standing in the kitchen pouring a cup of brew as they kissed each other goodbye near the door which led into their garage.

After she departed, Ryan gathered his stuff.

"I hope all that crap doesn't weigh her down," he cautiously stated. "But personally, I don't see how it couldn't, you know?"

"No doubt. I wonder if it's better if her flights are busy or calm and boring so she can think and process."

"She wants to be busy but without malcontents. I'm heading into the office. You've got the run of the place. Our real estate agent might be stopping by today to put a sign in the yard, so don't be alarmed if you see a woman with a hammer wandering around."

"You're putting your house up for sale?"

He grinned. "My transfer to the new St. Louis branch was approved. We'll be moving in May or June. Cam will be done with all the commuting."

"That's great news! I'll keep an eye out for listings in our neighborhood," I offered.

"She has family there. It'll be better all around. You remember the PIN for the door?"

I nodded

I polished and revised Wright 4 for several hours when a sudden realization struck me. My heart sank, and I called my editor.

"I know why you're calling, Rob. Don't say it," he answered without so much as a hello.

I sighed and closed my eyes. "I have to. I'm not going to publish a book in which Mark Wright achieves his goal by blowing up a taxiing jet using a UAV with three pounds of explosives on it."

"Why not? It was a perfect ending! I was up all night re-reading it after you sent the last parts."

"For one thing," I argued, feeling myself prickling, "I'm not going to turn the now real-life tragedy which occurred in Kansas City into the climax of what was supposed to be only fiction. I don't think my wife would ever speak to me again, nor would the person who gave me the idea in the first place."

I refused to divulge that my wife was the captain of the flight. I didn't trust the man farther than I could throw him to keep it to himself and not publicize it.

"I don't know what your wife has to do with it, but that's different . Mark Wright is the good guy. His targets were horrible people. What happened there was the other way around."

"Okay, forget that for a second. What will the readers think?"

"I don't know. You tell me," he answered.

"They'll think I copped out and wrote it purely based on the recent events. That it's unoriginal. That it's convenient . It's international news already, and I'll come across as a cheap copycat who's exploiting it for my own benefit."

He was silent for a few moments. n"I hadn't thought about that," he finally said. "You might be right, and it could hurt future sales."

"And your cut of the royalties."

"Yeah."

"You're in agreement?"

"How long will it take you to rewrite it?" he asked.

"The major arcs are fine where they are, but I need to come up with a different way to down a⁠—I'm going to make another call. I know someone who might be able to help."

"Call me back."

I hung up quickly and opened my contacts. I tapped the icon next to a particular one.

"Hey, there, Rob!" said the man who answered. "We received the advance copy of your third book a couple of weeks ago. It was fantastic, as always. That idiotic military policeman, Roscoe Earl Larder, was so spot-on to the fat-ass sheriff who used to harass Brenda. We both laughed so hard at your little Easter egg."

I was chuckling too, considering how many words he spoke to answer my call.

"I thought you'd enjoy it, but hey. I want to know if I can write into the plotline of Book Four something you and Brenda might find sensitive."

"Oh?"

"Did you hear about what happened at the airport in Kansas City?"

"Yeah."

"She's okay, but Brandi was the captain of the InterAir 737."

"Oh, God. I feel for her. Sheesh. Losing three people. Just … wow. But it could have been so much worse."

"Tell me about it. Anyway, long story short, the next book I'm writ⁠—well, thought I'd finished writing concludes with the protagonist destroying a jet using an explosive-laden drone to blow up the center fuel tank."

"Too soon, Rob. Way too soon, and too similar. I can't believe your wife would appreciate the parallel to her reality, and your readers might not, either."

"That's pretty much what I told my editor a few minutes ago."

"How can we help?"

"I'm thinking of changing it to somehow causing a rapid depressurization at altitude and the pilots would be breathing something other than oxygen."

He chuckled. "Like what almost happened to me, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Are any of the passengers pilots, even if only rookies?"

"Yes, at least two."

"What sort of airplane are they in?"

"A big commercial type reconfigured as a luxury jet."

"Then they can't be."

"Why?"

"The oxygen for the flight deck comes from a cylinder like what was in the Cirrus I was flying, but the passengers' comes from chemical oxygen generators that start working when the little pin is yanked out by pulling down a mask. Unless Mark is stealthy enough to disable every single one, which might be a bit much for the readers to swallow, someone would be able to stay conscious at least long enough to adjust the autopilot down to a safe altitude and the pilots wake back up."

"I considered that. Brandi said, at least on the commercial versions of that type of plane, no one can open the cockpit door from the outside without the flight crew flipping an unlock switch first, and even if they do, the person on the outside has to know a PIN. They won't."

"Oh. Good point. But forget about argon. The pilots will know they've got an emergency on their hands. Even breathing argon, they'd still have maybe twenty to thirty seconds of useful consciousness to set up for an emergency descent to normal pressures. When at a safe altitude, they'd wake up. You'll need to come up with something faster."

"True. That's good to know."

"You're more than welcome to write around the idea, but thanks for spoiling the ending."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I'll figure out a way to sneak your and Brenda's names into the narrative, but I'll have to make you work to find it."

He laughed. "Fair enough. I appreciate that. Give our regards to Brandi, please?"

"I will. Thanks," I responded before we disconnected.

I refilled my coffee mug and started working yet again.

After five or six hours, I leashed Dasha and Tater for a walk.

A half hour later, on returning, I found myself mildly startled by the fact the door I stood before had unfamiliar hardware. The key wouldn't even fit the slot. I then realized I was standing on our former porch, not the Quincys'. I'd turned on the lead walk of the house next door purely out of sheer habit. Even Dasha didn't seem confused because she'd been in our former home many times.

BRANDI
Tuesday, March 17, 2020 3:16pm

"Hey! I don't live there anymore!" I shouted.

I'd stopped our SUV at the foot of the driveway and rolled down its window. I chastised myself for my own silly mistake as he walked across the lawn to the correct door.

Both Tater and Dasha insisted on greeting me before I was allowed to kiss my husband.

"I feel like a dork," he confessed.

I chuckled. "Don't. I wouldn't have seen you there if I wasn't turning into the wrong driveway, too."

"You seem like you're in a good mood."

"A better one, for sure. I've been released. We can go home."

"Oh? I figured you'd need to be here for a few more days."

"That's what I was told to expect, but apparently, information is coming in fast. They sent the black boxes off to Washington Sunday night and I suppose the lead investigator heard my and Mack's actions and decided there's nothing left in question they can't manage over the phone. Mack went from the federal building straight to the airport to go home."

"So, why … what happened?"

"The prevailing hypothesis is that LaTasha was pushed through the exit. Since she was found forward of the wing, they think she either fell off it, or, if she tried to jump, suffered injuries too severe to get away. They won't know for a few weeks, but they definitely think she prevented more deaths by blocking the exit for as long as she could."

"I still think she'll be considered a hero."

"Yeah, I do, too," I said.

"If you want, we can leave now. I'll let Ryan know," Rob said, "or we can stay one more night and leave in the morning."

"I want to go home, Rob," I said, kissing him on the Quincys' driveway. "As great as it's been seeing them again, I seriously need to be in our own home, and sleep in our own bed."

Robin called Ryan to let him know we were departing. He requested instructions for Dasha. Ryan told him she'd comfortably lounge in the back yard and asked us to start their Roomba as we locked up the house.

I changed out of my uniform into comfortable travel clothes as Rob loaded our stuff. We tidied up after ourselves and were on the interstate thirty minutes later.

"I'm almost done rewriting the end of Book Four," he stated after I'd related the details of my day at the federal building.

"I didn't even know you'd completed it!" I said, quite surprised. "You cured your curse?"

"Yeah. Sort of. I had written an ending Sunday night and sent it to Cal for preliminary review before the news here broke."

"That's great! Why do you have to change it?"

"This is going to sound crazy, but I promise this is straight up legit. The climax involved something way too similar to what just happened. I don't want it to follow you in print, and it also seems completely wrong for me to capitalize on such a thing."

"Seriously? You're going to do a re-write only to protect my⁠—"

"It's my primary reason," I answered with a nod. "Same goes for Telo, too. The previous ending came from a chat we had. Apparently, one of his fears came to life Sunday. That morning, he described it to me, and said I could write to it in exchange for a favor. I can't use it now. It'd be horrid of me if I did. I talked to Todd Carlson earlier today, and he said I could use elements of his Seward incident as a replacement ending. I'm close to done, and it won't take long to polish it up."

His thoughtfulness soothed my soul.

"Ooh. Speaking of climaxes," I said with a hint of suggestiveness because I wanted closeness, tenderness, reassurance, affection. I wanted all of everything my incredible husband had always provided.

ROBIN
St. Peters, Missouri
Tuesday, March 17, 2020 7:13pm

Moments after we'd entered our home, Tater found and pounced on the rope toy I'd forgotten to pack. He thrashed it in the distinctive canine prey-dispatching technique until it escaped his jaws. I was surprised the living room window into which he'd propelled it didn't shatter. Brandi scolded him, and he sheepishly brought it to her.

He'd slept almost the entire ride home on the back seat of the SUV, so I wasn't surprised he held excess energy. Brandi exercised him in the back yard while I unpacked the truck. As they played, I called to her from the kitchen.

"You want an adult beverage since you're not flying tomorrow?"

"Yes, please," she answered. "I'm going to go take a shower."

I mixed a twelve-ounce can of cold Diet Coke with two shots of Tennessee whiskey before pouring it over a Yeti I'd filled with ice. I made another for myself into an identical insulated tumbler, but with Crown instead of Jack, then joined my wife in the shower where we made sure to wash specific spots very thoroughly.

Brandi and I ate a couple of delicious salads delivered by Uber and watched the nine o'clock news. The weatherman advised the unseasonably warm temperatures were a thing of the past as a cold front moved through. It was barely twenty degrees outside.

I put Tater in his kennel, then my bride and I engaged each other in total and complete sensuality where climax wasn't the goal, just closeness, intimacy, and pleasure.

"You know what you should put in book five?" Brandi asked.

"Tell me."

"There's a few people beginning to suspect Mark Wright of having his own agenda, yes?"

"Yeah. There's an observant investigator who's starting to pay attention."

"Male or female?" she asked, stroking my erection slowly and softly with two fingertips.

I sighed in pleasure. "In my mind, it's a guy, but the character isn't fully developed or set in stone yet."

She held one leg parted and bent at the knee, giving me her opposite thigh as a pillow where I could nuzzle and smooch her crotch.

"Maybe she's a woman. Maybe she's not only interested in his actions , but perhaps she might become interested in him , and is willing to look the other way⁠—"

"Oh, wow ." I gasped for several reasons. "That's a fantastic idea. I've been knocking around the idea of pulling him out of his military unit, and maybe have him go to work with one of those private contract companies."

"That could definitely work. Or … maybe the investigator isn't military or out to prosecute him, maybe she's out to recruit him. Perhaps something happens between them which leads further …" she trailed her words off as she suckled my glans, removing with the tip of her tongue what her slow ministrations had caused to percolate from within.

She sighed deeply as I played my tongue against her clit.

"Hey. Will you do what you did a few weeks ago?"

I knew exactly what she was referring to. I slicked my fingertip with some water-based lube and slowly, gently penetrated her bottom.

"Oh, God, Robin, I'm going to cum," she groaned as I licked the full length of her slit, taking in her juices. I drew her clit between my lips and sucked it with rapid pulses.

Her grunts escalated until her muscle began grasping repeatedly around my knuckle. I slowly worked it around in a circle, hearing her growl as her climax amplified. The fact that my wife not only enjoyed being stimulated in such a way but actually asked me to do it aroused me to the point I couldn't hold it any longer. I flipped myself around, pulled her hips off the bed, and pushed into her from behind. Her pussy accepted my full length into it. I erupted instantly, crying out her name.

After my orgasm waned, I collapsed back onto the bed and drew my wife into a close skin-on-skin cuddle. She ran her fingers through the hair on my chest.

"I love you so much, baby," she whispered.

Over the following few days, interspersed with more phone conversations with investigators, Brandi helped me with the specifics of mechanics and systems of the business jet to make the incident believable and plausible. It surprised me how she wanted to write several pages herself, but she insisted I not give her a writing credit, and to keep her contributions on the down low.

My editor was thrilled with the rework, and the polished manuscript was sent to the next phase in the publishing workflow. I'd have a few months of a break during which I could work on several freelance investigative pieces.

Uncaged Rage and Freed Fury
Mark Wright Book 4
An Excerpt

In his ghillie suit, a camouflaged figure lay prone in scrub brush on a hillock. His radio was tuned to the tower frequency of the foreign base. He never heard the pilots call, and the repeated urgent requests from the controllers went unanswered.

Wright wasn't one to fall victim to self-doubt, but he knew several aspects of his plan were completely out of his control, some of which could defeat his efforts. Though he'd taken care to hide it against the pressure bulkhead, a maintenance technician might have found the small explosive. His calculations could have been wrong, rendering it ineffective in punching a pencil-sized hole in the fiberglass dome. The pilots might have departed from established procedure and failed to program the autopilot for vertical navigation.

Those were the sorts of thoughts swimming through his mind when he finally saw a dot appear above the horizon. Aiming his binoculars, he observed the approaching aircraft. The electronic rangefinder indicated it was five kilometers distant. Ten seconds later, it was near enough to observe the landing gear hadn't been deployed, nor had the flaps been extended as they should have been.

His pulse began to accelerate. He focused his breathing to quell his anticipation. He carefully and slowly reversed his position. Peering northward, he observed emergency vehicles begin to take positions adjacent to the long runway.

He heard the jet's engines as the plane flew overhead. A reflection of the setting sun glinted against it just before it pancaked onto the concrete and erupted into a skidding black and orange fireball. It began to cartwheel, narrowly missing one of the trucks. Momentum carried the disintegrating mass perhaps a thousand meters before it came to rest.

Major Mark Wright smiled, tucked his binoculars aside, and turned off his portable aviation-band radio. Secure in his camouflaged nest, he settled in for a catnap to wait for the cover of darkness when he would make his egress.

Seventeen evil men in the theater had been eliminated, and the world would never know who did it the favor.