The Mystery of Flight 2222 Read online

  Snapping the leather lid and fastening two belts around her bag, she ran her hand gently over the suitcase and sat by it on the edge of the bed for a few minutes. Her mind was blank. She wasn’t thinking of anything, just sitting there. She stood and walked into the kitchen where she filled her cup with instant decaffeinated coffee and hot water. Fat-free milk was the only addition to her old standby beverage. She’d become hooked on this milk when she’d tried to diet many times unsuccessfully. Sure, it was like drinking white acrid water, but changing back to any milk with fat made her uneasy.

  The clock on the wall showed three-thirty in the afternoon. She had plenty of time to make it to the airport. There was no rush, but she felt strangely hurried. After all, she was

  flying to Argentina where she did not speak the language, and the only people she knew were her ex-husband and his family, a group who did not consider her a relative much less a friend. She could only imagine the reception she would encounter. She had bought an English to Spanish guide book, tried to read it for the last couple of weeks so she could communicate with the people there but didn’t really have her heart in it.

  A phone ringing brought her to her senses.

  “Hello? Oh, yes, I’m okay, Mel. Please, I’ll be fine. I appreciate all of your concerns. Tell the rest goodbye, hear?”

  She had done all her homework. She’d made sure Mel, her manager, knew exactly how she wanted the business run. Mel was short for Melanie, who insisted Helen call her such after she was promoted from a floral designer to manager. Helen thought it was because it sounded more like a man’s name and, therefore, gave her more confidence to do the job and keep tabs on the employees. It also may have been because Mel’s voice was lower than most women’s, and Mel would have been construed as a male over the phone, giving her an advantage, especially if talking to a man, but she’d never asked Mel why.

  She had spent the last week going over and over the duties Mel was expected to perform: opening and closing the store, watching the cash register like a hawk, attending to the complaints of specific customers and some employees whom she listed on a piece of paper and slid under the drawer inside the cash register. Mel was more than capable doing all of this and more, but Helen had to get her two cents in again and again. Mel accepted her overbearing quirks. Helen soon felt secure leaving with Mel on watch for her.

  At five, she cooked her dinner, poured a glass of red wine, and sat pondering her next days away from home. Her mind raced here and there, creating scenarios that she could meet head-on agreeably and would seem truly repentant and not obnoxious. She so desperately wanted everyone to know she was so very sorry for her past actions, but her doubts were overcoming her desires. The more scenarios she thought of, the more she found herself thinking this was a bad idea; however, there was something pushing and prodding her to go.

  Her cab pulled up outside her residence. The driver beeped his horn several times, and she went to the door, waving as if to say, ‘I’m ready. Just a moment!’ She checked the house once more to be sure every light was off and she hadn’t forgotten anything she needed. Satisfied all was right, she put on the alarm, opened the door, wheeled her luggage out, and shut the door. She looked at the cabbie, hoping he would come up the walkway and carry some of her things. He didn’t, so she trudged back to pick up her flowered valise after leaving the rest of the luggage by the trunk for the cab driver to stow. The man’s actions did not please her, and she decided, right there and then, not to tip him.

  The hell with that boob! He deserves a bad day.

  Comfortably seated in the back of the car, she checked her watch to be sure she had enough time. She knew she did, but it was just a habit of hers. The driver never talked to her after acknowledging she wanted to go to the airport and the Air USA terminal. This was all right with her. Conversations with cab drivers always seemed so forced, and she often flat ran out of things to say and was embarrassed. Small talk was not her forte, but in her business, she had developed the ability to do so; however, she always felt it was strained. Her customers didn’t think so, and that was okay with her.

  Once at the terminal, the miserable attempt to get everything together began, and she marched the long distance to the check-in area for Air USA Flight 2222. As usual, there were thousands of people moving in all directions, each one cloaked in their own world. Once at the ticketing area, she had to accept and navigate all the hoops that had been laid out for her to jump through just to get a boarding pass, other passenger’s complaining under their breath, and the long distances to trudge while carrying her over-zealously packed carry-on. Finally, having endured the long TSA line, she was singled out for the pat down.

  How downright embarrassing is this?

  Finally, she reached Gate 47, dropped her carry-on as if it were a sack of potatoes and flopped into a seat to wait.

  ~~ ~~ ~~

  After a while, it was announced that Air USA Flight 2222 from Miami to Buenos Aires was delayed one hour, much to the anger of many of the passengers but comfort for Frank who was anxiously fumbling through his briefcase for his ticket. He had already searched his carry-on and was, once again, probably showing a panicked expression. Much to his relief, as he slid his hand down one of the slots between the separators in his case, he touched the familiar airline envelope containing his ticket and boarding passes.

  Can’t I ever keep the damn tickets in one place so I can always know where they are? Am I some kind of stupid?

  He cringed knowing Kate would have given him her usual smirk when he lost something only to find it just where he had put it. He took a deep breath and placed the tickets in his shirt pocket so he would not lose them again. He grinned as the tickets rubbed against his square chin.

  Can’t lose them now.

  Memories of lost tickets flooded his brain, reminding him of the time his boarding pass fell out of his coat in the x-ray machine. He’d reached the gate and had no ticket. He knew it must have happened in the machine, but the attendant said there was nothing in the shute. He’d had to exit the TSA area and go to the ticketing booths again, where he was told the TSA people had found it in the x-ray machine. That necessitated going through the TSA line again. The height of his anxiety had mounted with each slow movement of the line and some confused passengers making it worse. He’d just made the flight boarding. Then he recalled another memory of the time he’d gone to the bathroom with his ticket and when he’d returned to his waiting area seat, the ticket was gone. He’d searched the bathroom without finding the ticket and had to buy a new one. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember the original seat number so he couldn’t see who’d picked up his ticket for that flight. He’d cursed himself and whomever had stolen his boarding pass.

  ~~ ~~ ~~

  Helen, seated across from a rather harried-looking man, looked up from the novel she was attempting to read and watched his antics with amusement. As he raised his head, she chuckled, and their eyes met. For a moment, Helen’s inner struggle had been interrupted by the man’s actions. She sat up and tried to casually straighten her dress so that her pudginess wouldn’t show. The man smiled and shrugged, signaling he had everything under control. She lowered her head a bit, raised her eyebrows, and nodded toward his feet where a small purple bag lay to the right of his shoe. He again smiled and nodded, leaned over, and picked up the little bag and put it back into his pocket, pulled out a newspaper he had been sitting on, and began to read. He appeared embarrassed by this small incident, which had given the impression of him being a klutz.

  Helen pretended to return to her book but kept taking peeks at him out of the corner of her eye. He was amusing yet interesting, but the ring on his finger was a prominent feature she couldn’t miss.

  The announcement for boarding their flight seemed shrill to both of them as they suddenly jerked their heads up simultaneously. Again, smiles came across their faces as they realized their reactions to the common words beginning to emanate from the loud speaker above them. The usual board
ing information was announced with those with disabilities or children being allowed to board first, then the airline’s members, the first-class passengers, and the group numbers of economy customers.

  They began to gather their things, Helen sitting on the edge of her seat and the man leaning back with his carry-on on his lap. He glanced down, maybe to be sure the tickets were still in his shirt pocket, and reflexively touched the envelope. As he looked up, Helen gave him the okay sign with her thumb and forefinger, creating a ‘O’. He chuckled, she grinned, and the two stood up at the sound of their group number being called.

  Chapter Two

  Captain Billy Swanson and Joseph Crenshaw were in the briefing room catching up on the flight plan for Flight 2222 to Argentina. They had known each other from previous flights for quite a while now. Billy was older, but he had always been impressed with Joe’s ability and was glad to see him as his first officer. The readouts had been printed out and showed nothing irregular, and the weather over Miami was terrific with minimal winds and no difficult conditions identified. The long-term weather report over South America was to be stormy but nothing they hadn’t encountered in their combined thirty-six years of flying. The delay was a simple precaution because one of the baggage ULD’s (Unit Load Devices) in the rear bay was not sliding properly, and regulations dictated a specific delay after the problem had been corrected. If the issue was worked out in the right way, the passengers would be boarded. All of this was routine.

  While waiting, both of the pilots made their customary inspection of the exterior of their Airbus 330. After each had walked his designated route, they conferred and agreed all was well. They returned to the briefing room, had coffee, and sat in lounge chairs to await their pre-boarding checklist inspection.

  The relief pilot, Jane Hodges, appeared in the doorway. “Hey, we gotta problem?”

  “ULD’s acting up. Be fixed in a jiffy, you know,” Billy replied.

  Jane walked to the printed flight plans and reviewed them studiously. She then checked and rechecked on the weather, as did her companions just fifteen minutes before.

  “Weather’s okay until we hit the equator, eh?” Jane asked.

  “Yeah, but it might well change a whole lot before we get there. Could be the usual lightning and whatnot,” Billy said.

  “You gentlemen already done checking the outside?” Jane asked, taking another look at the weather documents.

  “Yep, you gonna do the same?”

  “Oh yeah. Don’t trust you oafs,” Jane said, smiling with a twinkle in her eye.

  ~~ ~~ ~~

  Jane exited the room to descend the stairs to the tarmac where she, too, would check every last detail of the exterior of the 330. She stopped to talk to one of the three mechanics working in the rear bay. She showed no undue reaction to what they told her. She continued her walk around the aircraft, waving back at the men as they watched the baggage slowly and smoothly enter the hull.

  Jane returned to the briefing room. All six flight attendants for Flight 2222 had arrived, had gone through their pre-flight routines, and were getting ready to enter the plane to prepare the inside for the passengers. Polite pleasantries were exchanged, and everyone went on their way when given the okay that the ULD was now fully functional. The pilots were the last to leave the room, both grabbing another cup of coffee to take with them.

  With nine Air USA employees on board as well as the caterer’s team, a few mechanics checking the emergency lighting system, and two passenger liaisons performing their appointed duties, there was no time for foolishness. All were professionals, and nothing was left to chance. This had been drummed into their heads ever since entering this line of work.

  One mistake or one thing overlooked could make the difference in any flight whether you were a novice mechanic or a seasoned pilot. They all relied on each other and double, even triple-checking, didn’t hurt.

  Billy said he was satisfied with everything he had seen, signed the flight release, and got the passenger count and the pre-departure clearance form. They were ready for pushback anytime now.

  ~~ ~~ ~~

  “Good evening. Boarding for Flight 2222 to Buenos Aires will begin shortly. Please have your boarding passes and tickets readily available as you enter the walkway. We will start boarding first-class passengers, those with small children, and those with disabilities, and those of you who need more time than usual to get seated. After that, we will start at the rear of the plane calling out groups of seat numbers. Please check the boarding passes for your seat number and group number so we may board everyone comfortably. Should you need assistance, please let us know here at the desk.”

  Frank smiled when the announcement referred to filling the plane from the back. Most airlines filled from the front, making it more difficult for people to board, especially those who took their time to stow their gear. He always hated those people who brought on a carry-on that would obviously never fit in the overhead bins but would stand there for eternity shoving and pushing their monstrosity while people piled up behind them. Boarding from the back seemed logical, but Frank knew there were always people who would try to beat the system by placing their carry-ons up front to get them more easily as they left the plane.

  If only they would all just adhere to the conventional ‘carry-on near one’s seat’ policy, things would go so much smoother.

  Frank, the woman he’d seen reading her book, and the rest of the passengers began checking their passes, gathering their carry-ons and briefcases in anticipation of boarding without any hassle. There seemed to be an underlying exhilaration in everyone, each passenger having a different reason for their excitement.

  Chapter Three

  Frank watched as the attendants welcomed every passenger with “Good evening”, “Hello”, or “Welcome Aboard”, checked the boarding passes, and pointed in the direction of their seats. The Airbus 330 had four seats in the middle with an aisle on each side separating them from two seats to the far left and right, one window and one aisle. Each seat had a monitor above the tray table for videos, movies, and the usual government-mandated flight instructions. In the pocket below the tray table were the monthly magazine of the airline and an in-flight catalogue with inflated prices. Accompanying them were the ever-present white bag for flight sickness and notices espousing the great advantages with the airline’s credit card and how to use their hot spot Wi-Fi.

  As usual, some passengers got on at the wrong time; some were in the incorrect aisle for their lettered seats, some hurrying to stow their items so as not to interfere with the others, and some not bothering or just ignoring the passengers trying to get to their seats. Lines built up on each side of the aisles, and it became incumbent upon the attendants to help straighten out the bottlenecks.

  And I thought boarding from the back was a great idea.

  One such oblivious traveler was a lanky, twenty-or-so-year-old kid with pierced ears and a scraggly goatee. Every bit of his face seemed to have sharp edges—his brow, his nose, his cheekbones, and chin. He was wearing a dyed T-shirt that he’d probably made in his bathroom, stained blue jeans, and green sneakers. His arms were tattooed from the back of his hands to under the short sleeves of his shirt. A prominent red tattoo of what appeared to be a dragon’s head on the back of his neck seemed to be peeking over the shirt’s thin collar. He stood in the aisle trying his best to shove a large bulging duffle bag into the overhead bin. Anyone with an elementary school education would know from the size of the bag compared to the bin, there was no way it would fit, but not this guy. Frustrations rose geometrically as he continued to push and shove.

  “Hey, mon. It ain’t gonna fit,” a dark-skinned man, holding his three-year-old daughter’s hand, said in a Haitian accent.

  It made no difference to the hippy creature now obsessed with his bag. It was as if he were deaf. Finally, an attendant appeared, gently explaining that he needed to check his oversized bag and make room for the other people. He argued awhile, but, finally
seeing the rest of the passengers becoming increasingly upset with him, concurred with a huffy attitude and moved a few rows to the back of the plane where his seat was. He sat while the attendant retrieved his sack protruding from the overhead bin and started dragging it forward past the other passengers as they slid to the side of the aisle to let her by. She later returned and handed him his baggage check that he quickly and annoyingly grabbed and stuffed into his shirt pocket. Scenes such as this occurred in other areas, but this one was the most egregious without a doubt.

  Frank was three people behind the guy. If the man hadn’t spoken up, Frank was about to do so. “Idiot,” he mumbled. He imagined his facial expression was one of anger, and he purposely eyed the seated dolt. He was not the only one who looked disdainfully at the man, but unfortunately, this person remained totally unaware of the irritated group of people near him.

  Great way to start this long trek, Vomit Green Sneaker Man! At the least, you should have put

  your damn bag near your seat, a-hole hippy!

  Being a seasoned traveler, Frank found his seat, stowed his luggage, and slipped his briefcase under the seat then sat in one fluid motion. His movements were quick and deliberate, but no one seemed to notice. Frank glanced back at the hippy, trying to corral his instinct to give the guy a piece of his mind, but experience had taught him not to do so.

  Early in his career, Frank had once been in a similar situation when some dope stood in the aisle fiddling with his luggage for the longest time, totally unaware that a woman with her child in tow stood waiting for him to move aside. He’d continued playing with his luggage in the overhead bin as if taunting the woman. He was a dark-skinned, foreign-looking man wearing sunglasses, standing about six foot and taking up the entire aisle. The woman had been polite and waited even though the child was getting a bit fidgety. Finally, Frank had spoken up from his seat behind the man and told him to let the lady by, and he was met with a torrent of loud vulgarity that instinctively made Frank rise up out of his seat. The man shoved him backward as he’d continued his verbal onslaught. Frank had caught his balance, grabbed his coat, and punched him in his gut. The man had doubled over, coughing. Soon, passengers from the surrounding seats were up and holding both of them from continuing their battle. The attendants called the airport police, and they were soon taking both of them off the plane and interrogating them. Frank had missed that flight and learned a lesson never to interfere unless absolutely necessary.