Mule, p.34
MULE, page 34
They strapped themselves in, laid their heads back on the generous headrests, and watched out the window as the confident Falcon taxied down the runway, its three Honeywell turbofan engines humming as smooth as silk. As the jet reached skyward, both of them were hoping that Wednesday would be the day they would finally get some answers.
Chapter 30
Jack awoke to the co-pilot gently shaking his shoulders. "Sir, we'll be starting our descent into New York City and the Long Island Airport in about an hour. Would you be interested in having us fly over the WTC site? If so, we need to file our approach plan in advance."
"Oh yes, absolutely. Get as close as the controllers will allow you." Jack was groggy, but just the mention of the WTC site shocked him awake. He appreciated the courtesy of the co-pilot asking him. The pilots had no idea of course that he had lost a loved one on 9/11, but it was probably a fairly common thing for charters to ask their clients if they would like to see the infamous site.
Jack had decided against visiting Ground Zero again. It didn't feel right to him. The site was now a construction zone with all traces of the attacks now basically eliminated. He knew no one would forget what had happened that day, but it did hurt him to know how quickly it was being transformed into several shiny new skyscrapers. Flying over the site would suffice for him. He had done his grieving long ago. He was more bitter and angry now, than grief-stricken.
He had kept up to date on how the site was being re-developed. The whole thing had turned into a political football over the years, and the insensitivity of it began right at the process of hauling away all of the debris. The city coroner had verified to authorities that any debris hauled away to landfill sites would most definitely contain human remains—lots of human remains. The debris field was so massive, and the task to uncover any further remains would be Herculean. However, the cruel irony of it all was that they chose a landfill site on Staten Island, which had the incredibly macabre name of 'Fresh Kills Landfill,' which refers to its location along the banks of the 'Fresh Kills Estuary.' Jack couldn't believe the poor judgment that went into that decision. He shuddered to think of family members whose relatives' remains were never found, having to live with the fact that their loved ones' bones could possibly be resting at a place going by the name 'Fresh Kills.' How stupid and insensitive could they be?
That particular landfill site was opened in 1948 and had grown to become the largest of its type in the world, taking up a full twelve square kilometers. It was actually closed down early in 2001, but then re-opened again after the WTC attacks just to handle the debris. After it was all hauled there, it was decided that the landfill site would be closed once again and turned into a park and memorial. To be fair, Jack acknowledged that perhaps that landfill site was the only one in the New York area that could handle the huge volume of debris, but the name of the place was an incredibly horrible coincidence. He wondered if they had considered alternatives. Couldn't barges have hauled the debris out to the deep Atlantic and dumped it? Of course whale-huggers would have had a field day with that. So perhaps the government really had no choice.
Well, 'Fresh Kills' now had a more appropriate reason for its name than just an estuary. Then the lobbyists and money-grubbing visionaries got in on the act. In 2002, a contest for New York architects and designers was launched, then quickly withdrawn. Then a local architect was summarily selected, only to have his six designs rejected. A couple of months later, a press release announced that seven semi-finalists were selected to compete to be the master design architects for the WTC site. Then it was down to two, then a winner was announced, but they had to work with another architect who was chosen by a developer to be in on the deal anyway, even without competing. Jack guessed that the money, being divided up into so many tasty little pies, must be enormous. The New York Port Authority had turned tragedy into one massive business opportunity, and it was now the main money game in town. Nice.
Five new skyscrapers were to be erected, along with the tower known as 7 World Trade Center, which Jack understood had already been completed and opened in 2006. This tower replaced the third tower that collapsed on Sept. 11, 2001, the tower that wasn't even hit by a plane but somehow managed to collapse just perfectly anyway. Jack always wondered about that one.
One of the new towers, to be known as 1 World Trade Center, would be the centerpiece of the complex. It would rise to 1362 ft., the exact height of the original WTC South, the first tower that had been hit. However, in typical U.S.A. symbolism, this tower would have an antenna at the top that would shoot up another 414 feet to bring the total height of the structure to 1776 ft. This will signify, in a patriotic salute, the year in which the Declaration of Independence was signed. Jack thought that he could have used these marketing geniuses when he was in business. All for show, ceremony, and might, but don't dare ask them about the 'Fresh Kills' landfill site.
The new WTC area will also have the usual mandatory memorial, to be called "Reflecting Absence." And in glossy theatric fashion, it will have a field of trees broken by the footprints of the twin towers. These footprints will be filled with water, and a wall will contain the names of all of the victims. Susan's name would be there.
There will also be a new train station, a museum, and a performing arts center. The site will be a magnet for tourists, no doubt. And it will be spectacular. And a lot of people will make a lot of money building it and operating it.
Jack knew he had been getting more and more cynical over the years since 9/11, but despite trying his hardest to be to the contrary, he just couldn't help it. All this symbolism, pageantry, and blind patriotism didn't pay proper tribute, in his mind, to the horror of that day, and gave absolutely no acknowledgement of what really caused that day to happen in the first place. A little less blind patriotism and "go get 'em boys!" attitude, and a lot more attention to holding politicians accountable for their actions, would go a long way.
Jack pushed his seat button and pulled himself out of the recline position. He looked to the back of the cabin and saw that Kerrie was still asleep. The first thing she had done when the plane reached cruising altitude was to pull out one of the couches into its bed position. She was lying under a blanket looking as if she didn't have a care in the world. They both knew otherwise, of course, but she was clearly enjoying the moment.
He walked down the length of the cabin and used the washroom. On his way back, he carefully stirred Kerrie awake. "We'll be landing soon, sleeping beauty. You might want to freshen up?"
Kerrie smiled back in a lazy kind of way, and stretched her arms out in front of her.
"Now I understand why you were an executive for so long. I could get used to this."
"Trust me, it was no picnic most of the time. After the novelty wore off, we looked at our planes as just utilities," Jack commented.
He went back to his seat, and within minutes the captain advised them over the intercom to fasten their seatbelts as they were beginning their approach to New York center. Looking out the window, he could now see the skyscrapers of the city off in the distance. It never failed to astonish him as to how big and powerful New York really was. An incredible city, with a spirit and energy that kept on ticking, no matter what. He had to give it credit for resilience.
The captain announced that they were now flying over the Ground Zero site. Jack gazed down. While construction of the structures was well under way, it was still easy to discern the huge empty chasm carved into the center of downtown New York by the terrorists. He could see the completed WTC 7, and the foundations and substructures for the other five towers were already in the ground. Jack knew that this project would take until 2013 to be completed, and he was confident that it would become a world landmark even more famous than the original. While cynical as to motives, he was not insensitive to the need for New York to get closure and be beautiful again—not just physically but in its soul also. For that, he was glad. This great city deserved it.
The Falcon soared over the site and gave them a great view. Jack was intrigued to at least see the progress they were making down there, but didn't regret his decision to not go in person. His Susan was buried in Toronto, not in the rubble of Ground Zero....or Fresh Kills landfill.
They continued their descent as they approached Long Island Macarthur Airport. Jack had chosen that airport over Teterboro because it was within about thirty minutes of Connie Reynolds' house by his estimate. Avoiding New York traffic when possible was a must for savvy travelers to this area of the world. If he were a tourist, he would choose to stay at a hotel right smack in the middle of the city near Times Square. But this trip would not afford them the luxury of sightseeing. They just wanted to get in and get out, quickly.
The jet gave them the smoothest landing either of them had ever experienced, and made a short taxi over to the charter terminal wing. They were out of the plane and hailing a taxi within minutes. Before leaving, Jack reiterated to the pilots his instructions to remain on standby until Sunday.
Before they got into the taxi, Jack pulled Kerrie aside. "Let me do the talking and please don't get insulted or angry at what you hear me say to the driver, okay?" Kerrie looked at him, a little bit alarmed but also intrigued. She nodded.
The driver put their bags in the trunk while Jack and Kerrie hopped into the back seat.
"Where to, folks?"
"I'm hoping you can help me with that. We want a little hotel or motel, very discreet, and one that will take cash. I'm on a little getaway with my lady friend here, and I don't want any possibility of being tracked, you get my drift?"
The driver smiled into the rear mirror. "No problem, sir. I know just the place, not too far from here. I know the owners and they like cash. They really like cash."
The next thing Jack felt was a kick to his ankle. He turned his head and looked at Kerrie, wincing as he did. She looked embarrassed, but she also looked like she was stifling a laugh.
About ten minutes from the airport, the cab pulled up to a small four-storey hotel called the Lamplighter Hideaway. It actually looked quite charming. Jack was expecting some sleazy-looking dive. The driver turned around and gave them his instructions. "Ask for Chuck when you arrive at the front desk. He's one of the owners. Tell him Larry sent you. I get a kickback, of course. Chuck will take care of you."
"Thanks, Larry," Jack said. He handed over a twenty dollar bill, which Larry quickly pocketed.
"No problem," Larry called out as they were walking away from the cab. "Nice doing business with you. Have one for me!"
Kerrie glared back at the cab driver and then punched Jack on the shoulder. "Kerrie, I'm sure he meant for me to have a drink for him," Jack pleaded feebly. "He didn't mean what you're thinking."
"Yeah right. You men are all so predictable!"
They went up to the front desk, and were pleasantly surprised to see that this hotel actually looked as charming on the inside as on the outside. It had stained glass windows, stylish Tiffany lamps, large leather couches in the lobby, and a huge fireplace. Adjoining the lobby was a lounge, and they could hear the mellow sounds of jazz over the din of voices and laughing. It didn't look like the kind of place that would accept cash.
True to Larry's recommendation, Chuck was more than accommodating and his eyes lit up when Jack paid him $2,500 cash up front for a six night stay, for a room that had a nightly rate of $150. Jack also teased him with the promise of a bonus for the day they checked out. If Chuck was discreet and disclosed to no one of their stay there including anyone enquiring by phone, he would get another $2,500 on the day they left. Jack also told him that they would not be giving their names for his register. Chuck eagerly acquiesced and winked knowingly. He was obviously used to this.
Two anonymous people were staying in room 207, which actually consisted of two rooms that adjoined. Out of respect for Kerrie's privacy, Jack had requested that type of accommodation. And the rooms were just as charming as the lobby. The décor oozed that instant feeling of relaxation, and as soon as the two travelers dropped their bags they threw themselves onto their beds and just soaked it up. Nice to be in New York and nice to be feeling safe.
Kerrie got changed into her pyjamas and robe and sat down on Jack's bed. "They probably know that we're here by now, don't you think?"
"Well, at best we're a few hours ahead of them. We can assume Bob knows by now that you're on to him. They're also well aware that we weren't able to get on that Northwest flight. And they know we didn't return to Bigfork. So they're figuring by now that we either started our drive to New York, or chartered a plane. Let's hope they think we drove, because it would take four days to do that and they would think they still had plenty of time."
"They would easily be able to track a charter and a large bank transfer in your name," Kerrie commented.
"True, but I didn't do either of those things in my name. I own a shell company in Canada mainly for tax purposes, so I did the transfer out of that account instead of my own personal account and I put the air charter contract in that company name as well. So, if they have an electronic alert out for my name, nothing will pop up. They would need to search further to find a money transfer and charter contract for an Alberta company, which will buy us a bit more time but it won't stop them from eventually finding out what we did. The only question is how soon they'll find out."
"So before too long they will know we flew to New York, and which airport we landed at," Kerrie observed.
"Yes. We can't kid ourselves into thinking we've duped them. As I said, we've bought a few hours head start at the very best," Jack said. "But they don't know where we're staying or who we're visiting while we're here. So for now I think we're relatively safe. We're not using credit cards, and you can bet they will have electronic trackers out for those. They're going to start getting pretty frustrated once they start looking."
"Okay, I feel better now." Kerrie became silent and they both got lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes.
Jack allowed his eyes to wander. She was sitting close to him on the bed and he had to admit that she was an intoxicating beauty. However, he had no urge to take it beyond the friendship they had developed. He thought to himself how amazing that was—how many men would kill right now to be lying on a bed with someone sitting within kissing distance, who looked as incredible as Kerrie did. Something had happened to him, and he knew it was Heather back home. He had already called her about a dozen times since he left Calgary, and despite the free-wheeling lifestyle that had been his trademark for the last few years he found himself now thinking only of her. This was a good thing, he thought.
And the other good thing was that Kerrie seemed very comfortable with him and did not act as if she was afraid she would be pounced on sitting beside him on the bed dressed in her robe. She obviously trusted him, and Jack felt good about that. He was a bit puzzled, however, over the little pangs of jealousy he had felt about Bob, but he wrote that off as just typical male rivalry. At least he hoped that's all it was. It would be too complicated thinking seriously about two women at the same time.
"Kerrie, what are you thinking about? You seem lost in thought."
Kerrie sighed and lowered her head. "Well, I have to confess that I still feel so stupid for trusting Bob as much as I did. And the worst part of it is, I really liked him. I believed in him and felt so sure he was looking out for me and my safety. As I told you, for a while there I even thought we might actually become involved in a romantic way. Thank God I didn't let that happen; I would really feel like an idiot."
Jack sat up, and put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't feel like that. By now you know the sophistication of the group we're dealing with. These people lie for a living, and they do it very well. Give yourself a break. Okay?"
She looked back at him affectionately. "Okay." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and went back to her room. Jack could hear the bedsprings creak as she got under the covers. He noticed that she hadn't bothered to close the adjoining door.
*****
The village of Northport resided in Suffolk County on the north shore of Long Island. Long Island was big, and home to some of the most picturesque towns and villages in the New York City metropolis. People who lived in Northport had the benefit of living in an old world community, but as penance they had to suffer through an hour's commute to downtown. So be it, as the benefits were substantial.
The village was right out of a Norman Rockwell painting, with old-fashioned ice cream parlors, antique stores, and even a village green that would host concerts on hot summer evenings. Its main street still had trolley rails embedded in the asphalt, reminiscent of the days when streetcars ruled. To thrill tourists, the village had adopted a new version of the trolley, ironically more primitive than the original. The twenty-first century version was horse-drawn, and ran on rubber tires rather than metal wheels on the rails. The visitors to Northport didn't care that it wasn't authentic. This was far better than the original, at least for photo ops.
The population in Northport now was about 8,000, and half would commute daily into downtown New York. The other half probably worked at the Northport Power Station, the largest oil-fired electric generating station on the entire east coast of the United States. The four enormous stacks, each 600 ft. tall, could be seen as far away as Connecticut, and appeared in the nightmares of environmentalists as far away as Portland.
