Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 14

  “Morning, Father,” William slurred, swaying side to side. He sneered when he noticed Rick. “Nice eye.”

  “Nice nose,” Rick countered.

  At this, William leapt at Rick, but the ambassador’s reflexes were quicker. He grabbed William by the collar, nearly lifting him off the ground.

  “I’m not dealing with this again.”

  William swallowed hard.

  The ambassador placed him on the ground and turned from his son, who was literally shaking. He looked back, more composed, and glanced at the blonde in William’s car. “Get her out of here.”

  Without a word, William stumbled back to the car. The ambassador grabbed his shoulder, smelling the younger man’s breath. “On second thought, you’re not going anywhere. I’m not taking any more chances on drunken sons.”

  The ambassador marched in the house. Moments later, he emerged with Walter, the house servant. He whispered something to the elderly man and nodded at the girl in the car. Walter nodded back and the ambassador gave him some money, which the man carefully placed in his pants’ pocket.

  With that, he walked to the car and drove off before the girl had a chance to utter one word. Ambassador Cross smoothed his golden hair unconsciously and strode up to William.

  “Dad, I—”

  “Not a word. We’ll deal with this when I get back. Now get inside,” he barked. “And sober up.”

  William scratched his ear before shoving his hands in his pockets and climbing the steps. He quietly opened the door and walked inside. The ambassador didn’t look at the house. Instead, he walked to the car and waited for Drew to open the door to the back seat.

  Drew motioned at us and Rick and I climbed inside. Rick took the middle seat between the ambassador and me. Drew closed the car door and jogged to the driver’s side. Once inside, he glanced at us through the rearview mirror.

  “Does anyone need anything before we get going?”

  I shook my head in response as Rick answered, “No, thank you.”

  Drew stared at the ambassador and I suddenly realized the inquiry was not directed at us. Ambassador Cross had his right elbow leaning against the door and was staring at the house. Finally, he became aware we were not moving and snapped, “Let’s get going!”

  At this, Drew closed the window between the front seat and the back. The car slowly made its way down the long, winding driveway. Charlie waved as we drove through the giant gates that separated the Cross estate from the rest of the exclusive neighborhood and before I knew it, we were on the highway. As we drove, I considered how to approach investigating this cryptic case in a foreign country.

  A horrible thought crossed my mind and I turned to Rick. “Uh, I don’t have a passport.”

  “What?” he replied, leaning closer.

  I glanced at the ambassador nervously. “I said I don’t have a passport. How am I supposed to leave the country?”

  Rick’s naturally tan complexion turned pale white as he realized the implications of my statement. Looking around the vehicle, he stammered, “Never? You’ve never had one?”

  “No. I mean, I meant to get one someday, but so far, I’ve never needed it. What am I going to do?”

  Rick glanced at the ambassador, who was still staring out the car window. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Uh, sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “We may have a little problem. You see, Jordan, uh, well, she, uh, doesn’t have a passport,” he finished, calmly. Rick glanced at me with an unreadable expression. It was as if Rick and the ambassador were in the midst of a high-stakes poker game and neither man wanted to tip his hand. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity.

  Finally, when I could no longer stand it, I spoke. “I’m sorry about this, sir, but I’ve never had the need for one. Since I know I can’t fly without it, I suppose we should head back.”

  The ambassador looked at Rick. “Do I look like the kind of man who doesn’t consider all possibilities before executing a decision?” When neither of us responded, he continued. “I considered it likely that Miss James would not have her passport with her when I booked the flight.”

  I looked at Rick and then at the ambassador. This game was maddening. “How did you expect me to get there then, sir?”

  He smiled wearily. “Miss James, in my lifetime, I have made many connections, some good, and some bad. All you need to know is that I was able to secure you a passport and, to insure we didn’t encounter any other issues, I chartered a private plane for the flight.”

  With that, he turned his attention back to the ocean view outside his window. I looked at Rick curiously. He shook his head. The discussion was over. While it should have relieved me that such a catastrophic and embarrassing event was avoided, all I felt was uneasy. We sat in silence for the rest of the thirty-minute drive.

  When we arrived, Drew did not park as I expected him to, but instead drove up to a small security building located along the left side of the airport property. Through the tinted glass, I could see him hand something to the guard. After carefully inspecting the badge, the guard walked back to the building. Three minutes later, he handed the badge back to Drew and waved us through.

  Drew drove across the tarmac and stopped in front of a sleek, white jet. Three men in charcoal uniforms and bright-orange vests were busily working, fueling the plane and checking the engine and tires. A fourth man in a pilot’s uniform exited the jet and jogged over to the limo.

  I felt completely out of my element, sitting in someone’s personal limo that was parked in front of a private jet. This entire weekend seemed like a scene from a movie and I doubted anyone would believe me if I shared the details.

  Drew opened his employer’s door. The ambassador exhaled through his nose as he stood up and was immediately greeted by the pilot. The two walked together several paces and stopped. Drew left the door open and hurried over to join the conversation.

  The roar of a passing airplane’s engines was deafening, making it impossible to eavesdrop. I glanced at Rick. He was staring past me, his attention focused on the three men. His stoic expression revealed little, but it was clear he was not pleased with our current situation. I wasn’t sure what bothered him the most, but decided now was not the time to pry.

  I watched a 747 slowly taxi up the runway and pause. Less than a minute later, it started moving. Rapidly picking up speed, the nose pointed skyward as the wheels receded and the plane became airborne.

  A sudden rap on the window grabbed my attention and I turned back toward the open door. Drew leaned into the backseat and extended his left hand. “Are you ready to go, Miss James? Everything’s set for departure.”

  I accepted Drew’s hand. He helped me out of the vehicle. Rick followed me. I stared at the jet and watched the ambassador grasp the railing on the rolling stairs as he carefully climbed into the plane. Rick put his hand on my lower back and guided me to the steps.

  “When he said we were flying to London, did you know he was taking a private jet?” I yelled over the roar of our plane’s engines.

  “I didn’t know, but I suspected it.”

  “So he owns his own plane, too?” I asked, incredulously.

  Rick shook his head. “No, he charters them. Never wanted to deal with the headache of maintaining a jet.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s such a hassle,” I said, trying not to smile.

  Behind us, Drew carried our luggage to an attendant who promptly threw them into the cargo compartment with little regard for our possessions. Shaking my head, I shifted my purse and grabbed the metal railing of the rolling stairs and ascended the platform.

  Stepping on board the aircraft, I was enveloped by the sweet scent of roses and crisp, frosty air. The main interior cabin was more spacious than I imagined, offering enough places for eight people to sit comf
ortably.

  There was a long, beige-leather couch and four, beige-leather recliners. Affixed to the plush, tan carpet in front of the couch was a low-profile, oak coffee table and beside each recliner was a compact, oak end table. Despite the evident luxury of this aircraft, it was tasteful and understated in a classy way. The attention to detail was so minute that the overhead illumination danced upon the mahogany walls in a manner that allowed for optimum, pleasant lighting.

  Sitting in a recliner beside one of the back windows was the ambassador. In his left hand was a glass of scotch and in his right was a newspaper. He looked up just as Rick stepped inside the cabin. He noticed my surprise with an amused expression. Putting down the glass, he removed his eyeglasses and began to clean them with a silk handkerchief he extracted from his coat pocket.

  “Well, Miss James, what do you think?”

  I glanced around the cabin. “It’s amazing.”

  He folded the handkerchief before placing it back in his pocket. “It’s a nice plane,” he agreed. “There’s a full bath, a small kitchen and a bedroom down that hall in case you are in need of anything during the flight. We have one flight attendant on board. I hope you find the accommodations acceptable.”

  “It’s very nice, thank you.”

  “What do you think, Richard?”

  Rick exhaled through his nose. “It’s impressive. As usual, you managed to take a basic situation and make it extravagant. Instead of wasting all this money on chartering a private jet, why not put those funds toward trying to find Arthur?”

  The ambassador flinched, but maintained his composure. He took one last sip of scotch and carefully placed the glass on the side table. He then stood up and straightened his jacket. I prepared myself for another blow up.

  “For your information, son, I chartered this jet because all flights out of this airport are booked until this afternoon. I didn’t want to waste one single minute. I wanted to get over there as soon as possible because I want Arthur found and found safe.” He paused, his gaze shifting to me. “Also, like I said, I predicted Miss James would be without a passport and, Richard, I assumed yours has expired.”

  Rick stared at him, but said nothing.

  “One of the best ways to avoid certain Customs-related issues is to take a private jet. Now if you’ll excuse me, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. I need some rest. I’ll be in the back bedroom should you need me.”

  With that, the ambassador walked down the hall and closed the door. I glanced up at Rick. His brow furrowed and his cheeks turned a light shade of crimson. I reached for his hand, but he pulled away. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t know. I just assumed—”

  “I’m sure Mr. Cross knows that.”

  Before he could respond, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and saw a young man with spiky-blond hair and hazel eyes. He was dressed in black-cotton slacks and a white, long-sleeved collared shirt. In his left hand was a blue vest with a silver nametag pinned to the lapel. He grinned.

  “Morning! My name’s Connor and I’ll be your flight attendant. We should almost be ready for take-off so you might want to take your seats.” We walked over to two recliners and sat down as Connor put on his vest and buttoned it. He then closed the cabin door and looked around. “Uh, wasn’t there a third person? Some old guy?”

  “The ambassador is already on board and most likely in the back, Connor.” I turned toward the voice and saw the pilot leaning against the cockpit door with a stern look on his face. The pilot was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and deep brown eyes. His expression said more than he did audibly and it was clear he was furious.

  Connor cowered. “Oh, my bad.” He looked at us. “I’m sorry.”

  The pilot directed his attention to us and smiled. “Good morning. My name is Phillip Quinn. We will be taking off in the next few minutes. We’re just waiting for my co-pilot.” He looked at the door. “Why is that door closed?”

  Connor flew to the cabin door and unlatched it quickly. “Sorry.”

  Phillip sighed and shook his head. “Why don’t you see if they need anything?”

  “Right!” Connor exclaimed. He rushed over to us, nearly tripping over the coffee table in the process. Stopping suddenly, he asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Rick yawned. “No. I’m fine, thanks.”

  I looked up into Connor’s anxious eyes. It became quite clear the longer I looked at him that he was much younger than I originally suspected. He was no older than twenty and apparently very inexperienced. I smiled and shook my head. “No, I’m all right, too, thanks. Just need some sleep.”

  Connor’s eyes lit up and he raced down the hall. Moments later, he emerged with two white-cotton pillows and two light-blue wool blankets. “Here. All the seats recline.”

  I accepted the pillows and blankets and nodded appreciatively. Before I had a chance to reply, a sudden movement near the open door caught my attention and I instinctively turned toward it.

  Climbing the last few steps of the rolling stairs was a middle-aged, Vietnamese man wearing stylish eyeglasses. He met my gaze and nodded as he shifted the weight of his bag to climb aboard. “Good morning. I apologize for the delay. My name is Harold Nguyen.”

  “Hello,” I replied, smiling.

  “Forgive me for interrupting, Miss, but Harry and I need to get this plane off the ground. We’re already behind schedule. I know how the ambassador hates being late.” Phillip frowned as if recalling an unpleasant incident. Glancing at Connor, he snapped, “Now you may close the cabin door. And prepare for take-off.”

  With that, the two pilots hurried into the cockpit and shut the door behind them. Connor closed the main door and latched it securely before glancing at us. “We’ll be taking off shortly. Please make sure your seats are in the upright position and secure your safety belts,” he paused and glanced at the cockpit door. Speaking quietly he asked, “You guys have flown before, right?” I looked at Rick and we both nodded. “Do I need to explain the oxygen masks and floatation devices or are you good?”

  Connor’s method of addressing safety issues for a flight was unusual. Despite the monotony of hearing flight attendants recite the same boring precautions, it still provided one with a sense of security because their knowledge meant they could help should the unthinkable arise. While I considered Connor’s lack of professionalism and wondered if this inexperience extended to other members of the crew, he stared at us, waiting for a reply.

  When Rick said nothing, I offered, “I think we’re okay.”

  Connor grinned. “Sweet. Oh, in case we need them, they’ll pop out right there,” he offered graciously, slapping the console with air conditioning vents above each chair. “Well, I guess just stay in your seats and buckle up.”

  Rick winked at me as he walked over to the recliner the ambassador had occupied minutes earlier. Connor took a seat across from Rick and fastened his seatbelt. I chose the chair beside Rick’s and grinned as he nodded at Connor, shaking his head in disbelief.

  A deep voice over the intercom announced, “All right, folks, we’re cleared for take-off. Everybody get comfortable. We’ll get you to London as soon as we can. And thanks for flying with us today. We hope to make it your most pleasant flight yet.”

  I glanced over at Connor. Our flight attendant was lounging comfortably, flipping though a sports magazine. I suddenly remembered the ambassador and leaned closer to Rick as the plane began to move. “Do you think Mr. Cross is safe in a bed? Shouldn’t he be in a seat?”

  Rick crossed his arms and yawned. “He’s made this flight plenty of times. If he’s back there, it must not be an issue.”

  The plane turned and I lifted the shade on the window beside my seat. We were nearing the runway. Suddenly, the roar of the engines grew louder albeit they were stil
l muffled by the well-insulated cabin. I felt the plane begin to move again and its speed increased.

  I leaned my head back against the headrest and braced myself. I felt the distinct sensation of lift-off as the sound of the wheels receding into the plane reached my ears. My ears popped twice as we slowly gained altitude. I glanced out the window. The plane was now at a forty-five degree angle and the longer I stared, the further away the ground became. The municipal airport, already tiny in comparison to Logan, appeared no bigger than a coin. Clouds enveloped my window, obstructing my view of the earth, now thousands of feet below.

  I exhaled slowly. Despite having flown all my life, my nerves were always their worst at take-off. For some reason, I always felt anxiety build within me before I was airborne. However, as soon as we reached cruising altitude, it completely subsided. Rick must not have shared my mild phobia about flying. He was fast asleep.

  The intercom popped and the captain said, “All right, folks, you are now free to walk about the cabin. If there’s anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask your flight attendant, Mr. White.”

  Connor glanced over and waved. He was no longer perusing a sports magazine but instead held a hardcover textbook. The title read, “The Willingham Anthology.”

  “What class is that for?” I inquired, motioning to his book.

  He stared at me, open-mouthed. “How’d you know it was for school?”

  Although I initially thought he was being sarcastic, it became apparent that he was genuinely in awe of my deductive reasoning. I shrugged. “Lucky guess.”