Chapter 1: Analysis in the Dark
Six months later...
Baloo picked at his bow-tie for the upteenth time, fidgeting as usual at what he called "the noose". Kit could only smirk at Baloo's feeble attempts to convince Rebecca to change her mind in the matter of the ties. Personally, Kit felt all right about it. Even though he was navigating the Sea Duck in his tuxedo and trying to avoid scuffing his dress shoes while walking about in the cargo hold, he still performed his duties without complaining nor griping. He looked up from his map, staring at the white clouds as they passed by him. He wanted to go cloudsurfing, no question about that. But Rebecca's orders were precise about that activity until after their meeting with the airplane mongul, Demitri Sinclair.
Demitri Sinclair, a man of mystery and legends from all sorts of Aviation Medias. The one who's simple modification of a cargo ship saved the lives of hundreds of evacuating soldiers during the Phobus Wars. Who's innovations continue to save pilot's lives and made their jobs more easier. And they're going to meet him for the first time.
He felt a small tug on his shirt sleeve, awakening him from his thoughts. Molly looked at him from her pink dress and matching pigtail ribbons. "Are we there yet, Kit?" She asked politely.
"Not yet, kiddo." He grinned at her. "Another hour, I promise." He turned his head to look in the back. "Where's Wildcat?" He wondered aloud.
"He trying to tie his own tie all by himself." Molly answered, as if the question was directed at her. "He's been trying it for a week." She said this with and air of astonishment, like the thought was unbelievable to her. Kit understood perfectly. It took Baloo a month to get Wildcat to remember how to tie his shoelaces...without tying his own hand together in the process!
"Molly, honey." Rebecca walked into the cockpit...no, glided into the cockpit would be more appropriate. Her blue dress was a shimmering business gown with a slightly less-blue shoulder sash. Her hair was up, a rarity for as long as Kit remembered, looking more sculpted then permed at some beauty shop. She hunkered down to scoop Molly away, admonishing her politely about not leaving them to their duties.
Baloo smiled slightly, still fidgeting with his own tie. Whether he was smiling from "Becker's" new dress or from Wildcat trying to tie his necktie, it was hard to say exactly.
"I don't get it, Kit." Baloo said. "Out of all those bigwig shipping business like Sher Khan and UPC, what does Demitri Sinclair want from people like us?"
"Mainly because Khan and the United Parcel Consortium aren't reliable enough for him." Rebecca replied cuttingly from the back. "Khan has been known to throw a few lies around, at least around us. Who knows what he might've done to Mr. Sinclair."
"Mrs. Cunningham's right, Baloo." Kit thought the question himself several times. The past has taught him to look deeper into a scam or a con. And the phrase "Too Good To Be True" was always that: just another con at their expense. Khan has been known to use people for his own agendas; Higher for Hire was but a few he might've used and abused in the past. And this vague talk of a "Business Proposition" direct from Mr. Sinclair himself, seemed to only justify his suspicions. "Mr. Sinclair has an entire list of resources he could've used besides us-"
"Hey," Rebecca's voice sounded pained, as if she was insulted at such a notion.
Kit continued on. "And he basically corners the market in new aircraft designs and military-grade aircraft. He could've had a country of his own choice to do this 'proposition'."
Molly started: "Mommy, what's prop-incision?"
Rebecca laughed softly and started to explain. Baloo turned his neck to look in the back. The cargo space of the Sea Duck was totally transformed. All the trash was out, the beds were made and even the hold was sanitized and smelling too much like pine or evergreens disinfectant. Baloo hated it; most of his secret cache was found during the cleaning by Becky and her question on how Baloo's diet plans were in ruins were now answered.
"I guess we'll find out sooner or later, Kit. " Baloo answered. "Because we're almost there." He pointed in front of him. "Look."
Kit did, watching the clouds parting to reveal a small island looming into view. It was smaller then the others Kit had seen in the past. But it was mostly the same: Deserted beaches, tall palm trees, and emerald shorelines. It was at least 4 miles from it's widest points from one coast to another. It was small, smaller then even the island that held Louie's. The only indication that the island was manned was the long, brown strip of a dirt runway and a few maintanence shacks.
"Approaching aircraft," The radio crackled. "You are unauthorized into this airspace. Identify yourself."
Baloo winked at Kit; dealing with traffic controllers was something he was well noted for. This guy seemed like nothing to worry about. He grabbed the receiver and hit the mike.
"Yo, fellas." He started. "We got a personal invitation from your boss there. So how about-"
His conversation was cut sort by a small barrage of incoming bullets from across his starboard side. Baloo yelped in surprise as he yanked the control yolk to a hard port. Rebecca yelled in surprise and in anger, demanding what Baloo'd done now. Molly screamed in delight, enjoying again one of Baloo's aerobatics with the Sea Duck. Somewhere in the back, Wildcat was trying to keep his balance while trying to tie his necktie right. And also trying to undo his left hand from the knot.
Kit immediately looked down to see what was firing on them. The island looked deserted but now Kit could see some Anti-Aircraft batteries that were covered in underbrush. Camo-cloth. And very good camo job too, he thought. The military issues were special because they came in several layers: one had most of the underbrush to blend in perfectly with the surrounding environment, usually the more layers applied, the better well-hidden the target is. Sometimes, search parties were known for searching for a particular aircraft or cargo pod not realizing that they were standing on it the whole time! The other layers were usually for very peculiar circumstances: Some actually had tubes running through the layers with a nutrient systems so the cargo could stay hidden for months, even years because of the local seeds embedded inside the layer. Within months, the seeds will grow and add a new plant or fern to better hide the stuff. Kit knew this off- hand; Karnage had several such caches of parts around Pirate Island, sometimes the other couldn't find them but that wasn't saying much. Baloo had the civilian models and that was it. But then, they'd never considered smuggling.
The AA guns fired again, releasing another volley of flak into the blue sky.
Then guns stopped for a moment. Then Kit saw the gunnery crews proceeded with covering them again. By nature, he hated guns. Years of seeing them and what damage they could do to people brought about a slight anger inside him. The closest thing he ever used recently was the harpoon rifle he used to escape Karnage's Iron Vulture.
The radio speaker sputtered with the traffic controller's voice.
"You are cleared to land." He replied. "We are sorry for the guns. We rarely get visitors anymore. You have full access to the runway, proceed to Hanger 2 for your plane. And have a nice day." He closed the channel.
Baloo, furious, almost ripped the radio receiver from the radio itself. "Have a nice day??!!" He roared. "You shot at me, while I had an invitation. You almost blew me out of the sky and you tell me, 'have a nice day'? I had an invitation!"
"Yes, you did." The controller replied smartly. "Now imagine what would've happened if you didn't have an invitation." A slight pause. "Now, does your day seem better now?"
The controller closed the channel and Baloo replaced the receiver with slightly numb fingers. Controllers were usually boring-sounding types, like they've done the same crossword puzzles for the hundredth time. But this controller was a true professional in terms of maintaining a professional business posture.
"Problem, Baloo?" Rebecca fairly sprinted to the cockpit. Her fingertips twitching, like they wanted to lodge themselves around Baloo's neck.
"We have clearance, Mrs. Cunningham." Kit offered dryly.
Rebecca looked a lot worse for wear at the moment but started to simmer down...a little. Her hair started to fall apart a bit. And she stared daggers at Baloo.
"Baloo," She started to explain calmly..and failing. "We are about to meet one of the biggest names in aviation; A person who's word might make or break Higher for Hire. I want to make a standing impression and a good influence for him to remember."
"Becky-" Baloo started.
"I'm not finished," She nearly snarled. "So please, do not muck it up for my sake. Please." Finished what she had to say, she turned to the cargo hold to fix up her hair.
Kit didn't offer his input until after he was sure Rebecca was gone. Leaning towards Baloo, he whispered over the engine noise: "I never seen Mrs. Cunningham bear her teeth like that before."
"Yea," Baloo noticed it too. "Business that bad?"
"I haven't noticed her say anything about it." Kit mused. "She would've mentioned it before if that was the case."
"Yea," Baloo laughed. "In several different octaves and scales."
Other then the incident with the AA batteries, the landing was uneventful. The dirt runway was hard enough so the Sea Duck's landing tires didn't sink into some mudflat. Clouds of dust bellowed around the propellers as Baloo maneuvered it to their designated parking hanger. They noticed it almost immediately after landing. But Kit as well as everyone else was more amazed at the scene around the runway:
There were a round figure of ten buildings, all bordered the runway in some form, all no larger then two stories tall. But they were all hidden by the same camo- cloth that hid the gun batteries. Kit looked out his window and saw several of the AA batteries within plain view, but they were all hidden under camo-cloth, each suspended over them like the cargo nets Baloo used to put his stuff (Or junk, if you leaned towards Rebecca's views). He could see even at this distance the "rip-wires" that would rip the cloth down so the AA would fire. The complexes were well hidden. Kit had a hard time telling some buildings from a gaggle of rocks or tree trunks. Above the island, the runway would've been the only indication that it was ever inhabited! The sides of the buildings were colored and painted with the color tones of the surrounding jungle and most had vines and growth growing up the walls to provide what was known as camo-texture.
Baloo was amazed at such a sight. And he turned to face Kit and gave a slight wink. Kit nodded and they both knew it: This was not a vacation resort. Everyone in the social elite had a small contingent of bodyguards and security experts. And they accompanied their employers everywhere they went, business, pleasure, what-not. Some were like Sinclair: owning their own private islands. Khan himself owned several, including his famous Utopia Planitchia Isle, the research fortress where Khan Industries designed and built the Sub-Electron Amplifier, when was later stolen by Karnage.
But no one, even Khan would own a vacation island with a defense force this size.
Kit pointed to his left, seeing a formation of cones that pointed to their designated "parking space". Then they saw the hanger: It was large enough to hold at least twenty Sea Ducks and still have room to spare! The northern wall held a massive machine parts cache, enough to fit any damage to any plane. And a machine shop to fabricate the necessary parts if one couldn't be found. Massive fuel tanks were stacked in one corner, separated by the rest of the hanger by fireproof doors. They were opened right now, and Kit could see work crews starting on some safety checks.
There was a workshop and a repair center on the other side of the hanger, but Kit could see through the glass windows that it was empty. Everything was new, well maintained, and spelled expensive to bold capital letters. A few security guards strolled by, no marched by. Most of the security guards that Kit tangled with were usually fat, lazy and irritable if they didn't receive their 20 hour nap. These were professionals, wearing bandoleers of ammo to accompany their rifles. Insonc LV-42A models. Commando issue. Nasty.
No wonder Mrs. Cunningham insisted on them behaving.
Baloo glided the plane to it's designated parking space, going by the broad hand movements of the controller outside and in front of him. A most dangerous job indeed. Many tales were still spun about the controller who was killed while directing a plane on the ground, run over by some stupid pilot who never gotten his throttle properly checked.
"We're here." Baloo announced. "All dressed up and ready to party." He winced at his bow-tie. "Some of us, at least."
"Now remember, everyone." Rebecca reminded them for the uptenth time, almost every half-hour during their seven hour trip from Cape Susette to here. "We have to give Mr. Sinclair every courtesy and respect we could offer him; that includes you, Baloo."
Baloo snorted.
"And he prides honesty over everything. So always tell the truth." She paused for a moment. "And don't mention his wife to him."
"Yea, I heard about that." Kit muttered. Mrs. Sinclair was declared missing since the summer. But no one knew where she was , or what had happened to her. A full search of the area marked on their flight plan turned up nothing. A few shell casings were found on a beach but that could've been from anyone's plane. After that, Mr. Sinclair's business started to falter a bit. As far as anyone knew, this was the closest to contact from the outside world that he'd had in the last six months. It was a major blow to the people, especially pilots, who praised her volunteer work and her founding of retirement homes for old or infirm pilots. A whole armada of volunteer pilots took part in the search, only to find very few clues. Several still searched, even after the search ended, but it was all in vain.
A whole lot of people still mourned for her, Kit included. There was something about her from her light green eyes to her long red hair. Sometimes, he'd look at her picture and look at that compassion in her eyes, and could feel a sense of longing of such. He'd often wondered (to himself and never to anyone else) what it'd like to have a mother like Anya Sinclair.
Baloo turned off the engines, listening for a brief moment as they idled down to a whisper. Wildcat walked in the cockpit. Wildcat was no longer wearing his oil-stained coveralls but a tuxedo like the others. The only difference was that his right hand was now tied with his bow-tie! Wildcat cocked his head for a moment, hearing the ticking of the cooling engines.
"Baloo," Wildcat said. "Our engines need another oil bath. Their getting dirty from the dust. Dust is like dirt, you know."
Baloo nodded absently as he climbed out of his seat, not noticing Wildcat's problem with his hand. Come to think of it, Baloo wasn't really sure Wildcat knew himself!
"Wildcat, come here for a second, please." Kit asked. He folded his maps and his instruments and placed them in the compartments under his seat. When he was done and sure that nothing was going to slide out if they had to leave quickly, he started to unknot Wildcat's tie-and hand. He did this with an almost emotional detachment. Wildcat was almost the same with his shoes, but Molly helped him with that. He smiled briefly at the little girl's unending patience. He listened as Mrs. Cunningham kept reminding everyone about manners and protocol, mostly to Baloo. Kit nodded at every pause in her speech and finally finished with Wildcat's tie. Then he realized something.
"No clip-on?" He asked Wildcat.
Wildcat smiled, revealing his straight teeth. "Mrs. Cunningham said that lacked tastes. But cotton taste like any other cotton, right Kit?"
"No, Wildcat." Kit laughed. "She meant that this is more for the 'upper- crust' type of people and we have to look like professionals. Like rich people."
"Wow!" Wildcat tugged his tie with a hint of pride. It was strange to see him in a simple tux instead of his usual filthy coveralls and it was even stranger to find out that he smelled of soap and talcum powered then his usual musk of lubricants and gasoline. If Kit never met him before, he'd swore that Wildcat was one of the "elite" of the social clubs.
"Do you think they have cheeseburgers?" Wildcat asked.
That killed the image. But Kit still laughed on and started to tell him about those little greasy sandwiches they served on platters.
The rest of the people were outside. Rebecca got her hair back up and straight. Molly kept smiling, slightly fidgeting over the frothy dress she had to wear. Baloo fidgeted more then Molly, sometimes mocking strangulation with his tie and getting a sharp look from Rebecca.
The hanger staff looked like they were closing up for the day. It was rather late in the afternoon. Some of the overhead light went off and the staff left. The soldiers looked around for possible security problems for a few minutes, then left themselves. Leaving Baloo and his party alone in the hanger.
"I kinda expected something more of a welcoming committee." Baloo replied in amusement.
"I don't understand." Rebecca started to sound confused, and slightly anguished. "We followed his directions. We signed his contracts. We followed his route to the letter. I called to confirm the appointment four times. Four times!"
"Mommy, are you all right?" Molly started to worry herself. That was when Kit intervened, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Children were always suspected of not knowing about the world around them. But Molly could sense emotions of the people around her almost to the mark! And when they were sad, sometimes it affected her too.
"We'll be all right, kiddo." Kit replied. "Maybe they're trying to surprise us or something." He smiled, hoping that she wouldn't see through such a distraction. Faintly, he heard a small scraping sound.
"You sure?" Molly asked.
"Sure, I am." Kit answered. "Right, Baloo?" He turned his head slightly towards his friend.
"He's right, princess." Baloo smiled. Molly smiled in return at being called princess. That always improved her mood. His ear twitched. "What's that noise?"
Wildcat heard it too. "Sounds like someone's fixing an engine." He offered.
Rebecca straightened her dress for what seemed like the thousandth time. Kit wondered if she'd worry the dress to death if she kept straightening the wrinkles like that.
"Wildcat," She asked. "How do you know that?"
"I can hear the crescent wrench, it goes wrink-wrink-wrink, then spoool." His lips formed a O and pushed his arms outward for emphasis. "And he's using a plug remover. It goes, doink-doink-doink, then he twists it like zooooo."
Molly laughed and Wildcat joined her. Kit and Baloo often wondered to themselves the fortune Wildcat would've made if he'd gone into radio.
"Wildcat, how do you know it's a him?" Rebecca asked impudently. Female mechanics were now commonplace. Not to say that they outnumber the male mechanics, but they've made a name for themselves. One couldn't look at the family-run Laurista's Plane Repair and Day Care/Youth Mechanic School and not realize that. A single parent mother of six running a day care center, pre-school and repair business franchise. Rebecca often read Laurista's magazine articles in Aviation Weekly and Woman's Business Success.
"I can see him over there." Wildcat pointed to the far side of the hanger.
A single man was standing on a supporting catwalk, hovering over an exposed engine. His coveralls were drenched in engine grease and oil. His grayish, brown fur looked even worse with flecks of ground metal and rust sticking to it. Kit couldn't see the man's face because of the dark lighting. A pair of tool belts hung askew over his hips, giving off the appearance of a gunslinger in the old westerns Kit used to take Molly at the local cinaplex. He always made the courtesy of leaving before the gunfights, citing that they'd be late for dinner and ice cream.
"Who is that guy?" Baloo wondered aloud.
"Let's ask him." Rebecca replied impatiently.
They did.
The man was working one of the engines of an old Conway C-57A. A retired model but still robust and worthy of the Conway name. The hull was stripped of paint and most of the doors were gone. But Kit could see the interior. Most of the seats and instruments of the cockpit was removed, but he could see that some were replaced with updated part and equipment.
"Looks like he's restoring it," Baloo replied. He noticed the cockpit too.
Rebecca looked up at the man hanging above the engine. Most of his body was hung over the catwalk's railing but she saw a safety line attached to him. The guy was smart and knew enough about the safety regs.
"Excuse me, sir." She called out to him.
The man either didn't hear or chose to ignore her. He shuffled over his tool belts for another wrench. He picked at another section of the engine and pulled out a foreign object. It was larger then his forearm yet he held it like it had the weight of a toothpick. He dropped it with a bored expression. The object fell to the ground, less then a foot from Rebecca's feet. It left a dull thud, like it was nothing more then a sack of dirt instead of oily black metal. Black grease splattered over the front of her dress. She screamed at the sight. "There is grease on my beautiful dress!" She cried out.
The man's head perked up. He focused on Rebecca.
"Sorry, lady." The man apologized. "Didn't see you there. Should've wore a hard hat, I could've hurt your pretty little head." He leered at her with intense brown eyes.
"You should've looked before you dropped it." She yelled at him. Baloo bit his lips to contain his laughter. Kit and Molly failed the attempt.
"You folks new here?" It wasn't a question.
"We have an appointment with Mr. Sinclair." Rebecca replied with a sense of pride, but Baloo could almost hear a tone of threatening intent in her words. He hoped that the boss lady wasn't getting too big for her britches about this situation.
Whether intent she spoke in, wither threatening or not, the man didn't seemed impressed. Seemingly amused, more like it.
"Why didn't you just call out," His hands were now over the railing, a wrench dangling over his pinkie. Baloo could make out a small smile on the man's face.
"We did." Rebecca defended herself.
The man looked at the people below him. His tongue traced around his cheeks as if in thought. But then, he jerked his head and spat out a large wad of chewing tobacco. Then without warning or a sign, he flipped himself over the railing, causing startled screams from Baloo, Kit and Rebecca. Mostly from Rebecca.
The man fell with an almost graceful movement, so graceful it almost looked lazy. He fell head first then flipped himself until he was falling feet first. And just as he was about to hit the ground from a falling distance of 20 feet. The safety line went taught and lowered the man safely to the ground. The man's feet hit the floor without much fanfare, but he held the attached bungy cord that made his safety line like a professional. Like he'd done this before.
Baloo started to shake a bit, like he was shaking away what had happened. Kit and Molly just stood there, amazed at such a stunt. It was something meant for the Saturday matinee and the nickelodeon that Kit sometimes went to on the extreme rare occasions when he played hooky. Wildcat's expression was almost that of the same amazed look as Molly's.
Rebecca's was, understandably, less amazed.
Her hands were clinched tightly, almost enough to hear the knuckles crackle and pop. The man looked at her squarely at her face as he unbuckled his safety harness and tool belts. He was clearly unimpressed and unafraid at whatever this woman would do to him. the look in his eyes showed that if not his face.
"Come with me," He ordered them evenly. With that, he turned and walked away towards the hanger exit, his tool belts unbuckled and now draped over his shoulder together.
The others just stood there, trying to make out this person. He was unsettling, unnerving to them. Anyone sane would never voluntarily fall over a catwalk, safety harness of no harness, that was something that was just not done. Even Wildcat would never have tried it.
The man turned towards them, his one hand holding the exit door's handle, the other holding his tool belts. "You want to see Mr. Sinclair, them come with me. If not, feel free to spend the night here." There was small, amused crinkle in his eyes. "You might want to lock the plane up though; they let the attack dogs in here in less then an hour. And I have to lock this door from the outside." He opened the door and took a step inside the doorway. Waiting.
He didn't have to wait much longer.
As they left the hanger and into a brightly lit hallway that led to an elevator at the end, all that could be heard was the visiting adults exhaustion from their running towards the door, a boy who was huffing over carrying a small girl, the small cries of the girl that wanted to see the doggies, and the laughter of the crazed-looking mechanic.
He tapped a control at the end of the hallway. A second later, the doors parted and a another mechanic looked at them. The others stepped in and the doors closed.
"Where to, sir?" The figure asked, in a thickly accented voice.
"The office section, Zatherias." The mechanic replied with an air of authority.
The figure nodded and pressed the proper buttons. The visitors felt the elevator car move. The man straighten up his posture. In the light, everyone could see the figure that was once with them in the hanger: He was a head taller then Rebecca with long, lanky brown hair that fell in clumps around his shoulders. He wore the grease and oil almost like another layer of his skin. He was thin, almost too thin, like he ate rarely. But what amazed them was the slight intensity of his eyes under those bushy eyebrows. They were brown with slight flecks of gray, but sometimes turned to a full shade of gray depending on how the light hits them. They've soften now, the burning intensity now diminished. Kit repressed a slight shudder. Karnage had a slight variation of that intensity, but it was mostly due to rage or whatever passed for insanity, which was considered a moot point when referring to Karnage. A few people had that same look. Some were different and some were the same but over the years, Kit learned to separate them into two major groups: Insanity and rage.
"Everything okay?" Zatherias asked.
"Everything is fine." The man replied in a calming voice.
"Zatherias knew but wanted to make sure. Zatherias is like that sometimes." Zatherias replied, giving off a wolfish smile. Zatherias had a stooped appearance between a hunchback and a jackal. His coveralls were as filthy as the man, but at least his face was clean. His hair was longer then anyone else in the elevator car, even Rebecca's. It was tied into a ponytail and hung over his shoulder, small braided bangs hung over his ears.
"I like your braids." Molly complemented.
"Zatherias thanks you," He replied, his smile widening. "Zatherias does braids himself. Hates it when he has to undo them. But bath is important, or so Zatherias is told."
"I'm Molly." She recited her name with an air or pride.
Zatherias stood up straight. Before he was only a few heads taller then Louie but now, fully erect, he stood almost as tall as Baloo. "I'm Zatherias, that's my name. Zatherias. Pleased that Zatherias has opportunity to met Molly."
Molly giggled. It's funny and rare for a person to refer to themselves as a third person. But Molly didn't seem to mind. It was almost comical.
The doors parted and the rest left the elevator car, Zatherias included. The man was leading the way, his stride precise and almost timed like watch movements. The hallway was lined with offices and more offices. Each office space had an almost utilitarian design to them all: Black typewriters stood on top of wood desks. A calendar and a few charts lined one side of the wall. Filing cabinets lined another wall to the ceilings. Every room was about the same. And all lacked a sense of being lived in, a sense of personal tastes, of color. It had all the taste of bland oatmeal.
Baloo hated it. The look on his face showed it. Kit wasn't surprised.
The last office at the end of the hallway had the name Demitri Sinclair on the door in gold lettering. The name was posed over the CAM logo: a curlycued C and M with an A positioned slightly downward and connecting them with the lines. The double- doors were solid oak in a reinforced frame. Kit noticed the steel alloy hinges were reinforced, almost making the doors into a makeshift wall if necessary.
The man opened it and gestured the people to step inside. They did. And almost gasped in surprise:
It was large. Larger then Khan's office in Cape Susette! It was roughly the size of a school gym with the roof towering two stories above them. The space was divided into separate areas, some of them actually had a second level to them. The far- left side had a fully stocked kitchen with an eatery and wet bar located above. The far- right held a large work center with a elaborate communication rig with at least ten teletype machines. Rebecca almost gasped at that. Teletype machines that were capable of monitoring the stock markets around the world in almost real-time. Each was almost as expensive as the Sea Duck and Sinclair owned ten in his office! She silently prayed that Baloo wouldn't mess this up. She could see the massive map hanging above on the wall, with colored push-pins showing off locations and such. She saw colored lines of the major, minor and "Unauthorized" shipping lanes. "Unauthorized" usually meant that it was either reserved for military use only or it was illegal: a possible no-fly zone, or a smuggler's route used to avoid the border patrols or circumvent the blockade runners. Baloo whistled in amazement. A select few such route he knew about, but the way this map was showing it Baloo knew nothing! He could bet a good Banana Burrito with extra salsa that even Karnie doesn't know about half these routes!
The rest of the office was divided up. One corner had a library with shelves that reached to the ceiling. Another had what had to be a work table. She saw a lit drafting table with several blueprints on them. As well as several other blueprints hanging on his wall, some were framed with awards.
Kit and Baloo were amazed. This was where he came up with his ideas, they both thought. This was were he came up with the innovations that saved our lives and saved the lives of countless pilots. They both felt like they were on sacred ground. It took a moment for Kit to notice that Baloo was actually straightening out his tie!
The center of the room had a small "waiting area". With sectional seats and tables. It gave off a hotel lobby look. Several varieties of magazines laid on the mirrored surface of the end table. Kit could see several different aviation magazines from Aviation Weekly to The Pilot's Digest to the latest (And most coveted issue thus far) Jean's Commodities Trade Chart. Rebecca owned a subscription herself, but the Jean's was a quarterly magazine. The latest wouldn't be out for the public for another month or so.
"Sit, please" The man insisted after a few minutes of them gawking at the sights. With Baloo and the rest dressed for a ball, the only things that actually clashed with the scenery was the filthy man and his assistant, Zatherias. They all sat down on the seating, feeling good to be off their feet at last. Baloo reached out, almost by reflex for the Digest while Kit picked the Weekly. Rebecca would've literally snatched the Jean's from the table if others weren't around, but no one would not feel amusement (or understanding) for her actions. Molly and Wildcat were talking their usually talk, mostly childish stuff until Zatherias joined in. He was still standing, but was now hunched over again. It was only the mysterious man's action that literally shocked everyone, excluding Zatherias, to death.
He sat down with them. With the grease and oil staining almost every square inch of his coveralls, their was no doubt that it would leave a nasty stain on the fabric. He even leaned his head back against the head rest and starting to rub his hair in it. Every grease and oil stain was once on his back was now on the couch! And the person was now spreading himself around!
The guy gave a small smile. He was clearly amused. Whatever creditability he had in terms of his sanity just went up in smoke in their eyes. One of the most powerful people in the aviation business, and his employee just stained up his couch in his personal office without regard or respect. And right in front of them!
Rebecca felt like screaming.
The guy replied, all smiles. "I'm sure that the boss wouldn't mind at all."
"You think," Rebecca managed to find her voice, but it was wavery. "You think? How can you be sure?" She was now starting to get frantic, making the guy giggling and close to breaking in hysterical laughter. "How can you be sure? How can you really be sure? He could kill my business! My future! My gosh, he could sue me and I'll lose everything."
The guy was now laughing, holding his sides together with his arms. His laugh was slightly musical, but the hysteria in his voice almost rivaled the hysterics in Rebecca's voice. Then the man removed his hat with the ragged long-haired wig attached. Then removed the bushy eyebrows from his face.
Now they knew why the boss wouldn't mind.
He was the boss!
He lent out a welcomed hand, his smile was still genuine and still amused by the shocked silence of Baloo and the other.
"Mr. Demitri Sinclair, founder and CEO of Constance Air Manufacturing Corporation." The man in the coveralls replied in a caviler tone. "And I'm glad to 'meet' you, Mrs. Cunningham."
Six months later...
Baloo picked at his bow-tie for the upteenth time, fidgeting as usual at what he called "the noose". Kit could only smirk at Baloo's feeble attempts to convince Rebecca to change her mind in the matter of the ties. Personally, Kit felt all right about it. Even though he was navigating the Sea Duck in his tuxedo and trying to avoid scuffing his dress shoes while walking about in the cargo hold, he still performed his duties without complaining nor griping. He looked up from his map, staring at the white clouds as they passed by him. He wanted to go cloudsurfing, no question about that. But Rebecca's orders were precise about that activity until after their meeting with the airplane mongul, Demitri Sinclair.
Demitri Sinclair, a man of mystery and legends from all sorts of Aviation Medias. The one who's simple modification of a cargo ship saved the lives of hundreds of evacuating soldiers during the Phobus Wars. Who's innovations continue to save pilot's lives and made their jobs more easier. And they're going to meet him for the first time.
He felt a small tug on his shirt sleeve, awakening him from his thoughts. Molly looked at him from her pink dress and matching pigtail ribbons. "Are we there yet, Kit?" She asked politely.
"Not yet, kiddo." He grinned at her. "Another hour, I promise." He turned his head to look in the back. "Where's Wildcat?" He wondered aloud.
"He trying to tie his own tie all by himself." Molly answered, as if the question was directed at her. "He's been trying it for a week." She said this with and air of astonishment, like the thought was unbelievable to her. Kit understood perfectly. It took Baloo a month to get Wildcat to remember how to tie his shoelaces...without tying his own hand together in the process!
"Molly, honey." Rebecca walked into the cockpit...no, glided into the cockpit would be more appropriate. Her blue dress was a shimmering business gown with a slightly less-blue shoulder sash. Her hair was up, a rarity for as long as Kit remembered, looking more sculpted then permed at some beauty shop. She hunkered down to scoop Molly away, admonishing her politely about not leaving them to their duties.
Baloo smiled slightly, still fidgeting with his own tie. Whether he was smiling from "Becker's" new dress or from Wildcat trying to tie his necktie, it was hard to say exactly.
"I don't get it, Kit." Baloo said. "Out of all those bigwig shipping business like Sher Khan and UPC, what does Demitri Sinclair want from people like us?"
"Mainly because Khan and the United Parcel Consortium aren't reliable enough for him." Rebecca replied cuttingly from the back. "Khan has been known to throw a few lies around, at least around us. Who knows what he might've done to Mr. Sinclair."
"Mrs. Cunningham's right, Baloo." Kit thought the question himself several times. The past has taught him to look deeper into a scam or a con. And the phrase "Too Good To Be True" was always that: just another con at their expense. Khan has been known to use people for his own agendas; Higher for Hire was but a few he might've used and abused in the past. And this vague talk of a "Business Proposition" direct from Mr. Sinclair himself, seemed to only justify his suspicions. "Mr. Sinclair has an entire list of resources he could've used besides us-"
"Hey," Rebecca's voice sounded pained, as if she was insulted at such a notion.
Kit continued on. "And he basically corners the market in new aircraft designs and military-grade aircraft. He could've had a country of his own choice to do this 'proposition'."
Molly started: "Mommy, what's prop-incision?"
Rebecca laughed softly and started to explain. Baloo turned his neck to look in the back. The cargo space of the Sea Duck was totally transformed. All the trash was out, the beds were made and even the hold was sanitized and smelling too much like pine or evergreens disinfectant. Baloo hated it; most of his secret cache was found during the cleaning by Becky and her question on how Baloo's diet plans were in ruins were now answered.
"I guess we'll find out sooner or later, Kit. " Baloo answered. "Because we're almost there." He pointed in front of him. "Look."
Kit did, watching the clouds parting to reveal a small island looming into view. It was smaller then the others Kit had seen in the past. But it was mostly the same: Deserted beaches, tall palm trees, and emerald shorelines. It was at least 4 miles from it's widest points from one coast to another. It was small, smaller then even the island that held Louie's. The only indication that the island was manned was the long, brown strip of a dirt runway and a few maintanence shacks.
"Approaching aircraft," The radio crackled. "You are unauthorized into this airspace. Identify yourself."
Baloo winked at Kit; dealing with traffic controllers was something he was well noted for. This guy seemed like nothing to worry about. He grabbed the receiver and hit the mike.
"Yo, fellas." He started. "We got a personal invitation from your boss there. So how about-"
His conversation was cut sort by a small barrage of incoming bullets from across his starboard side. Baloo yelped in surprise as he yanked the control yolk to a hard port. Rebecca yelled in surprise and in anger, demanding what Baloo'd done now. Molly screamed in delight, enjoying again one of Baloo's aerobatics with the Sea Duck. Somewhere in the back, Wildcat was trying to keep his balance while trying to tie his necktie right. And also trying to undo his left hand from the knot.
Kit immediately looked down to see what was firing on them. The island looked deserted but now Kit could see some Anti-Aircraft batteries that were covered in underbrush. Camo-cloth. And very good camo job too, he thought. The military issues were special because they came in several layers: one had most of the underbrush to blend in perfectly with the surrounding environment, usually the more layers applied, the better well-hidden the target is. Sometimes, search parties were known for searching for a particular aircraft or cargo pod not realizing that they were standing on it the whole time! The other layers were usually for very peculiar circumstances: Some actually had tubes running through the layers with a nutrient systems so the cargo could stay hidden for months, even years because of the local seeds embedded inside the layer. Within months, the seeds will grow and add a new plant or fern to better hide the stuff. Kit knew this off- hand; Karnage had several such caches of parts around Pirate Island, sometimes the other couldn't find them but that wasn't saying much. Baloo had the civilian models and that was it. But then, they'd never considered smuggling.
The AA guns fired again, releasing another volley of flak into the blue sky.
Then guns stopped for a moment. Then Kit saw the gunnery crews proceeded with covering them again. By nature, he hated guns. Years of seeing them and what damage they could do to people brought about a slight anger inside him. The closest thing he ever used recently was the harpoon rifle he used to escape Karnage's Iron Vulture.
The radio speaker sputtered with the traffic controller's voice.
"You are cleared to land." He replied. "We are sorry for the guns. We rarely get visitors anymore. You have full access to the runway, proceed to Hanger 2 for your plane. And have a nice day." He closed the channel.
Baloo, furious, almost ripped the radio receiver from the radio itself. "Have a nice day??!!" He roared. "You shot at me, while I had an invitation. You almost blew me out of the sky and you tell me, 'have a nice day'? I had an invitation!"
"Yes, you did." The controller replied smartly. "Now imagine what would've happened if you didn't have an invitation." A slight pause. "Now, does your day seem better now?"
The controller closed the channel and Baloo replaced the receiver with slightly numb fingers. Controllers were usually boring-sounding types, like they've done the same crossword puzzles for the hundredth time. But this controller was a true professional in terms of maintaining a professional business posture.
"Problem, Baloo?" Rebecca fairly sprinted to the cockpit. Her fingertips twitching, like they wanted to lodge themselves around Baloo's neck.
"We have clearance, Mrs. Cunningham." Kit offered dryly.
Rebecca looked a lot worse for wear at the moment but started to simmer down...a little. Her hair started to fall apart a bit. And she stared daggers at Baloo.
"Baloo," She started to explain calmly..and failing. "We are about to meet one of the biggest names in aviation; A person who's word might make or break Higher for Hire. I want to make a standing impression and a good influence for him to remember."
"Becky-" Baloo started.
"I'm not finished," She nearly snarled. "So please, do not muck it up for my sake. Please." Finished what she had to say, she turned to the cargo hold to fix up her hair.
Kit didn't offer his input until after he was sure Rebecca was gone. Leaning towards Baloo, he whispered over the engine noise: "I never seen Mrs. Cunningham bear her teeth like that before."
"Yea," Baloo noticed it too. "Business that bad?"
"I haven't noticed her say anything about it." Kit mused. "She would've mentioned it before if that was the case."
"Yea," Baloo laughed. "In several different octaves and scales."
Other then the incident with the AA batteries, the landing was uneventful. The dirt runway was hard enough so the Sea Duck's landing tires didn't sink into some mudflat. Clouds of dust bellowed around the propellers as Baloo maneuvered it to their designated parking hanger. They noticed it almost immediately after landing. But Kit as well as everyone else was more amazed at the scene around the runway:
There were a round figure of ten buildings, all bordered the runway in some form, all no larger then two stories tall. But they were all hidden by the same camo- cloth that hid the gun batteries. Kit looked out his window and saw several of the AA batteries within plain view, but they were all hidden under camo-cloth, each suspended over them like the cargo nets Baloo used to put his stuff (Or junk, if you leaned towards Rebecca's views). He could see even at this distance the "rip-wires" that would rip the cloth down so the AA would fire. The complexes were well hidden. Kit had a hard time telling some buildings from a gaggle of rocks or tree trunks. Above the island, the runway would've been the only indication that it was ever inhabited! The sides of the buildings were colored and painted with the color tones of the surrounding jungle and most had vines and growth growing up the walls to provide what was known as camo-texture.
Baloo was amazed at such a sight. And he turned to face Kit and gave a slight wink. Kit nodded and they both knew it: This was not a vacation resort. Everyone in the social elite had a small contingent of bodyguards and security experts. And they accompanied their employers everywhere they went, business, pleasure, what-not. Some were like Sinclair: owning their own private islands. Khan himself owned several, including his famous Utopia Planitchia Isle, the research fortress where Khan Industries designed and built the Sub-Electron Amplifier, when was later stolen by Karnage.
But no one, even Khan would own a vacation island with a defense force this size.
Kit pointed to his left, seeing a formation of cones that pointed to their designated "parking space". Then they saw the hanger: It was large enough to hold at least twenty Sea Ducks and still have room to spare! The northern wall held a massive machine parts cache, enough to fit any damage to any plane. And a machine shop to fabricate the necessary parts if one couldn't be found. Massive fuel tanks were stacked in one corner, separated by the rest of the hanger by fireproof doors. They were opened right now, and Kit could see work crews starting on some safety checks.
There was a workshop and a repair center on the other side of the hanger, but Kit could see through the glass windows that it was empty. Everything was new, well maintained, and spelled expensive to bold capital letters. A few security guards strolled by, no marched by. Most of the security guards that Kit tangled with were usually fat, lazy and irritable if they didn't receive their 20 hour nap. These were professionals, wearing bandoleers of ammo to accompany their rifles. Insonc LV-42A models. Commando issue. Nasty.
No wonder Mrs. Cunningham insisted on them behaving.
Baloo glided the plane to it's designated parking space, going by the broad hand movements of the controller outside and in front of him. A most dangerous job indeed. Many tales were still spun about the controller who was killed while directing a plane on the ground, run over by some stupid pilot who never gotten his throttle properly checked.
"We're here." Baloo announced. "All dressed up and ready to party." He winced at his bow-tie. "Some of us, at least."
"Now remember, everyone." Rebecca reminded them for the uptenth time, almost every half-hour during their seven hour trip from Cape Susette to here. "We have to give Mr. Sinclair every courtesy and respect we could offer him; that includes you, Baloo."
Baloo snorted.
"And he prides honesty over everything. So always tell the truth." She paused for a moment. "And don't mention his wife to him."
"Yea, I heard about that." Kit muttered. Mrs. Sinclair was declared missing since the summer. But no one knew where she was , or what had happened to her. A full search of the area marked on their flight plan turned up nothing. A few shell casings were found on a beach but that could've been from anyone's plane. After that, Mr. Sinclair's business started to falter a bit. As far as anyone knew, this was the closest to contact from the outside world that he'd had in the last six months. It was a major blow to the people, especially pilots, who praised her volunteer work and her founding of retirement homes for old or infirm pilots. A whole armada of volunteer pilots took part in the search, only to find very few clues. Several still searched, even after the search ended, but it was all in vain.
A whole lot of people still mourned for her, Kit included. There was something about her from her light green eyes to her long red hair. Sometimes, he'd look at her picture and look at that compassion in her eyes, and could feel a sense of longing of such. He'd often wondered (to himself and never to anyone else) what it'd like to have a mother like Anya Sinclair.
Baloo turned off the engines, listening for a brief moment as they idled down to a whisper. Wildcat walked in the cockpit. Wildcat was no longer wearing his oil-stained coveralls but a tuxedo like the others. The only difference was that his right hand was now tied with his bow-tie! Wildcat cocked his head for a moment, hearing the ticking of the cooling engines.
"Baloo," Wildcat said. "Our engines need another oil bath. Their getting dirty from the dust. Dust is like dirt, you know."
Baloo nodded absently as he climbed out of his seat, not noticing Wildcat's problem with his hand. Come to think of it, Baloo wasn't really sure Wildcat knew himself!
"Wildcat, come here for a second, please." Kit asked. He folded his maps and his instruments and placed them in the compartments under his seat. When he was done and sure that nothing was going to slide out if they had to leave quickly, he started to unknot Wildcat's tie-and hand. He did this with an almost emotional detachment. Wildcat was almost the same with his shoes, but Molly helped him with that. He smiled briefly at the little girl's unending patience. He listened as Mrs. Cunningham kept reminding everyone about manners and protocol, mostly to Baloo. Kit nodded at every pause in her speech and finally finished with Wildcat's tie. Then he realized something.
"No clip-on?" He asked Wildcat.
Wildcat smiled, revealing his straight teeth. "Mrs. Cunningham said that lacked tastes. But cotton taste like any other cotton, right Kit?"
"No, Wildcat." Kit laughed. "She meant that this is more for the 'upper- crust' type of people and we have to look like professionals. Like rich people."
"Wow!" Wildcat tugged his tie with a hint of pride. It was strange to see him in a simple tux instead of his usual filthy coveralls and it was even stranger to find out that he smelled of soap and talcum powered then his usual musk of lubricants and gasoline. If Kit never met him before, he'd swore that Wildcat was one of the "elite" of the social clubs.
"Do you think they have cheeseburgers?" Wildcat asked.
That killed the image. But Kit still laughed on and started to tell him about those little greasy sandwiches they served on platters.
The rest of the people were outside. Rebecca got her hair back up and straight. Molly kept smiling, slightly fidgeting over the frothy dress she had to wear. Baloo fidgeted more then Molly, sometimes mocking strangulation with his tie and getting a sharp look from Rebecca.
The hanger staff looked like they were closing up for the day. It was rather late in the afternoon. Some of the overhead light went off and the staff left. The soldiers looked around for possible security problems for a few minutes, then left themselves. Leaving Baloo and his party alone in the hanger.
"I kinda expected something more of a welcoming committee." Baloo replied in amusement.
"I don't understand." Rebecca started to sound confused, and slightly anguished. "We followed his directions. We signed his contracts. We followed his route to the letter. I called to confirm the appointment four times. Four times!"
"Mommy, are you all right?" Molly started to worry herself. That was when Kit intervened, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Children were always suspected of not knowing about the world around them. But Molly could sense emotions of the people around her almost to the mark! And when they were sad, sometimes it affected her too.
"We'll be all right, kiddo." Kit replied. "Maybe they're trying to surprise us or something." He smiled, hoping that she wouldn't see through such a distraction. Faintly, he heard a small scraping sound.
"You sure?" Molly asked.
"Sure, I am." Kit answered. "Right, Baloo?" He turned his head slightly towards his friend.
"He's right, princess." Baloo smiled. Molly smiled in return at being called princess. That always improved her mood. His ear twitched. "What's that noise?"
Wildcat heard it too. "Sounds like someone's fixing an engine." He offered.
Rebecca straightened her dress for what seemed like the thousandth time. Kit wondered if she'd worry the dress to death if she kept straightening the wrinkles like that.
"Wildcat," She asked. "How do you know that?"
"I can hear the crescent wrench, it goes wrink-wrink-wrink, then spoool." His lips formed a O and pushed his arms outward for emphasis. "And he's using a plug remover. It goes, doink-doink-doink, then he twists it like zooooo."
Molly laughed and Wildcat joined her. Kit and Baloo often wondered to themselves the fortune Wildcat would've made if he'd gone into radio.
"Wildcat, how do you know it's a him?" Rebecca asked impudently. Female mechanics were now commonplace. Not to say that they outnumber the male mechanics, but they've made a name for themselves. One couldn't look at the family-run Laurista's Plane Repair and Day Care/Youth Mechanic School and not realize that. A single parent mother of six running a day care center, pre-school and repair business franchise. Rebecca often read Laurista's magazine articles in Aviation Weekly and Woman's Business Success.
"I can see him over there." Wildcat pointed to the far side of the hanger.
A single man was standing on a supporting catwalk, hovering over an exposed engine. His coveralls were drenched in engine grease and oil. His grayish, brown fur looked even worse with flecks of ground metal and rust sticking to it. Kit couldn't see the man's face because of the dark lighting. A pair of tool belts hung askew over his hips, giving off the appearance of a gunslinger in the old westerns Kit used to take Molly at the local cinaplex. He always made the courtesy of leaving before the gunfights, citing that they'd be late for dinner and ice cream.
"Who is that guy?" Baloo wondered aloud.
"Let's ask him." Rebecca replied impatiently.
They did.
The man was working one of the engines of an old Conway C-57A. A retired model but still robust and worthy of the Conway name. The hull was stripped of paint and most of the doors were gone. But Kit could see the interior. Most of the seats and instruments of the cockpit was removed, but he could see that some were replaced with updated part and equipment.
"Looks like he's restoring it," Baloo replied. He noticed the cockpit too.
Rebecca looked up at the man hanging above the engine. Most of his body was hung over the catwalk's railing but she saw a safety line attached to him. The guy was smart and knew enough about the safety regs.
"Excuse me, sir." She called out to him.
The man either didn't hear or chose to ignore her. He shuffled over his tool belts for another wrench. He picked at another section of the engine and pulled out a foreign object. It was larger then his forearm yet he held it like it had the weight of a toothpick. He dropped it with a bored expression. The object fell to the ground, less then a foot from Rebecca's feet. It left a dull thud, like it was nothing more then a sack of dirt instead of oily black metal. Black grease splattered over the front of her dress. She screamed at the sight. "There is grease on my beautiful dress!" She cried out.
The man's head perked up. He focused on Rebecca.
"Sorry, lady." The man apologized. "Didn't see you there. Should've wore a hard hat, I could've hurt your pretty little head." He leered at her with intense brown eyes.
"You should've looked before you dropped it." She yelled at him. Baloo bit his lips to contain his laughter. Kit and Molly failed the attempt.
"You folks new here?" It wasn't a question.
"We have an appointment with Mr. Sinclair." Rebecca replied with a sense of pride, but Baloo could almost hear a tone of threatening intent in her words. He hoped that the boss lady wasn't getting too big for her britches about this situation.
Whether intent she spoke in, wither threatening or not, the man didn't seemed impressed. Seemingly amused, more like it.
"Why didn't you just call out," His hands were now over the railing, a wrench dangling over his pinkie. Baloo could make out a small smile on the man's face.
"We did." Rebecca defended herself.
The man looked at the people below him. His tongue traced around his cheeks as if in thought. But then, he jerked his head and spat out a large wad of chewing tobacco. Then without warning or a sign, he flipped himself over the railing, causing startled screams from Baloo, Kit and Rebecca. Mostly from Rebecca.
The man fell with an almost graceful movement, so graceful it almost looked lazy. He fell head first then flipped himself until he was falling feet first. And just as he was about to hit the ground from a falling distance of 20 feet. The safety line went taught and lowered the man safely to the ground. The man's feet hit the floor without much fanfare, but he held the attached bungy cord that made his safety line like a professional. Like he'd done this before.
Baloo started to shake a bit, like he was shaking away what had happened. Kit and Molly just stood there, amazed at such a stunt. It was something meant for the Saturday matinee and the nickelodeon that Kit sometimes went to on the extreme rare occasions when he played hooky. Wildcat's expression was almost that of the same amazed look as Molly's.
Rebecca's was, understandably, less amazed.
Her hands were clinched tightly, almost enough to hear the knuckles crackle and pop. The man looked at her squarely at her face as he unbuckled his safety harness and tool belts. He was clearly unimpressed and unafraid at whatever this woman would do to him. the look in his eyes showed that if not his face.
"Come with me," He ordered them evenly. With that, he turned and walked away towards the hanger exit, his tool belts unbuckled and now draped over his shoulder together.
The others just stood there, trying to make out this person. He was unsettling, unnerving to them. Anyone sane would never voluntarily fall over a catwalk, safety harness of no harness, that was something that was just not done. Even Wildcat would never have tried it.
The man turned towards them, his one hand holding the exit door's handle, the other holding his tool belts. "You want to see Mr. Sinclair, them come with me. If not, feel free to spend the night here." There was small, amused crinkle in his eyes. "You might want to lock the plane up though; they let the attack dogs in here in less then an hour. And I have to lock this door from the outside." He opened the door and took a step inside the doorway. Waiting.
He didn't have to wait much longer.
As they left the hanger and into a brightly lit hallway that led to an elevator at the end, all that could be heard was the visiting adults exhaustion from their running towards the door, a boy who was huffing over carrying a small girl, the small cries of the girl that wanted to see the doggies, and the laughter of the crazed-looking mechanic.
He tapped a control at the end of the hallway. A second later, the doors parted and a another mechanic looked at them. The others stepped in and the doors closed.
"Where to, sir?" The figure asked, in a thickly accented voice.
"The office section, Zatherias." The mechanic replied with an air of authority.
The figure nodded and pressed the proper buttons. The visitors felt the elevator car move. The man straighten up his posture. In the light, everyone could see the figure that was once with them in the hanger: He was a head taller then Rebecca with long, lanky brown hair that fell in clumps around his shoulders. He wore the grease and oil almost like another layer of his skin. He was thin, almost too thin, like he ate rarely. But what amazed them was the slight intensity of his eyes under those bushy eyebrows. They were brown with slight flecks of gray, but sometimes turned to a full shade of gray depending on how the light hits them. They've soften now, the burning intensity now diminished. Kit repressed a slight shudder. Karnage had a slight variation of that intensity, but it was mostly due to rage or whatever passed for insanity, which was considered a moot point when referring to Karnage. A few people had that same look. Some were different and some were the same but over the years, Kit learned to separate them into two major groups: Insanity and rage.
"Everything okay?" Zatherias asked.
"Everything is fine." The man replied in a calming voice.
"Zatherias knew but wanted to make sure. Zatherias is like that sometimes." Zatherias replied, giving off a wolfish smile. Zatherias had a stooped appearance between a hunchback and a jackal. His coveralls were as filthy as the man, but at least his face was clean. His hair was longer then anyone else in the elevator car, even Rebecca's. It was tied into a ponytail and hung over his shoulder, small braided bangs hung over his ears.
"I like your braids." Molly complemented.
"Zatherias thanks you," He replied, his smile widening. "Zatherias does braids himself. Hates it when he has to undo them. But bath is important, or so Zatherias is told."
"I'm Molly." She recited her name with an air or pride.
Zatherias stood up straight. Before he was only a few heads taller then Louie but now, fully erect, he stood almost as tall as Baloo. "I'm Zatherias, that's my name. Zatherias. Pleased that Zatherias has opportunity to met Molly."
Molly giggled. It's funny and rare for a person to refer to themselves as a third person. But Molly didn't seem to mind. It was almost comical.
The doors parted and the rest left the elevator car, Zatherias included. The man was leading the way, his stride precise and almost timed like watch movements. The hallway was lined with offices and more offices. Each office space had an almost utilitarian design to them all: Black typewriters stood on top of wood desks. A calendar and a few charts lined one side of the wall. Filing cabinets lined another wall to the ceilings. Every room was about the same. And all lacked a sense of being lived in, a sense of personal tastes, of color. It had all the taste of bland oatmeal.
Baloo hated it. The look on his face showed it. Kit wasn't surprised.
The last office at the end of the hallway had the name Demitri Sinclair on the door in gold lettering. The name was posed over the CAM logo: a curlycued C and M with an A positioned slightly downward and connecting them with the lines. The double- doors were solid oak in a reinforced frame. Kit noticed the steel alloy hinges were reinforced, almost making the doors into a makeshift wall if necessary.
The man opened it and gestured the people to step inside. They did. And almost gasped in surprise:
It was large. Larger then Khan's office in Cape Susette! It was roughly the size of a school gym with the roof towering two stories above them. The space was divided into separate areas, some of them actually had a second level to them. The far- left side had a fully stocked kitchen with an eatery and wet bar located above. The far- right held a large work center with a elaborate communication rig with at least ten teletype machines. Rebecca almost gasped at that. Teletype machines that were capable of monitoring the stock markets around the world in almost real-time. Each was almost as expensive as the Sea Duck and Sinclair owned ten in his office! She silently prayed that Baloo wouldn't mess this up. She could see the massive map hanging above on the wall, with colored push-pins showing off locations and such. She saw colored lines of the major, minor and "Unauthorized" shipping lanes. "Unauthorized" usually meant that it was either reserved for military use only or it was illegal: a possible no-fly zone, or a smuggler's route used to avoid the border patrols or circumvent the blockade runners. Baloo whistled in amazement. A select few such route he knew about, but the way this map was showing it Baloo knew nothing! He could bet a good Banana Burrito with extra salsa that even Karnie doesn't know about half these routes!
The rest of the office was divided up. One corner had a library with shelves that reached to the ceiling. Another had what had to be a work table. She saw a lit drafting table with several blueprints on them. As well as several other blueprints hanging on his wall, some were framed with awards.
Kit and Baloo were amazed. This was where he came up with his ideas, they both thought. This was were he came up with the innovations that saved our lives and saved the lives of countless pilots. They both felt like they were on sacred ground. It took a moment for Kit to notice that Baloo was actually straightening out his tie!
The center of the room had a small "waiting area". With sectional seats and tables. It gave off a hotel lobby look. Several varieties of magazines laid on the mirrored surface of the end table. Kit could see several different aviation magazines from Aviation Weekly to The Pilot's Digest to the latest (And most coveted issue thus far) Jean's Commodities Trade Chart. Rebecca owned a subscription herself, but the Jean's was a quarterly magazine. The latest wouldn't be out for the public for another month or so.
"Sit, please" The man insisted after a few minutes of them gawking at the sights. With Baloo and the rest dressed for a ball, the only things that actually clashed with the scenery was the filthy man and his assistant, Zatherias. They all sat down on the seating, feeling good to be off their feet at last. Baloo reached out, almost by reflex for the Digest while Kit picked the Weekly. Rebecca would've literally snatched the Jean's from the table if others weren't around, but no one would not feel amusement (or understanding) for her actions. Molly and Wildcat were talking their usually talk, mostly childish stuff until Zatherias joined in. He was still standing, but was now hunched over again. It was only the mysterious man's action that literally shocked everyone, excluding Zatherias, to death.
He sat down with them. With the grease and oil staining almost every square inch of his coveralls, their was no doubt that it would leave a nasty stain on the fabric. He even leaned his head back against the head rest and starting to rub his hair in it. Every grease and oil stain was once on his back was now on the couch! And the person was now spreading himself around!
The guy gave a small smile. He was clearly amused. Whatever creditability he had in terms of his sanity just went up in smoke in their eyes. One of the most powerful people in the aviation business, and his employee just stained up his couch in his personal office without regard or respect. And right in front of them!
Rebecca felt like screaming.
The guy replied, all smiles. "I'm sure that the boss wouldn't mind at all."
"You think," Rebecca managed to find her voice, but it was wavery. "You think? How can you be sure?" She was now starting to get frantic, making the guy giggling and close to breaking in hysterical laughter. "How can you be sure? How can you really be sure? He could kill my business! My future! My gosh, he could sue me and I'll lose everything."
The guy was now laughing, holding his sides together with his arms. His laugh was slightly musical, but the hysteria in his voice almost rivaled the hysterics in Rebecca's voice. Then the man removed his hat with the ragged long-haired wig attached. Then removed the bushy eyebrows from his face.
Now they knew why the boss wouldn't mind.
He was the boss!
He lent out a welcomed hand, his smile was still genuine and still amused by the shocked silence of Baloo and the other.
"Mr. Demitri Sinclair, founder and CEO of Constance Air Manufacturing Corporation." The man in the coveralls replied in a caviler tone. "And I'm glad to 'meet' you, Mrs. Cunningham."