Chapter Twenty Two – Revelations

"…cast suspicions on Manuel Froelich, Federation World Airlines chief engineer in France. Although the company has been cleared of malpractise the investigators refuse to shed some light on what Froelich is suspected for. Rumors are that he was responsible for reprogramming the cargo door that eventually brought the aircraft down. Since Froelich was found with a considerable amount of money and booked in on a flight to Bahamas it seems to be a reasonable assumption. Now that question remains – how paid him to do their bidding and why?" the news anchor asked enigmatically as he looked straight into the camera.

Willie Halpern shuddered at the words and leaned back. The normally comfortable leather chair in the conference room felt hard and cold and the tension in the room was palpable as each of the board members either looked away or glared intently at the frozen picture of the news anchor before them.

John Field looked grim as he let his eyes roam over the room, the remote still in hand. "This was recorded by my assistant a few hours ago," he said coldly.

"I must give them credit. It'll just be a matter of time before they're on to us," Sales Director Raymond Riggs said sourly.

"I was under the impression that no one would be able to discover the changes Froelich did," Field said as he gazed at the spokesman.

"No one here was under the impression that the investigators would even consider such actions had taken place," Jones returned calmly, his voice hard.

"Forgive me for my straight forward manner," Riggs said. "But why did Kevin think he could get away with it?"

"Froelich assured him the aircraft would be ripped apart and that it would plunge into a mountainside uncontrollably, not leaving a single soul alive. It would have looked like a tragic accident," the chairman, John Field answered in a calm voice, devoid of emotion.

"But it didn't now, did it?" Riggs countered angrily, raising his voice. "The captain landed the aircraft at an alpine resort."

"Luck," Special Operations Manager Anderson muttered. "He knew the area and he knew the aircraft."

Riggs harrumphed as he crossed his arms across his chest. "Failure on Froelich's part. If he'd programmed the hatch to open one hour later they wouldn't have stand a chance."

"Why blame the engineer?" Anderson questioned. "Doctor Harrison had the chance to see to it that Miss Whelan disappeared in France. Instead he sat down with her at a restaurant and continued his innocent charade. He even asked her to skim through his written confession! In my opinion that's absurd."

Willie Halpern spoke up from the back of the room. "What's the point in arguing about it now?" he said hollowly, his voice tinged with a mix of sadness and regret. "Kevin is dead, Froelich is dead."

Silence settled over the room.

Willie leaned forward in his chair, his face grim as he glanced around the table. "It's not they who've exposed us," he said coldly. "It is your actions in the aftermath that made it possible for the investigators and officers to connect everything to Harrison Industries. It is the failed assassination attempt on Maggie Whelan, the documents, the way we brushed off Gemma Harrison and made her suspicious."

"If you'd not agreed to reprogram that stupid drone none of this would have happened," Riggs shouted across the table. "We would have been able to sell the drone and cashed in a lot of money."

"You amaze me sometimes," Willie said calmly as he clasped his hands behind his head. "Miss Whelan would have told the whole world about Harrison Industries illegal business."

"She did anyway," Jones pointed out. "We could have claimed them to be falsified and the whole thing would have been forgotten."

"She didn't get the opportunity to do so," Anderson reasoned with a malevolent smile. "She's been too busy hiding."

"She told the police, that's all that matters at this point. How long do you think it will take them to confirm those papers are the real deal and have us all busted?" Riggs pushed in frustration.

"Well, if our Special Operations Manager here had done his job after the whole mess with the Concorde we wouldn't still have this problem," the chairman reasoned calmly as he turned to scrutinize Anderson across the table.

"Exactly and furthermore we could have shown the military the Buzzard's full potential and closed the deal," Riggs added.

"And instead you threw it away," a cold female voice said from the doorway.

They turned their heads in confusion as Gemma Harrison walked inside with several officers in tow. She made her way over to Willie and looked him deep into the eyes. She looked disappointed and outraged at the same time.

"Why, Willie?" she whispered.

"I must caution you, sir. Everything you'll say may be used against you in court of law," an officer said seriously as he walked up behind Gemma.

"I don't know, Gemma," Willie said truthfully. "To protect our interests, to save ourselves."

"All those innocent people," she whispered.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry but there was nothing he could say that would change anything. Instead he let himself be hauled up from the chair and led away from the room in cuffs ready to take his punishment. He only hoped he would be able to see his grandchild again before he died. At least he hoped to get his sentence reduced for helping Gemma to set up the meeting. It felt good to come clean. Perhaps now he'd once again be able to sleep at night.

OOOOOO

Three days later, dressed in his flight uniform, Paul Metrand walked briskly through the main hall of the Charles de Gaulle Airport with a grim look on his face. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not but he thought he saw people smile at him and nod at him as he walked past them. At one time he heard his name being mentioned and several of the clerks selling tickets bowed lightly at him. He wasn't used to being singled out in a crowd but after the miracle landing he'd been forced to get used to it whether he wanted it or not. Some of the passengers he'd saved thought the world of him, journalists seemed to believe he could fly anything nowadays while he was fighting his doubts when it came to his flying skills. What if he couldn't fly anymore? What if he didn't have what it took?

Paul swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he kept his pace through the busy hallways on his way toward the test center. He was weary yet wired at the same time. He'd gotten little sleep the night before. He had actually dreaded this day. It was only a scheduled flight test in a simulated environment but still he was nervous. He prayed they didn't want to recreate the accident.

"Hey you glorified bus driver," a voice boomed from behind.

Paul Metrand stopped in his tracks and turned around with a raised eyebrow to see an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time.

There in the busy tarmac of Charles de Gaulle stood a brash American man clad in a dark blue Captain's uniform with silver stripes, the attire completed with a hat and silver wings on his chest.

Paul shook his head in disbelief as he took a step toward him unconsciously straightening in his own black uniform with golden stripes. "Hey Johnny Boy," he said with a grin as the burly American captain quickly closed the distance and lifted him in the air causing passersby's to glance in their direction.

"You must eat properly, Paul, you're light as a feather," he said with a hearty laugh as he put down the French captain.

"Where have you been, John?" Paul said cheerfully as he eyed his friend from a long time ago, while still in the early days of flying.

"Everywhere," he replied turning serious. "I've been flying for various companies, right now I'm flying for Air Atlantic. Look, I've been meaning to call you but every time something else has gotten in the way. I saw you on the news that day," he trailed off and shook his head somberly. "My goodness, Paul, I saw the crash filmed by that amateur. Holy smokes, you- do you know how lucky you are?"

"Luck had nothing to with it," Paul said seriously as he began to walk down the busy hallway.

John followed suit. "Look, Paul, I'm just saying. Can't I buy you a drink? Let's sit down and have a talk," he suggested kindly.

"I don't have much time, I'm due in the simulator in an hour," he explained patently.

"An orange juice in the bar then?" the American captain asked.

Paul sighed and then relented.

"You are nervous," John stated in disbelief.

Paul remained silent as they walked toward the nearest bar situated at the end of the tarmac.

"Why?" John asked incredibly. "Paul, you are a hero. You landed that aircraft safely where most would have failed. Whatever they throw at you in the simulator I'm sure you can handle it. Are there anything you aren't telling me? Did you injure yourself in the crash?"

"No, apart from a few cuts and bruises, light hypothermia and a cold I did just fine," Paul returned as they walked through the glass door to the crowded bar.

A few heads turned at their entrance and some people stopped talking, some nodded in their direction recognizing Metrand from the news and magazines and Paul's mood sank. It had been two months and he'd hoped everyone would forget about the accident and let him live his life with the anonymity he'd had once before.

"I married Tracy," John said suddenly and grinned at the look of confusion on his friend's face. "You know that good looking flight attendant that only had eyes for me when we flew together at Air Britain."

Paul snorted as he leaned at the counter. "As I recall it wasn't you she waited for," he said with amusement.

John countered with a laugh. "No, not at first but since you got hold up somewhere and I'd worked my charm on her she realized I was the one," he said cockily.

"Well, you sure hasn't lost your self-assurance," Paul quipped as he turned to the bartender. "Two glasses of orange juice."

"And I'm paying for those," John added.

They waited till the glasses were handed over and headed for a table at the corner of the room and sat down opposite one another.

"And did it work out?" Paul asked with a wry smile.

John looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"With Tracy?" Paul added with a tease. "I can't recall you where that slow to pick up on what I meant."

"You arrogant, dry little weasel," John returned with a playful undertone. "I've missed your company. As for your question. We're good. To be fair, it took me a while to convince her to marry me but that was a long time ago and we've been living together and flying together for five years."

"Am I to remind you that we parted ways ten years ago?" Paul asked as he sipped his orange juice.

"I did say it took me a while didn't I?" he replied as he leaned slightly forward in his chair. "I can't recall you where that slow on catching up."

Paul laughed as his previous words was thrown right back at him.

"How about you?" John asked with a wry smile. "I remember you. You were the worst kind, a new woman at every location. The flight attendant's seemed to like you for some unfathomable reason."

"I'm engaged to Isabelle. A flight attendant at the company. We've had an on and off relationship as you would say. We've picked up where we left off, no commitments. At least not from my side," he answered.

"So you disappeared on her occasionally. And she still wants you?" John asked curiously. "Lucky bastard. Or is it so that you've finally grown up?"

"I'm forty two years old, John and I'm not getting any younger. I didn't take life that seriously before," he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Although, people change. Near death experiences have a way of reminding people about living."

John nodded solemnly.

"I don't want to live alone anymore, John. I'm tired of the life I've been living, I'm tired of partying and I am tired of brief acquaintances that leads to nowhere. I was afraid of commitment before, I've realized that now and I think I've always had a thing for Isabelle since the first time I laid eyes on her," he confessed.

"Did you hit your head in the accident?" John asked with a smile in an effort to lighten the serious mood. "If you did that was a good thing, a shame you didn't sooner."

"What brings you to Paris?" Paul asked, his lips curling upwards.

"Air Atlantic is going to fly nonstop from Paris to Chicago. We're here setting up an office. I'm just coming from the States. It was a preflight to see the route and plan for the timetable. Our first official flight will not occur until next month," he explained. "Tracy and I are planning to buy a little something in Paris and were hoping you could recommend a place. I don't mind if it's close to your house."

"That depends on how many nasty rumors you're planning on spreading about me in the neighborhood," Paul said dryly.

"I am your friend, remember that," John said seriously. "I'm grateful for your help."

Paul glanced at his watch and hastily drank the last of the juice before standing. "I better rush, John, but I'll see what I can do. I promise," he said truthfully.

John stood up as well and halted Paul as he placed a hand on his sleeve. "I'm glad you're alive, Paul," he said. "I really am."

OOOOOO