Chapter Twenty Three – Back to Business

One time zone away and to the northwest Flight Engineer Peter O'Neill smiled kindly at the woman in the shop as she handed him his new exclusive slacks and a stark white shirt over the counter, neatly stuffed in a bag. His eyes lingered at the good looking woman for a moment longer than necessary but he was still too shy for asking a woman out after just a brief moment of dialogue. He exited the shop with light steps and headed outside.

The British weather usually left a lot to be desired with rain and a dampness that sometimes chilled bones but on this particular day the sun shone bright over Leeds. It had been a long time since he'd taken time to go home and maybe that had been a good thing because then he hadn't been reminded of how much he'd actually missed it. Peter was a bright engineer and had spent most of his career in the air. When he was little he was a shy boy and absolutely disdained surprises and hated taking risks so when he'd casually strode up to his parents one day claiming he wanted to be enlisted and work with aircrafts they had just stared at him. After a while they'd been delighted and helped him with everything he might need. He entered the Airforce and began a voyage that would strengthen his self-confidence and eventually take him around the world as a flight engineer.

Until that unfaithful day he'd been happy with his life, he was thirty five, had a girlfriend and liked his job. His girlfriend, Sara, wasn't overly pretty and she liked to nag at him from time to time but he liked her anyway. After the rather shaky and unpleasant trip toward Paris and then Moscow that ended prematurely at the mountain side of the Swiss Alps something in him snapped. Something in him had simply had enough about the mediocre life he'd made for himself. He was suddenly fed up by his girlfriend, his glasses, and his style in general. He was tired of hearing several of the pilot's brag about their latest conquest and he realized that his job could be very dangerous. The latter realization was unpleasant but something he chose to overlook, after all, what else could he do? He'd been flying for fifteen years now.

After a few days in the Alps, being checked over by a doctor, chased by nosy reporters and interrogated by a flight investigator he'd finally been transferred to Innsbruck International Airport and free to go wherever he wanted. Right there and then it had struck him that he didn't know what he wanted or where home really was. He'd strolled the airport for a while, contemplating about his life, as he watched several airliners take off to various destinations and saw happy people preparing for either a business trip or a vacation. He'd bought a newspaper and as he sat down to read it he'd to his dismay seen the remains of the Concorde as one of the headlines. Disappointed that the world couldn't just forget about it and that he was haunted about it in his dreams he crumbled it to a ball and threw it in a bin. It was then he'd involuntarily started to think back to his childhood and his beautiful Great Britain and decided to head home.

Peter stopped briefly to watch his mirror image reflected in the glass of a large window. He looked nothing like he had before. He was dressed elegantly in a blue suit, his hair was cut short in a modern fashion and gone where his glasses, replaced by contacts. He walked straight with self-confidence and not with his back slightly arched like before. Satisfied and with a faint smile on his lips he began to walk back toward the apartment that he'd temporarily hired. Since he hadn't planned his near future he'd reasoned that living at a hotel would be too expensive even if his salary always had been good. He'd been to see his parents, they'd hugged him and been overly happy to see him again and he'd been likewise. Although it had been hard to see them look so old and frail, not young and strong as he'd remembered them to be. They'd shared meals, talked about life and everything around it. The conversations had made him happier and had obviously worked as therapy for him and he felt that he'd come out stronger.

So caught up in his own musings he almost missed his apartment. He quickly retraced a few steps and headed for the door. He said hello to the portiere and headed upstairs, inserted his key and got inside the stylish flat. He started to head over to the window as the phone started ringing and walked over to pick it up.

"Hello?" he said curiously as he frowned.

"Peter O'Neill," the operator said. "There is a long distance call for you."

He nodded despite knowing that she couldn't see him do so. "Put it through," he said.

After a few seconds a familiar voice sounded over the line.

"Mr. O'Neill," Eli Sande said jovially. "You're hard to track down nowadays."

"Sir," Peter returned politely, not sure what else to say at the moment.

"I figured you needed some time otherwise I'd planned on calling you earlier," he said in a straight forward manner. "You're still employed at FWA as I haven't seen your resignation and while you did one heck of a job back there and earned a bit of vacation I do need you to return now."

There was a brief silence before the flight engineer replied, a moment of hesitation.

"Maybe you're right," he finally said.

"Good," the president of the Federation World Airlines boomed. "There is a flight destined for Paris in two days. Dulles – De Gaulle."

"That would be just enough time," Peter returned. "I need to finish up some things here. Would I be flying with anyone I know?"

"Catton and Garcia I think," came the quick answer.

Peter's mood sank a little. It wasn't that he had anything against the men but deep inside he'd hoped he'd got to fly with Metrand or Patroni again.

"Well, Patroni said he wanted you onboard if I got hold of you but you won't be able to catch his flight or get your schedule to match his for another week," Eli filled in as if reading his mind.

"I would appreciate that, sir," he said.

"It's Eli, Peter," the man returned in a softer voice. "I don't mind. After all we've both shared experiences onboard the Concorde."

Peter smiled at the statement but he didn't comment on it. "I'll be at Dulles in two days then, Eli," he said.

"I count on it, Peter," Mr. Sande said and bid his goodbye before ending the call.

Peter O'Neill gently placed the phone back in its holder and sat down in the sofa, gazing out through the window; there, as a tiny streak on the bright blue sky flew an aircraft, his eyes settled on it and a cautious smile settled over his lips as wrinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes. That's where he belonged, up in the air.

This time he would follow the flight and cabin crew out at night and party into the morning, working on his new life and his new image. After all, he'd been given a second chance and he was going to take it.

OOOOOO

Eli Sande sighed as he watched the overwhelming amount of mail at his desk. He'd been back in Washington for a week but he'd hardly sat his foot inside the office. Instead he'd been out on errands to make sure that everything was working satisfactory. He'd been reporting to the department heads, briefed the administration desk, and talked the union and so on. He dared to hope that everything was in working order and that the press wasn't lingering in the shadows trying to get a glimpse of him or anyone else involved in the accident. He smirked and then somberly corrected himself. It hadn't been an accident. It had been a deliberate act but what shocked him the most was that it had been the third attempt to bring the aircraft down. Eli shook his head and sighed as he sat down behind his large mahogany desk to begin to sort out the mail.

His eyes trailed the outline of a particular parcel in the middle of the stack and singled it out. It was addressed to him personally and signed with the NTSB symbol. Curios as to what it contained, he gently opened it and peered inside the burly envelope. It was a report spanning over a hundred pages and more. Intrigued and relieved to finally have it in his hand he began to read. Several hours later a wide grin spread over his face as he lifted the phone to make an in-house call.

The man in question answered on the fourth ring.

"FWA, Joshua Dalton speaking," he said.

"Took you long enough," Eli teased.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize you were still in at this hour."

Eli cast a quick glance at his wristwatch and frowned. He'd been so engrossed in the report he hadn't taken notice of the time.

"Time flies when you have fun," he remarked cryptically.

"A private party?" Dalton asked dryly.

"Jokes aside," Eli returned seriously. "I've been reading the report from NTSB about the accident."

"We've got it?" the vice president asked in surprise.

"It sat at my desk, waiting to be found," Eli said. "Anyway, I think you should order some champagne Joshua. I've only skimmed it and the excerpts of the police report and the military report that had been attached to it but it's enough to understand that despite Froelich's connections to FWA the company has been cleared. Harrison Industries has been singled out as the only culprit. Furthermore the Concorde manufacturer is suing Harrison Industries for damage of goods and reputation."

Joshua let out a low whistle. "I don't even want to know the amount of money they're suing for," he said.

"It's finally over," Eli said hollowly. "I can't believe it."

"Right," Joshua said and let out a chuckle. "I'll put the champagne on ice as it arrives."

"Don't spare on the expensive. Not this time. We're going to have a party, the largest damn party the flight industry has ever seen the likes of!" Eli said resolutely.

OOOOOO

Back in the posh suburban Isabelle Delé glanced out in the hallway as the front door opened to reveal her fiancée. "There you are. I was beginning to worry," she said softly as she got out of the comfortable armchair and headed toward him.

He looked smug as he shrugged out of his flight jacket and placed his hat on the shelf. The pilot then turned to her and sneaked his arms around her slim middle. "I'll have you know that I passed the simulator test excellently. I'm certified to fly again," he let on.

Isabelle let out a sigh of relief, not that she'd expected any less, and tightened her grip around him. "Well then captain," she said seductively. "Since I'm such a clairvoyant I've arranged for us to be picked up and taken to a restaurant to celebrate the occasion."

"Isabelle," he said in surprise as he straightened to look at her, her eyes sparkling.

"I love you, Paul," she said as she peered deep into his blue-grey eyes. "Je'Taime, remember?"

He reached over to cup her head and kissed her passionately on the lips.

When they parted she gave him a dazzling smile. "Keep that up monsignor and I might cancel the reservations and keep you all to myself."

OOOOOO