Flight Instructor

"Who are you? What do you want?" She had begun to fear she was dealing with a blackmailer.

"Think of me as your dickhead lover's flight instructor. That's all you need to know for now. Be sure to watch the local news tonight. You wouldn't want to miss your lover's 15 seconds of fame. There'll be a quiz tomorrow." Click.

Bethany stared open-mouthed at the phone controls. Her heart pounded. She felt lightheaded. Her so, so satisfying life had just turned dangerous. Who was this guy? What right did he have to call her a slut and her boyfriend 'Dickhead'? What did he know? God, what did he want? Questions with no answers.

A thought occurred to her and she ripped the phone out of her purse. 'Caller ID, that'll tell me who the bastard is.' But it didn't, not even a number. Blocked. "Damn!"

She retrieved the twins with hardly a word to the daycare ladies and made a dash for home. She needed a stiff drink and time to think.

She settled the twins in front of the TV with apple slices and crackers and slumped into a kitchen chair with a stiff screwdriver and thought frantically. 'Okay, what do I know? Hmpf. . . I know that the guy on the phone knows, or at least claims to know. Also, I know - squat. I don't know anything else. Oh! He knows my husband's name. Not much help.'

'What could he want? Money? Sex? Information? After all, Ben has a highly classified job. Crap, he could want just about anything. Why did I get into this in the first place? Oh, yeah, I remember. Sex and excitement. The thrill. I got the sex right enough. Now I've got more excitement than I bargained for.'

When Ben arrived just after 6:00 the homemade mac'n'cheese was warming in the oven, the twins were playing with their baby dolls in the living room and Bethany was ensconced on the couch, drink in hand, watching the evening local news.

She kept her eyes glued to the screen as she gave him a quick kiss and told him to fix himself a drink, they'd have dinner as soon as she finished the news. She wanted to see the announcement of the charity auction next weekend.

Ben had just settled next to her on the sofa and put his arm around her shoulders when Bethany gasped, sitting bolt upright. Onscreen a reporter was standing in the parking lot of an apartment building. Behind her could be seen police and medical personnel, an ambulance and a body covered in a bloody sheet.

"At the Windsor Manor Apartments this afternoon Karim Fannon mysteriously fell to his death from the third floor where he has lived for several months in apartment 314. Medical Examiner Nan Houser pronounced the 32 year old man dead at the scene. An autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow to determine the cause of death, but it seems clear the three-story fall was a major factor," the reporter turned and gestured at the body which had an impressive pool of blood around it's head.

"Homicide detectives are investigating but it's too early to expect answers. Police did find some 'female garments', their words, in the unmarried man's apartment. The manager was overheard telling a police officer that the apartment 'smelled like a brothel' when he went to investigate the open apartment door. The investigation will continue and we will bring you further reports as developments warrant. From the Windsor Manor Apartments, this is Bess Nessman reporting."

Bethany moaned through her hands as she rocked on the edge of the sofa. When the body in the pool of blood filled the screen she lurched to her feet whispering "Oh, God. Oh, God," as she ran from the room and up the stairs.

Her husband put his drink on the coffee table and followed his wife upstairs, trying to puzzle out her reaction to the story. He thought she had run to their bedroom but, not so. He heard her sobs and sniffling through the closed bathroom door.

"Honey, what's the matter? Did you know that man?"

Bethany inhaled sharply, choked and wretched into the toilet as her stomach muscles heaved. She had to get a grip before Ben figured everything out. She realized, belatedly, how her reaction must look to her husband. She wiped her face with a damp hand towel, took a deep breath and came out, blowing her nose into a tissue.

"No, I never heard of him before. It's just the damn TV station showing such graphic scenes. When they showed all that blood in 'high definition' my stomach rebelled and I nearly lost my lunch. Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I'm alright now. Why don't you get the girls washed up for supper and I'll put it on the table. It's mac'n'cheese night!"

Ben's wife was not a great cook. Even stray cats in the neighborhood turned up their noses at her fried chicken. But the girls loved mac'n'cheese so Bethany had learned to make it just the way they liked it. The supper conversation was carried by the twins, talking around mouthfuls of their favorite food. Both parents were responsive to the children but had little to say to each other.

After cleaning up and getting the girls off to bed, Bethany pleaded a headache and went to bed early, her intention of giving her husband duty sex completely forgotten in the shock of her lover's violent death.

The following morning at breakfast Bethany was bubbly and playful with the twins, hoping her husband had forgotten about her behavior the previous evening. Didn't seem to be working. Ben was polite but quiet, still thinking through the implications of her hysterical reaction to Fannon's death and the other details of the news report. He just wasn't convinced by her explanation, although it was certainly plausible. Fannon's exit from this life had been bloody and violent enough to turn anyone's stomach.

Of course, Ben realized, if Bethany had known the guy and had been unfaithful with him then Fannon's crash landing was a happy event. Karma, complements of a sympathetic universe, maybe.

After her husband's subdued departure for work, Bethany got the children absorbed in a children's TV show and returned to the kitchen for anther cup of coffee. She needed to make sense of everything but just couldn't get a grip on her thoughts.

Bethany knew she needed to carefully think through how to get it all back on track. No more mistakes. It appeared almost certain this 'Flight Instructor' guy, whoever he was, had killed Karim or at least knew about it early. Her lover certainly didn't fall accidentally. Why was Karim killed? Sex, or something else entirely? Was she next? Did this 'Flight Instructor' character know any of her other secrets? So damn many questions and no answers.

'What I need is some good, old fashioned retail therapy to calm my nerves so I can think,' she told herself.

She got the girls dressed, dropped them off at daycare and made a beeline for the mall. She never noticed the white Corolla.

John followed her into the mall at a discreet distance and got out ahead of her while she browsed through a lingerie shop. He had always marveled at how oblivious people were to being surveilled when the tracker was out in front instead of behind the subject.

As Bethany approached the food court John took a seat in the far corner with his back to her, watching her reflection in a store display window. After plugging an unobtrusive earpiece/mic into the voice changer rubber banded to the disposable phone he dialed her number.

"Hello?" Bethany sounded considerably more subdued than when last he had spoken with her.

"Good morning. This is your late lover's Flight Instructor. Did you enjoy the evening news last night?"

"You're a monster! How could you do such a thing?"

"A simple matter of leverage. He did pretty well for his first lesson except he didn't flap his arms fast enough. Actually, given what an all around sorry excuse for a human being your lover was, it was a pretty satisfying outcome. Man, could that guy scream!"

"Am I next?" She wasn't expecting an honest answer but he surprised her.

"That depends entirely on you. You are an unprincipled, faithless, dishonorable bitch. You don't care about anyone else's feelings. Right and wrong means nothing to you."

"So. Here's how it is. Put bluntly, your longevity depends on your ability to transcend your basic nature. If you can be a faithful, loving wife and mother and a good citizen, you can have a long life. If you continue as you've been behaving, I will end you. No exceptions, no further reprieves. Keep your knees together or meet your Maker. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Crystal. I can do it."

"I don't think you can. I'll make random checks on your conduct at least until your children become adults. Do your best to surprise me pleasantly. If you dishonor your marriage vows I will act without warning. We will not speak again." Click. The die was cast. She would determine her own fate.

Later, John watched Bethany start up the escalator to the top floor of the mall. About half-way up she spotted the upper floor railing and her hand flew to her mouth. She shrieked, spun around and shoved shoppers out of her way as she scrambled back down the 'up' escalator to the ground floor. She backed away from the escalator shaking her head and moaning.

"Damn! Maybe I actually got through to her." Chuckling and shaking his head he shuffled away.

John waited 10 days and had Baine report to his office.

"Tell Ben Rush his wife is not cheating on him. Nothing else. Got that?" John was deliberately brusque with Baine.

"Got it. I'm sure he'll be relieved to hear it. Thanks." John noticed Baine hadn't presumed to sit uninvited this time.

"That's all." Baine nodded and left.

Eighteen months later the secure phone on John's desk chimed. When he picked up the handset and the synchronization whines had faded the tired voice of his DIA contact greeted him.

"Morning, John. I'm afraid you were right about the Rush woman. She's at it again. She took all manner of precautions to shake off any tails but the dummy doesn't seem to know the old 'tracker in the pocketbook' trick. Havin' hot monkey sex right about now. The woman has the morals of an alley cat."

"John, we can't keep her husband working on just low level stuff forever. The man has real talent we need to use. It's not his fault his wife's a mobile conscience-free zone."

John knew, if he notified the FBI, there would be an interminable additional 'investigation'. They'd investigate it to death. The slut would drag her whole family, her friends and the company through the mud along with her, every sordid step of the way. Ben and the twins would suffer embarrassment, humiliation and ridicule.

Neither the DIA nor the FBI would even consider any less tedious solution but John knew of an agency that would provide a prompt solution if he requested it. That agency had no name or, rather, had a new and meaningless name assigned from time to time. There were fewer than a dozen employees and their entire funding was an innocuous line item in the Federal Park Service's annual budget for restroom supplies. Appropriate, since they did nearly all of the 'wet work' the Fed needed doing.

John sighed. "I understand. I'll see that the situation is resolved promptly." He pressed the hangup button and held it.

She was a serial cheater; she would never stop. If she hadn't yet been reeled in by a foreign intelligence agent she soon would be. He envisioned a long line of spies lined up to take their turns with her. Between her thighs, literally, lay the gateway to all the secrets in the software section where her husband worked.

Squaring his shoulders John released the phone's hangup button, waited for a dial tone and dialed a number from memory.

"Go," the digitized voice on the other end answered.

"Mission assignment. Authorization Sierra Alpha One One Kilo. Subject ID Foxtrot-09-2010. Terminal accident. Do not disappear the remains. Subject has two small children and spouse. Insure no collateral damage. Execute soonest. End message." CLICK. The line went dead.

John placed the handset quietly back in its cradle and sighed.

Yes, there would be shock, loss and mourning. Those would pass and what would remain would be the happy memories. Ben and the children would remember Bethany as a beloved wife and mother. It was better for everybody this way, even Bethany.

John stared down at the blotter on his desk. He knew there would soon be another ghost in his dreams.

[END]

*****

Thanks for reading. Please rate and comment so I can improve my writing.

You are invited to read my earlier story, On The Road To Dublin (1,2).