Martin"s Secret

North of Montrose, Martin picked a route through the suburbs less likely to be patrolled by police. Jessica, her face at times illuminated under street lights, was catnapping, head cradled between headrest and window. There was no hint of the evening’s stress on her soft features. He imagined he would be happy waking next to her every morning, but his sense of reality ended the wistful stray.

She was smart, gorgeous and capable; most women would have called 9-1-1, gave an eye-witness account of the shooting to police, and left in a cab.

Why would she opt to be with a man without a past whose future was in certain doubt, he wondered.

He questioned his own motivation too. His passionate affection for Jessica was strong, but he had no past experience by which to measure love. Maybe I just don’t want to feel absolutely alone in the world, he thought.

Navigating over seventy miles of back roads through the mountainous region between Grand Junction and Montrose to throw police off their trail had taken two hours - it was ten-thirty. Martin parked along a street skirting Montrose Regional Airport on the northwest section of town and opened the trunk. After removing a briefcase, he keyed its security pad and the case popped open, revealing an assortment of digital devices, some no larger than a cell phone. It also included two firearms with suppressors and a laptop computer. He was removing one of the digital devices when Jessica startled him.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he said.

“What’s that?” she inquired, pointing at the open briefcase.

Martin closed the case and pointed a penlight at the words Advanced Cybernetic Robotics inscribed in gold before he switched off the light and removed the case.

“A bullet-proof case filled with electronics,” he answered flatly. He saw no reason to lie to her, and besides, reality was stranger than any fantasy he could conjure.

“Are you a CIA or something?”

“Something,” Martin responded.

Jessica’s eyes sparked impatience as she tilted her head and gestured with open palms, virtually repeating the question.

“I know how to use this stuff,” he stammered defensively.

“Martin?”

“Look, all I know is that I was headed here last night when that biker tried to kill me.”

“But you don’t know why?”

“Not exactly.”

“Okay, you don’t know why we’re here. Do you know what to do in Montrose?”

“Yes, steal an ACR corporate jet,” he answered without hesitation.

“You’re scaring me, Martin. What’s worse is I’m getting used to it.”

She leaned in, and Martin responded by holding her gently in his arms. After a moment, he placed a hand on either side of her face and used his thumbs to delicately wipe tears from her cheeks.

“They won’t stop looking for me” - he eyed the car - “I disabled the GPS and deactivated the transponder so the car can’t be tracked. You could just drive away; go back to your life.”

Jessica broke in. “My life? Right now, this is my life!”

“But you’re not safe with me,” he argued. “Don’t you understand? People with pretty much unlimited resources are trying to kill me. There’ll be more attempts.”

“I’m tired of playing it safe, Martin. I’ll leave when your memory returns if that’s what you want, but I won’t leave you like this!”

“But it’s not your problem”, he persisted.

Jessica’s eyes flashed. “You don’t really want me to go. Admit it, Martin!”

He couldn’t deny the message his eyes had already sent.

“I admit I’m crazy about you.”

Before he could say anything else, Jessica kissed him. He pulled her close and the kiss turned long as he stroked her hair and caressed her warm body.

“Whatever happens, this is my choice, it’s on me,” she said. “So dial back the guilt a notch, Martin.”

He had come to respect the profound outbursts she occasionally used to make a point. They kissed again before he stepped back, placed his hands on her shoulders and stared brazenly into her eyes.

“Do you like to fly?”

“You’re a pilot?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I know I can fly that plane over there,” he assured, pointing to a white, twin-engine executive jet sitting idle on a tarmac adjacent to one of the airport’s twin runways. On its fuselage, the letters ACR between the spread wings of a golden eagle boldly presented ownership.

“Well, as long as you’re sure you can fly,” quavered Jessica. She was teasing, but another part of her wanted to see his pilot license.

Meanwhile, Martin thumbed the keypad on his phone.

“Here!” he said, pointing at the screen.

“Please tell me it’s a picture of you in a captain’s uniform standing by a jet airplane.”

“That’s funny,” said Martin, flashing a genuinely amused grin that only increased her angst.

After Jessica frowned her deep reservations, he moved closer and held his phone where she could see its screen.

“I found a department store practically around the corner and its open” – he gave her the Mustang’s remote, pulled money from his pocket and peeled off five $100 bills – “buy some sandals and light clothing and meet me in the airport lobby, we’re going to Florida.”

Jessica made a face at his ketchup-stained clothes. “I’m not going anywhere with a bloody zombie.”

Martin took a pen and pad from his coat pocket, scribbled the store’s address and his clothing sizes on it, then tore off the paper and handed it to her.

Jessica blew a kiss, slipped behind the wheel of the Mustang and sped away.

Martin buttoned his blazer to hide the ketchup on his shirt before making his way to an empty corner of the airport’s lobby that featured several stand-up workstations for the convenience of travelers. He opened a flat, velvet lid covering a small keyboard inside the briefcase and entered the tail number of the idle Gulfstream jet. After downloading information retrieved by the device from a secure ACR website, he printed identification documents and a pilot’s license in the name of Anthony Fererra, Operations Manager and pilot for Advanced Cybernetics and Robotics. The documents bore an uploaded photo of Martin.

By the time Jessica returned with a suitcase filled with clothes and accessories, Martin had filed a flight plan to Brooksville using the non-towered airport’s automated system.

“Your chariot awaits, Madame,” he said and opened the glass door leading from the building to the tarmac with his free hand.

Outside, he presented his new photo identification, a concealed weapon permit and a medical document to one of two airport security guards. The guard waved around a hand-held magnetometer wand and his face registered surprise when the scan initiated a series of beeps as the wand passed over Martin’s head.

“Souvenir from a crash landing in Iraq,” said Martin, pointing to a scar on his head.

“I did two tours myself, welcome home, brother” said the guard.

After searching his briefcase and matching the two handguns to the concealed carry permits, the guard seemed satisfied Martin was carrying nothing more than the electronic tools of his trade and some personal protection.

“Your co-pilot is a lot better looking than the one who got off the plane this morning,” remarked the other guard.

Jessica fired a disapproving glance at him for the sexist compliment and Martin played along with a throat-slash gesture as he mouthed the word “bitch”.

“Pardon me, ma’am, I meant no offense.” It was all the guard said before waving them through.

“Have a nice flight,” Mr. Fererra,” mumbled the guard with the wand. He handed back the documents and smirked at his partner, barely able to contain a guffaw.

The two strode confidently up to the Gulfstream G280 as Martin aimed the hand-held scanner and thumbed its keypad. The device found and signaled an access code and the cabin door opened as a fold of stairs simultaneously descended.

“Nice touch with the guard,” he called over a shoulder to Jessica.

Martin heaved his electronics-laden custom briefcase and the suitcase filled with clothing and personal effects aboard the aircraft and waited for her on the top step.

Once they were seated in the Gulfstream’s flight deck, Martin put on a headset and busily scanned the plane’s electronics with the portable ACR device in search of a password to unlock the controls.

Before long, the aircraft’s three main liquid crystal displays lit up and he handed Jessica the decoder. After he pressed a sequence of buttons on the overhead panel, the plane’s auxiliary power unit, necessary for starting the twin engines, whined to life.

He pointed to a headset and Jessica put it on and switched it to intercom as he had instructed. She continued a dropped-jaw examination of cockpit displays and her eyes widened with each audio alert. Tiny digital numbers scrolled across assorted instruments defining the status of the aircraft’s systems.

“I’ve never sat in a copilot’s seat.”

“You’re fine, just don’t push any buttons,” Martin cautioned, his remarks accompanied by a wink and smile.

“One more condescending remark and I’ll retract the landing gear, captain,” she kidded.

Martin smiled broadly as the first engine roared to life followed minutes later by its twin on the other side of the fuselage. An automated voice over the radio cleared the jet for takeoff and Martin increased the engines’ thrust. Soon, the sleek hijacked jet began its slow roll to the runway.