Flying in Circles

By Clayton Taylor

Marlin Todd is a young man with a bright future, a pilots license--and a drinking problem.

During a night of hard partying in Hyannis, Massachusetts, in 1983, Marlin wins an old watch from a retired Pan Am pilot. The odd thing is, he cant recall too many details about the actual game of pool he played with the man. And his prize he won changes his life abruptly and profoundly.

He begins to experience things he cant understand and strange dreams that seem too real to be just dreams. Soon, the line between reality and imagination becomes perilously blurry for him. Sleep deprivation and crushing anxiety begin to take their toll, and Marlin begins to fear that he is losing his mind. He struggles to understand which reality is the one he can trust.

Then one night, a family tragedy is brought to vivid life when Marlin wakes up on Midway Island in 1938. Knowing his beloved grandfather was a pilot onboard the Hawaii Clipper, a Pan Am flying boat that disappeared somewhere between Guam and Manila in 1938, Marlin willingly becomes part of the Clippers ill-fated crew. Lost in an episode, and despite escalating tensions aboard, Marlin struggles to save his grandfather from an untimely death. It doesnt take him long, however, to discover that changing the past isnt quite as easy as it may seem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462008933

Clayton Taylor

Clayton Taylor’s inspiration for Flying in Circles was born during the many hours he spent piloting wide-body airliners over the Pacific Ocean. He lives in Texas.

Book preview

Contents

Kim

Background

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Bibliography

I would like to acknowledge the following individuals, who provided invaluable help toward the completion of this novel:

Vince McLaughlin

Richard A. Yarmey

Thomas Stanton

Boyd Thornburg

The distinction between the past, present, and future is

only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

—Albert Einstein

Kim

Background

In the early 1930s, Juan T. Trippe, the founder of Pan American Airways, contracted with the Glenn L. Martin Company for the construction of three flying boats. These state-of-the-art aircraft would transform Trippe’s dream of regular mail and passenger service across the Pacific into a reality.

The Martin M-130 flying boat was, at that time, the largest flying boat ever constructed in the United States. With four Pratt & Whitney Wasp R-1830 engines, the airplane was designed to carry more than its own weight in payload. The advertised passenger capacity was forty-one, but in reality, with the fuel required to fly the great distances between landing sites, the airplane could carry only a handful of passengers and a limited amount of cargo.

The three airplanes constructed were named the Philippine Clipper, Hawaii Clipper, and— probably the most well-known of all three—China Clipper. The inaugural flight of the China Clipper from San Francisco to Manila took place on November 22, 1935, with stops in Hawaii, Midway Island, Wake Island, and Guam. It was a complete success. By January of 1945, however, all three of the Martin Clippers had crashed.

The Philippine Clipper crashed into a mountain just north of San Francisco on January 21, 1943. The famous China Clipper crashed during a night landing in Port of Spain, Trinidad, on January 8, 1945.

On July 29, 1938, the Hawaii Clipper disappeared on a flight between Guam and Manila. Other than an oil slick, no sign of the Hawaii Clipper was ever found. Initially, some theorized that a small group of Japanese men may have boarded the flight in Guam and hijacked the aircraft en route. Supposedly, after commandeering the airplane, they flew it to one of the nearby Japanese-controlled islands in order to copy some of the airplane’s advanced technology. In the end, however, the accident was blamed on hazardous weather, which is often present over that part of the Pacific Ocean.

Another speculation, not nearly as well-known, was that while Martin Aircraft was constructing the three known Clippers, the US government contracted to build a fourth Clipper to be used in intelligence-gathering operations throughout the Western Pacific.

This was at a time prior to World War II when some in America’s military community feared Japanese aggression. They were convinced the United States should be keeping an eye on the Japanese Empire’s activities.

According to speculation, the fourth Clipper was crewed by a select few from Pan American’s flight department, with passengers consisting solely of government agents. This clandestine Clipper supposedly operated on roughly the same schedule as the regular Pan Am flights but only flew in and out of two very top secret military bases in the Pacific, staffed by only a handful of ground personnel. It has been said this ghostly flying boat would operate off-route and report back to Washington with any information they were able to obtain. The unofficial name of this flying boat was the Honshu Clipper. The city of Tokyo is located on Honshu Island.

When the war in the Pacific ended, so did the speculation regarding this mysterious aircraft, except for one story.

Many years later, one of the men who’d worked in the Martin plant just north of Baltimore, Maryland, confirmed on his deathbed the existence of a fourth Clipper.

Beyond this confession, there is no proof of the existence of the Honshu Clipper, and as a result, its fate is officially unknown.

*  *  *

Although I’ve used actual airline names and aircraft types while writing this novel, the reader should keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Much of the story regarding the Hawaii Clipper is true, although I’ve altered some of the specifics, including the names of the crew and passengers. I felt it was important to remain as close to the facts as possible with my description of the Hawaii Clipper and how it was operated while at the same time protecting the families involved, especially since my story strays from fact to fiction. The characters I’ve created throughout the novel do not represent real people, living or dead. Their personalities were created by me, simply to tell the story.

I’d also like the reader to know that although I use Provincetown-Boston Airlines to tell my story, it is in no way meant to be a read as historic fact. I’ve tried to stay as accurate as I could in describing the operation, but all the characters involved and the things they do are completely a figment of my imagination.

The true story regarding Hawaii Clipper’s demise may never be known; this novel suggests but one possibility.

Flying in Circles is Clayton Taylor’s second novel.

His first, Dead Eyes Opened, is an action-adventure story involving pilots, air traffic controllers, ruthless businessmen, and spies.

B1Hawaii%20Clipper.jpg

Hawaii Clipper

Courtesy of John Wegg

another%20Cessna402.jpg

PBA Cessna 402

Courtesy of Vince McLaughlin

B3PBA%20DC3.jpg

PBA DC-3

Courtesy of John Wegg

B4%20PBAs%20Willy.jpg

PBA’s Willy

Courtesy of Rand Peck

B5.jpg

Eastern Massachusetts, Cape Cod and the Islands

Courtesy of Robert Corr

Chapter One

In the Present and in the Past

Marlin Todd loved his job as an airline pilot, but he hated the fact that he was becoming a drunk. Generally he preferred not to think about it, but he was reminded of it often enough.

For the moment he was at peace, not the least bit concerned with his life. Parked high on a mountainside, beside a quiet country road overlooking a rocky beach a thousand feet below, Marlin found contentment. He sat in the left seat of a shiny red sports car, stroking Debbie’s auburn hair while enjoying the beautiful rainbow of colors emitted by the warm tropical setting sun.

At least he thought her name was Debbie; he wasn’t sure. In fact, he wasn’t sure if she had ever even mentioned her name; it was just something he seemed to be aware of. He would have asked her, but he knew too much time had passed, and it didn’t really matter anyway.

She commented about the sunset but then drifted off into her own thoughts.

He was about to ask her if she would join him for a nightcap in his room, not really sure if he could find his way back to the hotel, when the earth suddenly began to shake beneath their feet. The whole car shook. The first few jolts were small and of short duration, but they quickly escalated into sharp continuous waves of vibration. He had never experienced an earthquake before, so at first he was bemused. He looked at Debbie and was surprised to see that she didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

She must be from California, he thought.

After a few moments the shaking became increasingly more violent, and the car gyrated wildly. The earth undulating beneath their feet became so severe and so unnerving he concluded they must be close to the epicenter. He wasn’t sure if it was safer to stay put or make a run for it.

Yet Debbie said nothing—only smiling as she continued to gaze at the setting sun.

The shaking grew more intense, and Marlin found himself wondering if the earth beneath them might soon crack open and swallow up the tiny car along with its occupants. He could not remember the name of the island they were on, but he knew there wouldn’t be many places to hide.

Marlin flinched at the sound of an explosion. He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a giant pillar of gray-and-black smoke rising from the mountaintop behind them. He hadn’t thought much about it, but from someplace in the back of his mind, he remembered hearing the mountain they were sitting on had once been an active volcano. It was then he realized they weren’t experiencing an earthquake—it was a volcanic eruption.

Surely, he thought, this thing must have been dormant for a thousand years. Why the hell would it pick this exact moment to blow its top without any advance warnings?

The knowledge it wasn’t an earthquake but that they were sitting on a mountain that was blowing itself apart didn’t make him feel any better. The reason the fury-filled mountain picked that precise moment in time to erupt again, Marlin did not know. But he decided there was no better time to save both their asses than right then. It seemed the fussy little sports car had other ideas however, as the engine refused to come to life.

As Marlin desperately cranked the engine, thick black smoke, along with some small rocks, began to spew from the mountaintop. The earth shook ever more violently beneath them, and he again thought of jumping from the car and running as fast as he could.

To hell with Debbie, thought Marlin. It’s every man for himself!

But the engine finally started, and Marlin swiftly pushed the gas pedal to the floor. With the car in gear, he popped the clutch in a desperate attempt to escape Mother Nature’s wrath, leaving a three-foot patch of rubber on the cracking roadway beneath them. He looked into the rearview mirror and was horrified to see a virtual mountain of smoke, rocks, and other debris as high as the mountain itself cascading toward them.

He couldn’t remember the route he had taken to get to the scenic overlook but knew it didn’t matter; he only knew he had to get away.

He pointed the car down a winding narrow road, hoping it would lead to safety. In spite of the fact that the road ran along the edge of a cliff, he pushed the tiny red car to its limit. The peppy little machine briefly went up on two wheels as Marlin rounded a hairpin turn with his foot still holding the gas pedal to the floor. They were in a race for their lives, and Marlin knew if he didn’t do everything just right, they would soon be buried alive in a mountain of dust and debris.

Even at the speed they were traveling, Marlin could see that the huge black cloud of rocks, dirt, and smoke was gaining on them; and it seemed to be getting bigger. Having spent most of his life on the East Coast, he found the experience surreal. He just couldn’t believe what was happening.

How the hell did I get here? he wondered. He knew it was a vacation to an island in the Pacific, but that was all he could remember.

Nothing in his previous experience had prepared him for such an incredible event. His terrified eyes had tunnel vision. Straight ahead he had full color vision, but on either side things appeared blurry and in black and white.

Despite the speed at which they were traveling, along with the sharp turns he was making, he could still feel the earth shaking under the car. His mind was in turmoil. He feared the earth ahead would open up at any moment, if they weren’t buried alive by the mountain of debris first.

He knew if he could get to a straightaway he might be able to outrun the fast-approaching storm, but the narrow mountainside road seemed to be never ending, with turn after turn after turn.

Marlin took his eyes off the road for a second to look in the rearview mirror. He saw only smoke as black as soot, towering hundreds of feet in the air. Then baseball-sized rocks began to hurl past the car, and dust began to build up on the windshield. He pushed his foot even harder to the floor, knowing the little car didn’t have any more to give. It was a race against time, and they were losing.

He didn’t want to take his eyes off the road again, but he did, just for a second. Marlin glanced to his right, attempting to reassure his passenger or perhaps be reassured. He found himself wishing he could remember her real name and where they’d met. But when he looked over, she was gone. His mind was unable to grasp what was happening. Where did she go? he wondered. Was she thrown from the car when I swerved? How could I have not noticed?

In the seat where she had been sitting there was a small tree branch and some rocks—nothing more. While his mind was preoccupied, contemplating the fate of his passenger, he had trouble keeping the little car on the road. He told himself to remain focused. He thought briefly of stopping and going back but knew that would be impossible.

He rounded a turn, and the car finally accelerated on a short straightaway. Ahead and off to the side, Marlin spotted an old man, who was also trying to escape the hellish mountain of debris. He knew if he stopped, neither of them would survive, so he kept his foot planted to the floor.

The man looked up as the little car zipped past, and for a brief moment, Marlin and the old man made eye contact. Even though Marlin could plainly see the old man, he could also see himself through the old man’s eyes. He could see the fear and desperation in his own face, sitting behind the wheel, driving frantically away from the storm. At the same time he could tell the man was frightened, but somehow, he was also aware the doomed sojourner had willingly accepted his fate. Or, Marlin wondered, was it just easier to believe that since there was no way he was going to stop and help the old man.

The world was collapsing around both of them, and Marlin knew there was nothing he could do for the poor old soul. All he could do was to try and save himself.

He made the next turn and then managed another quick glimpse into the rearview mirror just as the mountain of debris consumed the elderly pedestrian. Marlin forced the image to quickly pass from his brain, reminding himself to concentrate on the road.

After rounding another sharp turn, he instinctively looked to his right, still wondering where Debbie had gone. He looked off to his left and gasped when he noticed the mountain of dust and rocks he had been trying to outrun was swiftly overtaking him. The car seemed to be stuck halfway in and halfway out of the raging tempest. Debbie was gone; he had no idea where, but he was certain he had no choice other than to continue trying to escape.

The ground shook still harder, causing the car to veer left and right, making it much more difficult to steer. Marlin was driving the little red car as fast as it would go, but the cloud of debris continued to overtake him. Eventually, only the front of the car remained in the clear, the trunk already swallowed up by the ominous cloud of dust. Marlin knew that he too was about to become entombed.

The dust blocked his vision, and stones of various sizes slammed against his body. It was obvious to him that unless he did something drastic, he was going to lose the race. Pebbles pelted his neck and back; they were even bouncing off the rearview mirror and the inside of the windshield. He wondered how rocks could be hitting both sides of the windshield at the same time.

Trees on either side of the car were snapping like twigs. Brown dirt and rocks had replaced the beautiful flowers and green grass, which, only moments earlier, were part of the picturesque scenery he and Debbie had been enjoying. That heavenly setting was now gone and was quickly fading into a vague memory, superseded by the terrifying present.

Marlin could feel cool air hitting his face, but at the same time, hot and steamy air was hitting the back of his neck. He was hot and cold at the same time. Strangely, he also felt fear and exhilaration as if they were one emotion.

Dirt covered the once-beautiful sports car. Debris was piling up on his lap, and he knew his time was running out. He was hoping for just one more straight stretch of roadway to perhaps get the edge, but it wasn’t to be. The road was a continuous series of S-turns.

Approaching a curve and unable to persuade the tiny red car to give any more, Marlin steered the car straight as the road veered right. Then suddenly, he and the car were airborne. For a brief moment he was clear of the debris cloud and could see the ocean and rocky beach below him. He had beaten the storm but knew he would not survive the crash into the water.

Still gripping the wheel as the tiny car plummeted downward, Marlin noticed the water was a deep blue. It actually looked quite inviting. For some reason, the thought of going for a swim made him smile.

The fall lasted many seconds longer than he imagined it would. He fought to keep his eyes open until the end, but he couldn’t.

The sudden impact was surprisingly painless, and then there was darkness.

*  *  *

Marlin could sense time, but it seemed to be passing slowly.

Then quite unexpectedly, he felt something jabbing into his back. He could feel his feet and his arms, so he knew he was still alive. His shirt was torn and soaking wet. The smell of vomit was all around him.

It took a few minutes for him to come to his senses. He didn’t know exactly where he was, but he knew he was lying in some bushes.

A few minutes later he was able to get to his feet and began to realize what had happened to Debbie, the sports car, and the exploding volcano. Instead of crashing into a rocky beach, he had somehow been transported from an island in the Pacific to the sharp green hedges outside the Windjammer Bar and Grill in Hyannis, Massachusetts, covered in his own vomit.

Still trying to clear the debris from his brain, Marlin set out for his apartment. The whole thing had seemed so real to him, like he’d actually been there.

He’d been experiencing similar strange dreams for at least a week and had no idea why; they seemed to come out of nowhere. It had not escaped him that each episode was becoming more and more real. Marlin had no memory of the previous evening at the bar but reasoned to himself that it was just another hangover after a night at the Windjammer; aside from the obvious fact that he’d passed out in the bushes. It wasn’t like when he used to get drunk and pass out. Back then, he used to wake up and have vague memories of people and conversations. But lately, it seemed as though every night was a bold new adventure, with no memory of actually drinking.

Marlin stopped to shake some pebbles from his shoe and brush the dirt from his pants. He glanced at his wrist to check the time, taking a second to admire his beautiful and expensive-looking watch. He had no idea where it came from; he assumed it came from a successful game of pool. He couldn’t remember which poor slob lost such a beautiful piece of jewelry nor could he even remember playing pool in the past few days. But it didn’t matter; the watch was his now.

After admiring his new watch for a few seconds, he finally noticed the time. Speaking out loud to himself, he said, Oh man, I’ve got to get my ass in gear. I’ve got to fly in a couple of hours!

Chapter Two

Summer 1983

Most of the pilots of Provincetown-Boston Airlines preferred to fly in the morning so they could have their evenings at home with their family. They also preferred to be sitting at home when the afternoon thunderstorms rolled through, the nemesis of all pilots since the dawn of aviation.

Marlin Todd had enough seniority as a captain for PBA to be flying the day shift, but he preferred the evenings, even with the increased possibility of rain, hail, gusty winds, and lightning. He liked flying at night so he could sleep in during the day. The fact that the nightlife in Hyannis didn’t get started until well after ten o’clock had everything to do with his personal preference.

An attractive man in his mid-twenties, the auburn-haired Marlin was single and hoping to stay that way. He wasn’t opposed to marriage but wanted to enjoy his youth as long as possible before committing himself. That, along with his love of aviation, was something that always seemed to come between him and the women he dated. But since he was young and had the world at his feet, he rarely let their departure from his life bother him. Flying for PBA was more than a job; it was his passion.

Provincetown-Boston Airlines, headquartered in Hyannis, Massachusetts, had been flying since 1949 and had a route structure that encompassed much of New England. The company operated a menagerie of large very old propeller-driven aircraft, including the DC-3. The airline operated only one small aircraft type however: the Cessna 402.

Designed by the Cessna Aircraft Company to provide small communities with airline service, the Cessna 402 was the workhorse of PBA. The airplane was equipped with two reciprocating engines and had enough seating for eight passengers, nine if there wasn’t a copilot on board. Of course, there was almost never a copilot on board because that would have meant one less paying passenger. The airplane had a rear entry door and provided each passenger with a window seat, since there was only one seat on each side of the aircraft and no middle seats. The relatively small cabin required all who entered, pilot and passengers alike, to bend at the waist while they traversed the aisle to their seat.

Whenever the airplane was totally full, the captain would board the aircraft through a small door adjacent to the left front seat. Pilots would often leave this entry door open while taxiing, in order to provide ventilation to the unair-conditioned aircraft interior. The large opening was always a welcome blessing to passengers on the hot summer afternoons common in Southeastern Massachusetts.

Marlin much preferred to fly the DC-3 when he came to work, but like every other PBA pilot, he willingly accepted his assignment to fly the Cessna whenever the aircrew scheduling gods willed it.

All the DC-3s operated by PBA were built long before Marlin was born, but it was still his airplane of choice. The DC-3 held thirty passengers and was staffed with a flight attendant, which helped make his job much easier. The other thing the DC-3 had that the Cessna did not always have was a copilot. The Cessna had a good autopilot, but most captains agreed that when the going got tough there was no substitute for a good copilot.

The DC-3 had a much larger cockpit than the Cessna, which suited Marlin’s five-foot-ten, 180-pound frame much more comfortably. The aging airliner also smelled of old leather and sweat.

Sometimes, when Marlin was alone in the cockpit, he would hold the controls of the old airliner in his hands and think about the pilots of Eastern Airlines—the ones who had flown the DC-3 many decades earlier. He thought about how those pilots must have had nerves of steel, often setting out in weather conditions so horrible none of the other airlines would even give it a try. He pictured himself as one of the old salts, relying on hard-learned knowledge and skill to make it through the flight, with darn little help from anyone on the ground. The fact that those Eastern Airlines pilots had actually done that kind of flying in the exact same airplane he was sitting in, years before he was born, was something he chose to ignore.

Marlin, here you go, said James as he handed Marlin his flying assignment for the evening.

Thanks, James, said Marlin, feeling a little apprehensive. Still a bit hungover, he was hoping the scheduler would go easy on him.

James, the man in charge of crew scheduling, was a middle-aged man trying desperately to cut down to two packs a day. He never planned to spend his life as an airline scheduler; it just sort of worked out that way. It was something he tried not to think about.

Marlin quickly studied his schedule and then, with sarcasm and disappointment in his voice, said, James, you have once again outdone yourself.

Save it for someone who gives a damn, Todd, responded James, in no mood for joking around.

The paper in Marlin’s hand indicated he would be flying the Cessna from Hyannis to New Bedford and then on to Nantucket. After a brief stop, he would then captain a DC-3 for two round-trip flights to Boston, ending the evening by flying the last flight from Nantucket to Hyannis in the Cessna. A full day in any pilot’s book but one which Marlin had flown many, many times.

The flight from the Barnstable airport in Hyannis to New Bedford took just thirteen minutes, takeoff to touchdown. Marlin was grateful the flight was short since he hadn’t fully recovered from his night on the town or the island in the Pacific, or wherever he had spent the previous evening.

While the ground crew off-loaded the baggage and refueled the aircraft, Marlin made his way to the men’s room to throw-up; it was the part he hated. The vomiting and disorientation was a brand-new experience for him. It was an unwelcome development that seemed to come out of nowhere. Standing over the toilet gagging, he realized the aftereffects of an evening on the town seemed to be lingering much longer into the next day, especially after one of his trips to wherever land. He didn’t understand why it was happening but knew he had to figure it out sooner rather than later. Partying all night had become part of his lifestyle, but lately, with just a few drinks in him, reality was getting a little harder to pin down. He decided to cut back a little bit, hoping that would help. But it wasn’t the first time he’d made that decision and then failed to live up to it.

When Marlin was finished in the men’s room, he returned to his aircraft, but his heart sank the minute he walked outside. He was in no mood for a visit from the FAA inspector, Steven Tanaka, who was on the ramp, standing right next to his airplane.

Good afternoon, Mr. Todd. I trust you’re well, said Tanaka.

Yes, sir, Mr. Tanaka. I’m just getting ready for a flight over to Nantucket, said Marlin. What can I do for you?

Oh, nothing really, said Tanaka. I was wondering if your medical is up-to-date?

I think you know it is, sir, since you checked it just the other day, answered Marlin.

Yes, I suppose I did, said Tanaka, while staring into Marlin’s eyes.

Up until Tanaka arrived, Marlin had a very good rapport with the FAA inspectors in the area. He was on a first name basis with many of them. None of the inspectors ever gave him a hard time when they were at the airport performing ramp checks on the local pilot population.

Most pilots profoundly dislike having the FAA approach them on the ramp with a bunch of questions, which is usually what happens while they’re checking a pilot’s license, medical certificate, and their aircraft’s status. They believe the FAA’s presence will only put a damper on an otherwise pleasant afternoon—sort of like a cop showing up at your party uninvited.

Hyannis was an anomaly in this regard. Most of the local pilots knew the FAA inspectors assigned there and liked the fact that they always managed to keep the meetings informal and friendly. All that changed, at least for Marlin, when Steven Tanaka showed up.

Tanaka had only been around for a few weeks when Marlin began to feel he was being singled out. None of the other PBA pilots seemed to know who Tanaka was when Marlin first voiced his concerns to them. Marlin had no idea why Tanaka seemed to be focusing all of his attention on him. He wanted to ask some of the other inspectors about him but decided he would keep his mouth shut, at least for a while.

While gently running his hand along the leading edge of the left horizontal stabilizer, Tanaka asked, Mr. Todd, your left main tire appears worn. Are you planning to fly this aircraft when it’s clearly in an unairworthy condition?

Marlin, glancing at the tire, observed, I believe that tire meets specs, sir.

Really? Are you sure about that? asked Tanaka.

Marlin, desperately trying to hold back a frown, said, I checked the tire during my preflight, and I’m pretty sure we’re good to go.

Tanaka, sucking air trough his clenched teeth, nodded without speaking. A momentary silence ensued while each waited for the other to make the next move.

Marlin had sensed that Tanaka was aware of his excessive drinking and was planning on grounding him, but he had no idea how Tanaka could have learned about it so quickly. He thought perhaps it might have come from one or two of the other inspectors, who partied almost as much as he did, but he wasn’t sure. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to watch himself. Marlin may have been an alcoholic, but he wasn’t stupid. He was smart and could think fast on his feet. Otherwise, he would have never survived as long as he had as a commuter pilot. But until he could figure out Tanaka’s agenda, he decided to give him as wide a berth as possible.

I can have a mechanic look at it if you’d like, offered Marlin, breaking the silence.

You do whatever you think is right, Mr. Todd. But I think I’ll contact your maintenance office this afternoon and double-check what you’re telling me, spat Tanaka.

New Bedford is a little out of your way, isn’t it? asked Marlin, hoping to divert Tanaka’s attention. Then after considering what he’d just said and not wishing to rile up his new foe any more than he already had, he added, What I mean is, I’ve never seen any of the Hyannis feds over here in New Bedford before. It just seems a little strange.

There is nothing strange about it, Mr. Todd. My credentials allow me to inspect any pilot, aircraft, or FAA facility of my choosing. Right now, I choose to see what Mr. Todd is up to. Is that a problem? he asked while studying Marlin’s face, waiting for a response.

No, sir, you can do whatever you like. I was just curious, said Marlin, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

Steven Tanaka turned and began to walk toward the terminal without speaking. When he was about ten feet away, he announced over his shoulder, Have a nice flight, Mr. Todd. Be aware, it’s quite likely I’ll be seeing you later.

I look forward to it, sir, said Marlin. Of course, he secretly hoped that prior to their next meeting Tanaka would get run over by a truck!

Marlin watched as his adversary walked across the ramp and into the terminal. Once he was out of sight, it suddenly dawned on him that Tanaka always seemed to approach him at some outstation, never at the home base in Hyannis. He thought it was odd since the Barnstable airport in Hyannis was where Tanaka was presumably stationed.

Marlin stood on the ramp near the Cessna, awaiting his passengers while he contemplated what was going on with his newfound enemy. He concluded, at least for the time being, that Tanaka never showed his face in Hyannis because Marlin had too many friends in the FAA office there, most of whom would probably run intercept for him.

He pushed his problems to the back of his mind as the first of his passengers arrived for the flight. Rather than worry about Tanaka, his wild drunken episodes of late, or his ex-girlfriend—who might show up at any moment to make his life miserable—he decided to forget about all his worries until later, when he could contemplate them all over a cold one.

The last of the passengers to walk from the terminal was a very old woman, who brought a smile to Marlin’s face as soon as he spotted her.

Hi, Grandma, how are you feeling today? asked a renewed Marlin as he walked over to grasp her hand and plant a kiss on her cheek.

I feel positively wonderful. Especially when I know I’ll be flying with my favorite grandson, responded his grandmother.

How long will you be in Nantucket today? asked Marlin.

Oh, I’m just going for a short visit to see Rose. I hope to be home before dinner, she said.

Did you know I was flying today? he asked.

Yes, of course I did. I called this morning to find out which flight you would be flying. I always plan my trips around PBA’s best pilot. You know that, she replied.

Hoping she could not see the lingering effects of his previous night’s activities in his eyes, he helped her climb the steps into the small cabin.

There wasn’t a copilot scheduled, but the flight was completely full. There was a man already sitting in the right front seat, but Marlin asked him to move so his grandmother could sit next to him. Before getting up, the man grumbled something about having requested that seat. He told Marlin he was a student pilot and wanted to observe, but Marlin let his comments go in one ear and out the other. He could not care less what the man was saying. His grandmother was his only living relative on earth, and there was no way he would disappoint her.

After everyone was strapped in, Marlin made a quick announcement over the loud speaker regarding the operation of the flight. He then started the engines and taxied out for the quick trip to Nantucket. He placed a set of headphones over his grandmother’s ears so they could speak privately and hear each other over the engine noise.

He loved it when she showed up to fly with him, which was something she did fairly often. Marlin was always amazed at how active his grandmother was and how healthy she seemed, especially considering the fact that she was in her eighties.

The flight to Nantucket was smooth and short. And although Marlin was busy flying the airplane and occasionally talking on the radio, the two chitchatted for the entire flight, each enjoying the other’s company.

Mildred Deborah Todd, born in Worchester, Massachusetts, was a lifelong New Englander, who, at the age of twenty-one, married Stanley Stretch Todd, a pilot for Pan American Airways. They met during the winter while her family was vacationing in Miami.

Shortly after she and Stan were married, he was transferred to San Francisco to fly as copilot on the brand-new Martin flying boat. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and the newlyweds shared in the excitement of things yet to be. As much as she liked living in the Bay Area, she looked forward to the day when she could return home.

After seven years of marriage, her dream of returning to New England came true, but it was as a result of a nightmare. Her husband’s airplane, the Hawaii Clipper, disappeared on a flight between Guam and Manila. Mildred Todd wasn’t prepared to be a widow at such a young age. She gathered her infant son, Alden—who would one day become Marlin’s father—along with all of their belongings and moved to the suburbs of Boston. She would never marry again.

Marlin managed to grease the landing in Nantucket, reinforcing Mildred’s long-held belief that her grandson was the best pilot PBA had in their employ. After a brief kiss and a wave, the little old lady for whom Marlin would move heaven and earth, disappeared along with the other passengers into the terminal.

The short flight with his grandmother had been good for his soul … and his stomach.

Those good feelings didn’t last for long however; they were dashed shortly after he said hello into the telephone. The call was from James in crew scheduling, advising him that his round-trip in the DC-3 was downgraded to the Cessna. The change of equipment quickly put a damper on the rest of his afternoon. The company also cancelled one of his Boston trips, which meant less pay for the day.

First it was Tanaka and now this. What a bunch of BS, thought Marlin.

Marlin hung up the phone and then called the control tower to inform them of the aircraft change.

Nantucket Tower, Luke McCann speaking.

Hey, Luke the Kook, this is Marlin. How are you guys doing?

No one knows who pinned that nickname on Luke, but everyone suspected it had more to do with a rhyme than his state of mind. Since he was a year-round Nantucket resident, Luke knew virtually everyone on the island and was good friends with most. Only the PBA pilots who flew to the islands year-round knew him well enough to call him by his nickname, and Marlin was a member of that exclusive group.

Marlin, buddy, catch any big fish lately? asked the tower controller jokingly.

No, but I was talking to a guy wearing a white jacket the other day; he was looking for you. Don’t worry though, I told him you moved to the Vineyard. But we both know it’s just a matter of time till they catch all of you escapees.

Hey, Marlin, you should see the new chick we have working up here for the summer. Man, is she hot!

Where’s she from? asked Marlin.

She’s the summer help from Hartford tower. We got three guys and this chick. I’m thinking of switching to the night shift, just so we can be close, said Luke.

If she’s going to be here tonight, I’ll check her out when I come back, said Marlin. It looks like I’ll have time.

Yeah, I would definitely do that, said Luke. Then he asked, Why did you bother to call me anyway? I’m getting ready to go home.

Change the flight plan for flight forty-six, would ya? It’s going to be the Cessna I just brought in, not the 3.

Okay, buddy, will do. The chick’s name is Abby. I’ll be sure to mention your name, said Luke.

Now I’m scared. Maybe you shouldn’t do me any favors, said Marlin.

Trust me. Would I steer you wrong? asked Luke.

As Luke was hanging up the phone, Marlin could hear him laugh while saying, Call us when you’re ready to taxi. Your clearance will be here … and so will Abby.

The phone line went dead, preventing Marlin from voicing any objections to the blind date he knew he was being set up for.

Marlin stood at the small entrance to the airplane as all nine passengers boarded the flight. After securing the door, he jumped up on the left wing and made his way into the cockpit via what he liked to call the captain’s private entrance.

As promised, his clearance to Boston was ready. While he taxied the Cessna to the runway, he gave the standard FAA briefing to his passengers over the loud speaker. He then calculated the aircraft weight and center of gravity, copied down his clearance, checked the aircraft propellers and magnetos, and ran the taxi and before-takeoff checklists all by himself. It was a busy two minutes, but Marlin had done it so many times he could do it in his sleep.

He called the tower to tell them he was ready to go. While