SOS at 123 Wilson Avenue:

HtKY:    

“I am Here to Kill You,” the gentleman repeated, her door remained slightly ajar while peeking thru the chain linked lock. She was standing among the fragments of broken glass near her front window. The gentleman’s manner was sincere and forthright, he spoke with stress on the last four words of his greeting. He was a slight man wearing a rumpled gray pullover and matching gray sneakers. His jeans, nicely pressed, were creased down the front. The thumb of his right hand held tightly into his right pocket sleeve while his left held a brown leather satchel with loopy handles at his side. Dangling out of the zippered top appeared to be an array of colored wires, as if he were an appliance repairman. His bright blue eyes, behind the dark-rimmed glasses, bemoaned his message. His denim baseball cap twisted slightly to the side, cast a shadow across his nose and small narrow chin. There was also the dimple.

Her day began with a message of doom. It wasn’t an alarming message, nor was it unexpected, but had all the earmarks of a potentially bad day. Participating in the witness protection program was her only option at the time. They promised no one would discover her - EVER! She felt assured. If the remote chance came of being recognized, they promised she would be relocated. If discovery indeed became a reality, the signal would come in the form of an SOS… three dots, three dashes and another three dots - the world standard for alarms of an impending disaster. At which point she was to open the sealed envelope provided and follow the letter's instructions exactly as presented.

Fortunately, the drapes were drawn tight, and the shade was down when earlier this morning an object came flying through her window. Startled awake, she rolled out of the bed onto the floor and waited - not knowing what might happen next. It remained quiet as she made her way on hands and knees from the bedroom towards the object that lay on the floor. It was a dark red brick. Strange, there was an embossed message on its bottom - in large capital letters. It read: HtKY—SOS. The alarm echoed in her head–this all had been prearranged. Someone has known for a while that I am in danger, or, it was always known, I would be found out. You just don’t keep embossed bricks ready-made, unless you know something.

Standing up, she moved directly towards the closet where she kept the safe. Bending down, she dialed the combination and lifted open the lid. The sealed envelope was pulled from its folder and taken to the kitchen counter, where she silently switched on a small overhead light. The envelope, a blue #10, had an orange wax seal on the backside. The embossing read… S-O-S. Inside she found a gray folded sheet of paper containing a typed three-line message, single-spaced, in a bold font.

Why had I accepted the position and why did I write those silly poems in the first place? As special assistant to the President, she enjoyed her position and meant no harm. Getting the subpoena to appear before the grand jury surprised her. She hadn’t known she was witness to a crime and her honesty betrayed her to the throngs of fanatical supporters of the man leading the country. They wanted blood… her blood. Threats on her life came from every quarter. She appealed to the FBI, and they put her in the protective program.

The verses, one with references to a Great Pumpkin, weren’t meant as a slide on the President’s appearance. As well, this subject of an elephant’s ass in the second of the two published poems, was in no means meant to be an attack on his political parties’ mascot. It read, honest enough, “Out in the garden, not far away, not for the eyes of the world, you can’t see it, but everyone there has, it’s a tree called the Ellyfunsass.” A simple sketch of humor about the White House and its gardens.

The instructions within the folded page read:

(1)   A courier will appear at your door attired in blue and gray. He will have a dimple. Trust him–only him.

(2)   Pack one bag, only one, it must fit in an aircraft overhead bin. Be ready to leave with him at a moment’s notice.

(3)   His greeting will be in code—the last four words will begin with the letters—HtKL. This is your SOS final key.

From your team – Good Luck

After studying the instructions, there was no time wasted - she stuffed her bag and waited by the door.

The President had lost the election fair enough. During the lame duck days before the next administration assumed office, there had been a number of presidential pardons issued. There was one in particular that had a stink associated with it. Because of her association with the then president, she received an email message to be delivered to the soon to be ex-boss. It was a pardon request. A former business associate of the president had been found guilty of money laundering and was facing a twenty-year sentence in federal prison. The message was direct: “Please, I need a pardon or you know what else happens.”

The former business associate owned a fleet of Gulfstream 650ER aircraft. The price tag on this particular model was 61 million which equates to 610 thousand dollars for each foot of its 99 ft wingspan. It has a range of 7500 miles at a max altitude of 51 thousand feet. It goes a long way fast. It wasn’t long after the president left office that his business enterprise had a new Grumman 650ER in its flight department inventory. It was that reality that fostered the grand jury inquiry of the presidential advisor that now found herself in hiding.

The once presidential assistant and the man in gray and blue, plus a bag that would fit in the overhead compartment of an aircraft, climbed into the limousine waiting at the curb. The man with the dimple mumbled to the driver… “The Marine Air Terminal, please.” The Marine Air Terminal at New York’s LaGuardia Airport, a relic of aviation’s bygone era, once a launching pad for the Pan Am Clipper from the late 1930s till after the Second World War, was still humming. It was home to several corporate private aircraft fleets.

Exiting the limo, the couple proceeded through the main doors of the Art Deco Terminal (circa 1939) and headed for the gate area that served business flight operations. Passing through the rear office, they immediately found themselves out on the tarmac where stood a sleek looking Grumman 650ER. Approaching the airstairs the man hesitated and said, “I have to leave you now,” and handed her a large envelope—it was also blue, “you will find everything you need in this,” he said, then turned and walked away. After ascending the stairs and entering the cabin door, the stairs folded in behind her. She knew not she was in a Grumman 650ER. She took a seat.

The 650ER departed US airspace just to the north and east of Bangor, Maine and continued on a northeasterly heading towards Newfoundland and on to the North Atlantic. Passing south of Greenland, the jet turned east toward Iceland. Once past the ETP (Equal Time Point) the spot where should there be an inflight engine failure, it is better to proceed ahead rather than turn back. Not long after passing the ETP, the aircraft made a hard left turn and its radar return disappeared from the satellite tracking system. To the north lay Russia. The aircraft, and its passenger and crew, were never seen again.

A brown leather satchel with looping handles was recovered among the rubble and charred remains of the dwelling at 123 Wilson Avenue. There had been an explosion and fire in the wee hours following the departure of the former Presidential assistant. Nothing was left behind.