Twenty minutes northwest of Oxford University was the private airport where Zahra would meet her pilot. At first, she hadn’t been thrilled that her father had offered to drive her there, but now, she realized how much of a blessing it was since it might be the last time that she ever saw him. The next leg of her journey wasn’t going to be easy.
In fact, it was going to be the toughest thing she had ever done.
George parked in a spot just outside a chain-link fence and killed the engine to his silver Lexus LS. He and Zahra sat for a moment in silence, watching small private jets roll up and down the tarmac on the other side. She took a deep breath, nearly gagging on the “new car” smell. Her father had, only recently, purchased the luxury sedan, and it still contained one of the most noxious smells in existence. It was similar to the way Zahra felt about tuna fish and air-fried Brussel sprouts.
After two minutes of inaction, George got them moving and climbed out. Zahra opened her door and moved to retrieve her overstuffed backpack from the backseat. Her father beat her to it, though. He threw open the rear driver’s side door and lifted the heavy bag with a grunt. Tossing it over his shoulder, he stood and met his daughter’s gaze.
She smiled. “Ever the gentleman.”
“Unfortunately, I might be the only chivalrous man left.”
Zahra rolled her eyes. “At least you’re modest.”
All joking aside, Zahra was sad to be leaving her father behind. She wished he could have come with her, but she knew it was much too dangerous for him to come along. George Kane was a lot of things, but a man of action, he was not.
A familiar two-engine prop plane whizzed by overhead and descended upon the tarmac. That was Zahra’s cue to get going. Cork wasn’t a patient person, especially when she was transporting illegal goods, such as Zahra’s pistol, among other items over the years. Once the aircraft touched down and refueled, Zahra would board and be off as soon as they were cleared to do so. Luckily, Cork knew Oxford Airport’s head of air traffic control. The two had been an item in the past and were still on good terms.
At least in terms of ‘hush-hush’ operations and booty calls.
George stepped away but stopped. “Aren’t we going?”
“Not yet,” Zahra replied. “Just wait.”
As soon as she had said something, a uniformed man approached them on the other side of the fence.
“Ms. Kane?”
Zahra stepped up. “Yes?”
“Head to the gate further down the fence, and I’ll let you in.”
The Kanes followed the controller’s instructions and marched left. Zahra could see a side gate up ahead, and they arrived just as the airport employee unlocked it and swung it inward.
“My supervisor says you’re some kind of VIP. We usually don’t do this kind of thing, you know.”
“Really?” Zahra replied, feigning ignorance. “I had no idea.” In reality, this wasn’t her first rodeo, and it made her question how many ports Cork had lovers in.
“No, we don’t.”
Zahra stepped through the open gate but stopped when her father didn’t follow. “Walk me out, will ya?”
His face lit up, and he quickly caught up with her. The Kanes followed Timbo out onto the tarmac just as an antiquated Cessna 337 Super Skymaster stopped. Zahra loved the distinctiveness of Cork’s aircraft. Where most twin-engine planes had their props mounted one on each wing, the Cessna was of a completely different design.
One engine was mounted on the nose, and another on the back of the fuselage — on its ass — between the duo of booms holding the tail assemblies. The push-pull configuration produced a unique sound and was always a head turner to the novice aircraft enthusiast.
Especially when the plane looked like a hunk of shit.
George slowed when Zahra moved toward the off-white junker. It featured a weathered, angry octopus on its nose and the words
Zahra stopped and turned. “What? It hasn’t killed me yet.”
Cork could be seen moving around within the plane through the row of circular windows that dotted each side of the stubby fuselage. Zahra couldn’t wait for her father to approve her mode of transportation, and she headed away. George hurriedly caught up with Zahra, walking stride in stride with her.
“Don’t do this, Zahra!” he pleaded. “That thing has to be fifty years old.”
“Sixty, actually, but Cork keeps it in good shape.”
“Zahra, please, don’t do this.”
She spun on a dime and held up a hand. “Dad, stop!” He did, and Zahra felt bad for chastising him in front of Timbo. She backpedaled, calming her voice. “This is how we’re doing it, regardless of your approval, okay?”
He glanced over at the plane and swallowed. “I… I trust you.”
“Good.” She leaned in and hugged him. “I’ll stay in touch.”
