Wings Of Vengeance

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CHAPTER ONE

At 2:00 a.m., Austin was still outside the theatre in London. He had been waiting there since 11:00 that evening, and now he was getting nervous, wondering if anything had gone wrong. It was unusual to see a derelict in this area of London, and the coppers would certainly drive him out if they saw him. This was not like his native country, the United States, where criminals and derelicts have more rights than the normal law-abiding Joe, all thanks to the excess number of lawyers trying to make a killing suing everyone and everything in sight. Here, if you didn’t belong, you had no right to be there, and the cops, or just ordinary people, told you so. Austin was in his late thirties, six feet tall, black hair with a hint of gray. He had hazel eyes that captured the attention of women. He was well built and very attractive. Daily workouts left him in great shape, with the female persuasion wanting his attention. Today however, he had a three-day growth of beard and looked like a down-on-his-luck derelict that reeked of alcohol. Not that he was actually drunk; he only wanted to give the impression of being so.

He had arrived at London Stansted airport three days earlier and checked into the Swallow Hotel in the town of Waltham Abby in Sussex, just an hour’s drive from London proper - if the traffic was cooperating. Every morning he got in his car and drove to the big city, parked on Regent Street and walked around to kill time. The first day he had stopped at an Army-Navy store and bought an old wool overcoat and ski cap. He did not purchase items at stores on Regent Street. The shop owners there remember their clients, and that was something he was trying to avoid. He always wondered how they were able to remember a customer they only saw briefly some months earlier. He did acknowledge, however, that it was a skill that made customers feel good and continue to visit their establishment.

Austin was careful not to draw attention. For lunch he walked down the street from Piccadilly Circus toward the theatre district to a McDonald’s restaurant - if that’s what they called it - ordered a big Mac, french fries and a regular cola, although he really wanted a diet cola, but that might draw someone’s attention to him, for it was mostly Americans who would order such a fattening meal and try to wash it down with a diet drink. He certainly didn’t want to be recognized as an American. He also avoided any conversations, for that would also give him away as an American.

He pulled up his collar and held it close to his neck. It was getting colder and harder to remain stealthy. He couldn’t wait much longer. He felt the cricket bat under his coat, yesterday’s purchase at a sporting goods store. He would have preferred a baseball bat, an instrument he was very familiar with, but again it would have drawn attention to him, and with cricket being the second most popular game in England, he decided to buy the cricket bat.

There was one consolation about all the time he had to kill until he had to play his part outside the theatre. London was a wonderful place to visit. He saw Madame Toussaud’s wax museum along with the Tower of London and he even visited the Tower dungeon, where many Londoners were tortured. After lunch he took in a movie and walked some more. He didn’t want to be in position outside the theatre until late evening.

What could have gone wrong? The conductor usually came out at 1:00 a.m., and that was an hour after everyone at the Theatre had gone home. He was sure of that. He had done his research like always; he never wanted to leave anything to chance. He had been there three nights in a row. He could have done what he intended to do any one of the previous nights. That would not have been very smart, however. It was unfamiliar territory and one piece of advice kept echoing in his head every time he wanted to act prematurely: Be smart, Austin. Always be smart. The weather was worse than the previous two nights. It had drizzled the whole time he was there and he was chilled to the bone. If this took much longer, he would not be able to return to his hotel without getting caught. The CIA had an agent by the name of Hamilton who had been dogging him for a while now and he could sense that he was getting too close for comfort. On the first day, he could swear he saw Hamilton following him in London. He even thought an Arab-looking man was on his trail. He chalked that up to his imagination. After that day he took extra care to be invisible and never saw either one. It took a lot of effort to leave the hotel undetected. He had to wake up real early in the morning and leave through the service entrance and avoid the hotel lobby. And just in case they were watching his car, he parked at a different place every night. He was glad he had the vision to purchase a vehicle and leave it at the hotel in England. The original idea was the amount of money he would save by having a car ready, instead of renting one every time he was here. He loved coming to London and spent many days here.

What Austin did not know - he was not imagining things – is that he was being followed by an Arab and he would have been shocked to know that if Hamilton had not been there, in all probability, he would have been dead.

Hamilton was very much interested in finding out what Austin was doing in London, but before he started following him, he noticed the other man. He knew him, or knew who he was. He wondered what an Al-Qaeda operative wanted with Austin. He also wondered what Austin could have done to warrant an operative from such a dangerous organization to tail him. Only the best of the world’s intelligence agencies knew how dangerous this organization was. When Colonel Oliver North mentioned their name and the name of their leader, Osama Bin Laden, during the senate interrogation investigating the Iran-Contra affair, no one paid attention to it and it was hardly mentioned in the press. But he knew, and he knew very well, how dangerous they were. What was that man up to and why was he in London, and why was he being tailed? Questions Hamilton had no answers to. He knew it would be soon when he would have to come to a showdown with Austin; he was not sure, however, whether the showdown would be a friendly one or if he would have to kill this man. But for now his attention shifted from Austin to the Arab.

The Arab was getting frustrated with the American he was following. He had no idea what his name was and why his superiors wanted him tailed. He knew that the man had suspected something; otherwise, why would he be trying to evade detection? He had no idea that someone else was following the same guy. All he knew was that he was not about to lose him again. He had lost him once in Amsterdam and he had to sit in a Goddamn hotel lobby for over a month waiting for this American to reappear. He had followed the man to his hotel in Amsterdam but never saw him check out. He thought the man must have done so while he had to use the bathroom or something, and when he reported losing contact after a couple of days, he was ordered to stay at that hotel and sit in the lobby until he appeared again.

He really hated this American. He had to wake up very early every morning and spend the whole day sitting in the lobby waiting to see him again. He had missed seeing his family for such a long time and couldn’t believe his eyes when the man appeared again. He would have loved to know how he did it. He never saw him check in, but all of a sudden, there he was checking out and now he was about to lose him again. Even though he had no orders to kill the man, he was going to. He knew his superiors would not be very upset with him. After all, the man was an American.

When they were in town and Hamilton saw the Arab produce an instrument and head straight for Austin, he was not about to let him kill a fellow American, not if he could help it and not for any reason. He himself took out a knife, got close behind the operative, stabbed him and kept walking. The Arab never knew what happened. Hamilton was an expert in espionage and the one strike from his knife killed the man instantly. The incident created a major disturbance as soon as pedestrians saw the man drop to the ground with blood gushing from his body. Hamilton had to put a lot of distance between him and the dead man. He could not be seen anywhere near the incident without arousing suspicion. He was well known. By doing that, however, he lost track of Austin and decided to take up the chase the next morning, but was not able to. He had no idea that this man he was following would solve one of the biggest mysteries he was trying to unravel, but it would not be until later, much later.

Austin was beginning to think now that if the conductor didn’t come out soon he would have to scrap his mission and try again at a different time. That definitely was not a good idea for he was not sure where this guy would be performing next, and even though he could probably find out, he was not sure how convenient it would be to have the same opportunity again. Also, the woman he was doing this for would not be happy about it. As a matter of fact, she would be very disappointed and for some nagging reason, Austin did not feel like disappointing her.

What in hell is keeping that son of a bitch, he thought? Everyone in the theatre had gone home. He sure was taking his sweet time.

The conductor always made sure that everyone at the theatre was gone, including the cleaning crew. No one knew what he did when he stayed behind, even though some had a fairly good idea. On a couple of occasions they noticed a woman stay behind as well. No one really cared what was going on - the concerts were always a great success and sold out. People flocked to his concerts and the accolades were endless. Everyone loved him, or so he thought. He was on top of the world. Every promoter was after him. He had concerts scheduled all over the world, from Amsterdam to Frankfurt, Zurich to Paris and London to Rome. He was the most sought-after conductor in the world. He did, however, have a big problem and it was closing in on him. He baited women and toyed with them. He taunted them. He was careful whom he chose, though. They could never tell. They would never tell. It was either their reputation or their marriages that prevented them from telling. He was smart enough to know that he needed help but sick enough to continue doing what he did and think that he would never be caught.

During this last performance, he had managed a wink toward the woman who had been flirting with him all evening. He knew she would be there after the performance, waiting for him. He was tall, with blond hair and deep-blue electric eyes. He was in very good shape and looked remarkable in a tuxedo. As the theatergoers left, the woman stayed behind. She was beautiful and had a long blue evening dress with spaghetti straps that revealed enough to excite the imagination. He was getting hard just thinking about what he was going to do to her. As he drew close, he took her by the hand and led her to his dressing room.

She wanted him, she needed him. She was married to an older man who no longer had any interest in sex. She did know that her husband loved her very much and she also cared a lot for him. She discreetly carried on her affairs and he discreetly looked the other way. Her husband was a very powerful man in England, but she knew that if she kept her affairs discreet, everything would work out fine.

On the way to his dressing room, she told him that her name was Margaret. He didn’t really care for formalities and didn’t offer his name. Everyone knew him and he didn’t find it necessary to introduce himself. There were no niceties needed. They both knew what they wanted, so they had better get on with it. Margaret had no idea what she was getting into. As he closed the door to the dressing room, they were all over each other, almost ripping their clothes off.

Come on, what are you waiting for? she asked. I have no time for foreplay. I can’t wait much longer. What is the matter with this guy, she was thinking. All I want is to have a couple of orgasms and be on my way home. She had to be there before her husband got there. Thank God her husband had a late meeting that evening. Maybe he wanted her to enjoy her indiscretions. He never failed to tell her when he was going to be late and never arrived before he said he would.

The conductor grabbed her ass and raised it up and penetrated her from behind. She started having her first orgasm almost immediately. She was writhing and moaning. When he turned her over and started again, he seemed to be getting close to his orgasm and her second when he suddenly started choking her. He had seen a movie once where the girl had her best orgasm while she was being choked. It was explained in a way that made sense to him, but every time he tried to do it himself, these women fought him back. He lived in such fantasy that it never occurred to him that what he was doing to these women was just painful and nothing more. That they fought him back with such determination was only to stop him from inflicting any more pain on them. Margaret tried to pry his hands from around her neck. She didn’t want to die. She couldn’t believe he would try to kill her. She had too much to lose and even if he weren’t trying to kill her, she wouldn’t be able to explain the bruises on her neck. She finally struck him on the face to loosen his grip. That’s when everything went wrong, as it always did.

What are you doing? asked Margaret. Don’t do that! she demanded. At that moment she was struck hard with a blow to her face. Shut up, bitch, and do what I tell you, as he hit her again. Why do they do that? He thought. What is the problem with women nowadays? He could not understand why they will not allow him to do what he wanted. He was only trying to increase their pleasure level. Haven’t they seen the same movie? Don’t they know about this? Or was he the problem? Was something wrong with him? Did women find him repulsive?

Every time he tried to do this, these whores would fight to avoid him as if they were avoiding the plague. He could never understand why they would put up such a fierce fight.

Margaret tried to fight and wriggle her way out, but every time she made a move, he hit her again.

Oh my God, she thought. What am I going to tell my husband? She knew she would have bruises all over her. She tried to free herself again and he continued to hit her. Every time she would try to pry herself away, he would hit her again and again.

The pain was becoming unbearable as his punches were covering her body and face. When she saw the look in his eyes as he continued to beat her, Margaret started praying to God that he would not kill her, wondering why this guy was doing this to her as her screams went unheard.

He made sure the theatre was empty except for the two of them.

Margaret knew that her screams were not going to help and thought maybe her prayers would. As the conductor continued the assault and Margaret started feeling her strength melt away, pictures of her past started flashing before her. She felt that if she could think of any pleasant thoughts, she might be able to tolerate the pain. She saw the town of Bishop Stortford in Sussex where she grew up. She saw her loving parents who had always struggled on limited means to provide for the family. In a few seconds, she saw her life story unfold and the events that led to the predicament she was in at this moment.

As she was growing up, she was never able to dress like other girls in school and she made a promise to herself that she would not struggle through life like her parents did. She loved them. They were decent people. Her father worked two jobs trying to support his family, but with five brothers and sisters, there was never enough to go around.

When Margaret graduated high school at sixteen, she decided to put off college for a year or two and save enough money to get what she wanted and ease the burden on her father. She went to the nearest big town, Harlow, in search of a job. It only took her a couple of hours to land a job as a sales girl at the local C&A. It’s usually not easy to land a job in sales without experience, especially at the C&A clothing store, but she was always blessed with good looks and her beauty always helped, and she knew it was true in this situation. The manager conducting the interview could not keep his eyes off of her, and she played the seduction routine perfectly to where he probably thought he would be able to get somewhere with her.

She was at the job two years and was gaining a lot of sales experience and her production was among the top.

On her eighteenth birthday, her manager, who had become a very good friend, and a couple of colleagues from work took her to London for a night on the town. Her life took another turn when they decided to duck into Harrod’s for a look and she was awed by the place. They all longed to have a job there and talked about it all evening.

The next morning, Margaret decided to take a chance and made her way back to London and Harrod’s. She had chosen a dress that was tasteful enough to impress a female interviewer and revealing enough to get a man’s attention.

When the process of applying and then going through the interview took most of the day and was conducted by a male, as luck would have it, she landed the most sought-after sales job in town.

On her twentieth birthday she was not able to take the day off and was very depressed. She was feeling lonely and really missed her family. Midway through the day, a gentleman in his mid-forties walked into the store. Everyone dropped what they were doing and went out of their way to assist him, when suddenly he walked over to Margaret, inquiring why she looked so sad. When she tried to apologize, explaining that it was her birthday and she had to work, she was shocked to hear him offer to take her out to dinner to celebrate. She had never accepted an invitation like that before. There was something about the demeanor of this man that made her feel comfortable and with the attention everyone was paying him, she decided to accept.

At 7:00 that evening when her shift was over, she walked out of the store hoping he wouldn’t be there, especially when she found out that he was a minister in the government, but there he was waiting on her in a limousine.

When the evening was over, she was swept off her feet by this gentle, caring man, and even though she never thought she would fall in love so fast, she was even more surprised to be with a man so much older than she was. He was twenty-five years her senior and it was not long before she realized that he loved her unconditionally and provided her with a life that she could only dream of. They were married within two months of their first meeting.

After ten years of wonderful marriage, he became very sick. Even though he recovered completely, the disease left him impotent and not long after that he completely lost interest in sex. That was four years ago. He continued to love her and treat her like a queen. He was not a fool, he knew that she had needs and it was not long before he started making allowances, especially when she turned down all offers from anyone who had any association or even contact with her husband. She stayed faithful to him until one evening at the theatre when she met a young man who captivated her. She finally decided to take a chance.

She wanted to keep her affairs purely sexual, with no emotional baggage, and she never had sex with a man more than once. It had worked well for her until now and that thought brought her back to the situation at hand when she felt the conductor strike her one more time and felt everything leaving her. She felt everything was going and she was not sure whether she was passing out or taking her last breath.

The conductor put his clothes back on and looked at the woman lying there on the sofa motionless. He suspected she was dead. This had never happened before; none of the others had died before. There had been many others and none of them had pressed charges against him. He never really wondered why, he was certain they were all well-to-do women from prominent families and couldn’t risk the notoriety of such an accusation.

They were either married to prominent wealthy men or they themselves were heads of some corporation. He knew he was safe. There was one incident, however, when he thought the woman might do something about him. He saw the anger in her face - it was not fear like all the others, but anger and determination. But that was six months ago and she hadn’t bothered him. She was American, he remembered. He shrugged the thought off and decided that she would probably just go home and be too embarrassed to speak of the incident and that was what he always counted on. And now? What would happen now? He would have to think and try to work something out. After all, he did have connections. He was sure he could cover this one up.

As the conductor stepped outside the theatre door, he glanced down the street in the direction of his hotel. He always stayed close to where he was performing for he liked the short walks to the hotel.

The road was empty except for the derelict swaying in the cold, damp night. Where were the coppers? They should have scraped this scum off the street long ago. He was not used to seeing such scum in this part of the city and he realized that he had seen this man here the last two or three nights. He made a mental note to call the police in a day or two if he kept seeing drunks there. He flipped the collar of his coat, held it tight to his neck and started his short walk toward his hotel.

As he got close to the drunk, he saw him stumble. He was trying to stand up and was having a hell of a time of it. By the time he passed, the drunk stumbled again and tried to balance himself by grabbing the conductor’s coat sleeve. The conductor tried to avoid him but suddenly he felt something sting his arm and swung around. When his eyes met the drunk’s, he realized the man was not drunk at all.

Who the fuck are you? asked the conductor? He got no response, just a stare from ice-cold unblinking eyes that sent a shiver down his spine.

The conductor suddenly felt dizzy. Was it from fear or was there something to that sting he felt? As he started to lose his balance, he realized that his affairs had finally caught up with him. Did he feel fear or relief? He felt paralysis come over him as he dropped to the street. He couldn’t move but he had a hazy consciousness of things around him. He started seeing things pass him, the graffiti on the walls, the paint peeling off another building, the pieces of paper blowing by him in the wind. It was strange how he never noticed all this before and while all these images were passing him by, he kept hearing a scraping noise.

What is that, he kept thinking? What is making that noise? Even though the scraping noise was very faint and seemed like it was coming from a different but not far place, it was irritating him.

His brain kept trying to focus on the scraping noise when he suddenly realized it was the sound of his body being dragged. Funny how he didn’t even feel that he was being dragged yet knew he was.

When the drunk finally dropped him in the dirt and dampness of the alleyway, he knew he was dying.

If the drug was working and he was dying, why was he alert enough to see every movement the not-so-drunk man was making?

From inside his coat, Austin removed the cricket bat, raised it and struck the conductor on his arm, shattering the bone. The next blow went to his legs, the next to the body.

The conductor felt the excruciating pain of every blow but was unable to move. He tried to scream but no sound would come out and when the next blow struck his face, shattering his teeth and breaking his nose, he started praying that the drugs would take him soon and save him the pain that was being inflicted on him.

He never once thought of the women he inflicted the same pain on. He thought only of his own pain, his own life. He was the great conductor.

He felt every blow this crazed maniac inflicted on him until finally everything went black. He would never be able to torture another woman again.

On the drive back to his hotel, Austin knew that bastard was dead and he deserved what he got. He did not like what he had done. He did not like being a cold-blooded killer. Is that what he was? Was he a cold-blooded killer or was he just an avenger? What difference did it make? He did what had to be done. He had killed in the Gulf War, but that was different, he supposed. He never really saw the faces. He does have to do some soul searching but now it was almost 3:00 in the morning and he had another problem to deal with. He might have to explain himself for being late to the job and was sure he would look tired when his colleagues saw him.

How in hell did he get into this? He knew how of course. But now he wondered if he had gone too far. The drive to the hotel would take him about an hour and after disposing of the cricket bat in the Thames River, he had enough time to reflect.

One morning he was on line checking his e-mails. There was a message from a friend at Scotland Yard. The agent had a friend in America who had run into some problems. She had been beaten and brutalized but would not disclose all the details or disclose the name of the attacker. She could not afford to prosecute, it would ruin her reputation and hence her business. The agent was concerned that the attacker might pursue her friend. After all, she knew him and if she changed her mind one day and named him, he would probably spend a long time in prison, and it all happened here in London.

The friend lived in Chicago and the agent knew that Austin was there almost every week, and would he mind looking in on her or call her without alarming her or making her suspicious.

At the same time there was an e-mail that he discarded from someone asking for help and not addressed to anyone in particular. He was always receiving junk mail and that’s why that particular one didn’t mean a thing and was deleted with many others.

The first time he was in Chicago after receiving his friend’s e-mail, Austin called the number that was given to him and before he had a chance to introduce himself as having a friend in common, the woman started talking.

Are you calling about the job I advertised for and can you do it? she asked immediately.

Describe the job, said Austin, wondering what advertisement she was talking about.

To Austin’s surprise, she went into details about how a very famous man had raped her and beaten her within inches of her life. She did say, however, that the situation did not start as a rape. She said that originally the attraction was mutual. She had accepted his invitation to his room at the theatre, without mentioning which one, and later it got out of hand. She could have called the police but she knew she wouldn’t and thought he suspected the same. It would certainly have ruined her reputation and her business if the incident made it to the papers but she could not forget. She wanted revenge and she was willing to pay a lot of money for it.

Does anyone know? asked Austin.

I was staying at a friend’s flat in London. I had to tell her something when she came home but I left a lot out. Matter of fact, I left almost everything out. She works for Scotland Yard and she would have had to take some kind of action of course, so I just left and came back to the U.S. and that was not easy. That was several months ago but I have thought of little else.

So, what do you want me to do?

I want the guy hurt, just like he hurt me. I don’t want him to get away with this. I want to send him a message. He must have done this many times before. I want him hurt and I want him stopped. I want him to feel how much it hurts when someone is beating the crap out of you. I want him to feel more pain than he thought possible because that’s what I felt before he was finished with me.

She was telling Austin all this with such passion that made him realize this guy must have done a real job on her.

Are you sure you want this done?

I never thought I would want anyone hurt, but I want this bastard to feel pain. From his actions, I am positive he has done this to other women, and someone has to stop him. Besides, I am taking a great risk by advertising what I want on the Net. God only knows how many people received my e-mail for help and how much trouble I can get myself into by doing so, but I really don’t care. I just want the bastard stopped, no matter what happens to me.

How much are you willing to pay for the job if I can accomplish it?

I have a lot of money. Name your price, she said after what Austin was sure was a tone of hesitation.

After a few moments he said, I don’t want you to pay me anything. However, when you hear that the job is done, I would like you to anonymously donate a substantial amount to a battered women’s shelter in your town, and please do not disappoint me. I’ll be watching the papers for the news of your generous contribution. Now, where can I find this bastard and who is he?

After she gave him all the particulars she wanted to know why he was doing this.

I have my reasons, he said and hung up the phone.

Now that the job was done and Austin was pulling into the hotel’s parking lot, he wondered if the woman would keep her part of the bargain. By this time it was approaching 4:00 a.m. and he had to take a very quick shower, shave, change clothes and get to his flight. He would have to explain being late, but he was sure his colleagues would understand. He did, however, call his company and inform them of his tardiness.

The next morning, every newspaper and broadcast station in the world, including the Chicago papers, carried the story of the conductor being beaten beyond recognition and left for dead in London. Some even went into detail describing what they suspected must have happened to him, mentioning that only a maniac with extreme hatred could have done such a thing. The reports said an investigation would follow but also mentioned that the police had no clues as to who might have committed the crime.

Two days later, the same newspapers in Chicago announced a donation of half a million dollars to a local women’s shelter from an anonymous source. The two reports were never linked.

When Scotland Yard found Margaret almost dead in the theatre the next morning, and after clearing her husband of any wrongdoing, they were out of suspects and put the case in the unsolved murders file. One American agent, however, was sure he knew who did it even though he had no evidence whatsoever to link Austin to the case. Agent Hamilton had been watching Austin and following his every move but he had not seen him remove the conductor.

By this time Hamilton knew that this guy was damned good and he would have to discuss him with his boss and see what had to be done.

CHAPTER TWO

OK, let’s get this baby ready and get the hell out of here.

As a mission statement, it was terse, but Captain Bill Murdock was a little tense, and was never noted for being full of the joys of spring early in the day. The crew of the Boeing 747 was preparing the plane for a crack-of-dawn, 6 a.m. departure, every pilot’s favorite! Usually there was three crew members: captain, first officer and flight engineer. Today, however, there was to be an unwelcome addition, a check airman giving them a check ride. This was an annual event in the working life of every pilot, a necessary evil, so they were working hard to ensure that everything ran smoothly. In particular, they were intent on achieving an on-time departure, and here the frustrating thing was that there was no sign of the confounded check airman, who should have been present at the crew’s briefing. Murdock knew Austin Hunter from way back, and his failure to show was out of character. He didn’t want to draw attention to Austin’s tardiness, but finally he had to contact the dispatch office in the States. He was told that they had spoken to Captain Hunter and he should be arriving at the aircraft before their departure, but go ahead and depart if he did not show. The crew had no option but to get on with their jobs in the vague hope that he would show before they had to depart. The 747 and its load of one hundred and twenty tons of freight were precious assets, and Global Freight’s operations manager would go ballistic if the flight did not run on time.

So at 5:30, Andy Cole, the first officer, was tapping waypoints into the Inertial Navigation System. John Seymore, the engineer, was fussing over a broken fuel gauge that demanded a time-consuming double-check of the tank’s contents, and Murdock was agonizing over the late appearance of the de-icing truck and Hunter’s absence. It was a chilly morning, and the plane was covered in ice. Planes covered in ice had been demonstrated to fly like penguins, so no need to do that again.

Ground to flight deck.

Go-ahead ground.

We’re ready with the de-ice when you are, and you have a visitor coming up.

Great, well, as soon as he’s on board and we get the load sheet and the doors shut, we’ll give you the go-ahead for the spray.

Roger that, standing by.

Just then, not one but two arrivals crowded into the already cramped flight deck. One was a tired-looking and flustered Hunter, the other, the ground agent waving a sheaf of load sheet papers. Hunter was wise enough to keep in the background while Captain Murdock perused the list of noxious substances the shipping agent had determined were safe enough to be loaded and bounced through the stratosphere to Chicago. Shipping agents never flew on cargo flights! Really, Murdock hadn’t the least idea whether