Chapter 13

Dan 1.0’s turn:

It wasn’t like this when I first met a little teenie redhead by a swimming pool a few years ago. She was timid, but lonely enough to overcome her timidity.

That was then, this is now. Cindy with goals. Tomorrow morning we’re flying to Atlanta, first commercial stop on the way to Switzerland. Stoney (both greater and lesser) and Johanna and Anders and Bridgette are accompanying us. First European stop is Oslo, and we’ll do a courtesy visit to Uncle Jan. They’ll stay, me and MY redhead will visit for a day, then go to Switzerland.

She’s got checklists on her iPad and in her head and she’s checking and double-checking and I’m picking at her.

“Sweetie, we’re going to Europe, not the Cannibal Coast. If you forget something, you can buy it there...”

“You know how I am about surprises, baby...”

“I’ve surprised you a few times and you liked it.”

“You know what I mean.”

“How about if I surprise you right now?” I leered.

The giggle still gets me. “That’s not a surprise, that’s a requirement, dude.”

“Now I’m ‘dude’?”

“You wanna be ‘master’?”

“You’ve been talking to Tina again, haven’t you?”

“No, sir ... I’m just a scared little girl,” she said, kneeling, eyes big and expectant.

I just growled, picked her up under my arm and headed to the bedroom, her kicking and squealing quite realistically. Oh, that part’s still good. Very good. All those ideas that just maybe I was a pedophile for consorting with a thirteen-year-old girl, marrying her at fourteen, those are gone.

She’s past twenty now. Still lithe, agile, sylphish, still affects that pixie haircut to go with the red hair and green eyes. How could a man EVER get tired of seeing that? Especially when he’s subject to see it while she’s naked, straddling him, working magic.

The event reached its customary happy sticky conclusion and she remained atop me.

“Wow!” she said. She swapped the tenor of her voice to ‘airhead’. “Yaknowwww, same guy all the time. Gotta be sooooo borrrringggg. An’ old guys, they can’t keep up...”

“You’re horrible,” I laughed. “And speaking of boring and keeping up, heard anything from the newlyweds?”

“Teresa sent out a thumbs-up text. Vicki sent one that said we short-changed her on explanations.”

“I suppose that in both cases, the male halves of the equation are catatonic.”

Giggle. “At least Billy’s a young, athletic dude. Poor Don...”

“He’s the same age I was. He’ll just have to take his chances.”

She wiggled. “You’re hangin’ in there pretty good, buddy boy.”

I cupped that red hair in my hands. “D’ya know how much I love you, punkinhead?”

“Enough to fly with me to Europe, and this time we are NOT going to pass up the opportunity to make love in Greenland.”

“You make me want to get a world map and start working our way around it.”

Giggle. “I’m all for that. Hit all the ones we can reach with Lenya then get a blue-water sailboat and go after the rest...” She paused, smirked. “Of course, we hit those Central and South American countries and I’ll have to compete with Carlita’s cousins...”

“Carlita’s gotta compete with her cousins. Dave brought another one home...”

Giggle. “I thought we were bad, haulin’ in Hardestys.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t take ‘em to bed with us. Dave’s already got...”

“Brindy and Carlita,” she said. “And now Camila, who’s working hard to fit into the community over there. Haley’s report – Camila has already made herself part of the Johnson household.”

“Interesting. But to address your idea ... Aphrodite herownself couldn’t entice me away from you.”

She slid sideways off me, touched her forehead to mine. “As it should be. We connect. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.”

“Yep. Perfection, little one.”

“Perfection’s hungry, sir,” she smirked.

“Hamburger joint?” I asked.

“If you buy me a chocolate malt with it, I promise sexual considerations, sir.”

“Sounds like a fair deal to me, little darlin’.”

I didn’t feel bad about not including any of our fellow travelers. I surmised they’d each have their own pre-travel preparations, especially Stoney and Jo with Little Stoney. Yes, he’s a toddler now, “Bid boy’ in his own words, but Jo still prepares for accidents.

Cindy and I hopped into the SUV and sped off to the ultimate burgers in town.

We each ordered their smallest offering. Their biggest, well, you have to really be hungry.

I was hungry when I got home with her. I was hungry for Cindy.

We had ONE more run through the checklists. I had to actually SHOW her my travel documents – passport, international driver’s license, pilot’s license – before we made sure that the next day’s clothing was laid out.

Who needs tranquilizers?

The alarm woke us. Cup of coffee, bagel with cream cheese (thank you, Sim!) and we’re dressed and out the door.

Cindy and I have Lotte ready when the rest of the gang shows up. Atlanta’s an hour away. We hit an FBO to leave Lotte, catch a courtesy ride to the main terminal, endure the idiocracy at work for TSA, and then we hit the lounge to wait for our first flight.

Yeah, lounge. I’m not going to endure the cramps of a coach class. First class comes with the lounge.

I catch the looks of the other occupants when Jo and Stoney walk in, Jo holding the toddler’s hand. The kiddo’s not one of those that produce traveler horror stories, especially with his grandparents there, too.

And honestly, who’s gonna start some crap with Anders, all six-five of blonde Viking berserker, while he’s bouncing the baby, showing him pictures on an iPad.

Flight from Atlanta to Newark. Wait. Newark to Oslo. Funny. Norwegian customs agents are pleasant and efficient. I hark back to my previous interaction with our own TSA – surly, bored, lock-step automatons.

Uncle Jan takes care of his family and we get the splash-over. Not a formal dinner, but a big one, a bit like our better-organized pavilion events, the menu a definite departure. I don’t think he has any Cajuns or Mexicans on his staff. Good food, though.

I think Uncle Jan wants to adopt Cindy. He’s got this bevy of redheads now – Bridgette, Johanna, Cindy.

“I have beautiful nieces,” he smiles.

Cindy’s always a winner. “I am proud to be a member of this family,” she told him.

We had two days set aside to show up in Switzerland at the Pilatus factory. Our itinerary is to catch a ride back to Oslo, fly to Zurich, then get a cab for the trip down to Stans. It’s twenty-five nautical miles, straight line, but roads in Switzerland are not straight lines.

Pilatus, seeing us as a return client, has graciously offered us a pilot to help us get out of European airspace. That’s a plus.

Execution of the plan was flawless. I got to exercise the entire German vocabulary I’d learned as a second lieutenant in Germany over two decades ago. I don’t know if it was much appreciated because about the time I got to my second sentence, somebody switched to a much better version of English to help us on our way.

We announced our arrival to the people at Pilatus, got one of their people (and his wife) to escort us for the evening.

And Cindy, in reply to their question about our choice for food. “I see you have a Burger King...”

Herr Böcker looked at her like she was growing horns. “Burger King?!?”

“Johann,” I said, “she’s joking?”

Elina, his wife, couldn’t contain a giggle. “Johann, she has gotten to you.”

“I’m sorry, Johann,” Cindy said. “I don’t know what makes me that way.”

“So,” he asked again. “Do you have a preference?”

“I loved the cordon bleu last time we were here. Do you know where we went? It was near the hotel...”

Elina named a place.

“That’s it!” Cindy said. “Wonderful!”

It was. Great food, made better by the newness. Our friends were personable, intelligent, conversational.

Johann has agreed to accompany us through European airspace. We’ll drop him off in Scotland when we make our stop there. We tried to get Elina to come along, but she’s not a Pilatus employee and has work she can’t get out of. That’s sad. Great couple, like us – the result of the two of them is greater than simple addition.

The next morning, we did the final paperwork, very thorough inspections of the plane with Pilatus people, loaded up the survival equipment for the trans-Atlantic flight. The bright orange immersion suit contrasts favorably with Cindy’s hair. Oh, yeah, pictures were taken. Cindy is the face of 3S Transport and our purchase history makes her popular here.

We toured the factory again, this time paying closer attention to the PC-24 assembly portions.

Another evening, another restaurant meal, and another night in Switzerland. We were lined up for an 0800 departure. Johann walked Cindy and I through the flight planning for European airspace.

“It has been made easier,” he explained. “Garmin has added a feature to their flight planning application on the iPad...”

And it’s off to the races. I’m fairly competent as an IFR pilot. I choose my battles and don’t push hard. I never fly into conditions where the destination promises minimum conditions nor do I do solid ‘on the gauges the whole way’ trips. Cindy’s better. I marvel at the capabilities she keeps in that cute head of hers. One of them is an almost scary understanding of how to get a capable aircraft from Point A to Point B.