To: Director, Organized Crime Section
Fm: Leader, Evaluation Team Three
Subj: Falconi Family (Current Status)

Attached is the official transcription of the Log Book found at the site of the crash of Angelo Falconi's Gulfstream, along with the bodies of three of his lieutenants. Our interpretation is that the body found in the exploded cockpit was Falconi, in spite of the Mexican Government's position that it was the pilot of the aircraft. The logbook was under his body, obviously intended to be consumed by the explosion. The military records for Donald Foreman, FAA license 729544.32, confirm that the writer of the log must have been Lt. Cmdr. Foreman.

Flight Log(standard format, bound, fifty page)

Point of Departure: Acapulco International
Destination: Miami International
Pilot: Donald L. Foreman
Copilot: none

1300hours, 14 September, 1994

I want the record to show I protested the insistence of the owner of this aircraft in beginning this flight. By the time his wife, daughter, and Bruno Pisseli had embarked, Hurricane Eloise was too close to our flight path for safe operation. I also protested taking off without a coplilot, conceding that it had become my common practice to solo on flights to Mexico for Mr. Falconi. The Gulfstream is an easy aircraft to manage, except in heavy weather, when it's high speed design becomes a disadvantage.

Mr. Falconi insisted. I therefore filed a flight plan direct to Miami, hoping to be able to outrun the hurricane. I took these actions under duress, amid threats of physical harm. Mrs. Falconi also asked me to "Get her out of here." Takeoff is scheduled for 1330.

1610hours

I have been forced to change course to the South and West, trying to find the safe quarter of the storm, and giving up making Miami. There should be no problem catching the winds for a safe passage to Columbia. I will not file a flight plan amendment until the best vector is confirmed.

I'm not sure what time it is. It's dark, I'm writing by flashlight, and have lost my airplane. It handled as well as could be expected when the starboard engine failed, allowing me to glide to two thousand feet from twenty, but I could not control descent when one hundred mph winds caught us out of the eye. That it held up during the water landing, with the crash into the huge old Banyan tree that knocked out all the radios is a tribute to it's airworthiness. Mrs. Falconi and her daughter are fine but for some minor bruises. My left arm is badly torn, but I think we will be able to find the first aid kit at dawn, assuming the winds die down, and should be able to treat my wounds. Bruno was in the head when we crashed, not belted. He is unconscious, and looks in bad shape. I will report further when a less impeded inspection is possible.

First day

Well. It's bad. Bruno has internal bleeding, I fear. There seems to be a massive hematoma in his head, and I think his right leg is broken. The radios are all out, though I will try to piece things together. I've found several batteries, all still intact. Both the women are well. Amazingly, all our luggage survived the crash.

We appear to be on a tropical beach, probably on the Columbian border. When the engine blew, I think it had been tampered with, we were just passing over the border, but I can't be sure. The eye of a hurricane plays tricks with avionics. I never broadcast a Mayday, and hadn't yet filed a new flight plan. I have told Doris and Julie we may be here for a while.

Second Day

We walked to the top of the nearest hill this morning, they both insisted on coming though they slowed me down. All I can see is more forest, stretching at least ten miles, and it's hard going. Although I would try to walk out, the ladies would have more problems, and don't want to. I've told them there was no distress signal, the homing device that should have been in the lifeboat is inexplicably missing, and about all we can do is set off a flare if we see an aircraft. It is ominous that I haven't seen one all day. I'm beginning to think this may be more a diary than a log. We could be here a long time, though Angelo will try to find us, I suppose. Maybe to be sure we're dead, the bastard. Given that, I want to describe things in a little more detail, particularly personally. Maybe as much for my benefit as anything else.

I've worked for him for two and a half years. I mustered out of the Navy into a soft market for jobs, though it looks as though United is going to hire me in October, and I'm anxious to get away from this assignment. For one thing, he's a pig. He treats Doris like dirt, and she's a sweet woman, even though her career as a pornstar might suggest otherwise. She had never confided in me much, though there had always been a certain chemistry, until just after takeoff. She came up and sat in the second chair.

"I'm sorry, Don. I know we shouldn't have flown, but the rat bastard wants to play with those filthy Mexican whores, and I didn't want to hang around and watch. Plus, if Julie stayed around she'd get aids before long, she's so fucking loose. Goddamn it, goddamn it." She was crying softly. As we climbed, and I reset the radios, I asked her "Why don't you leave him, honey? Can't be much fun for you."

I could feel her eyes boring into me, though I was concentrating on the instruments, and the radar. On long range scan, the long fingers of clouds were already showing up. "Same reason you gave in, Don. The price of leaving him is probably, you know, terrible." I just flew, feeling strange to be suddenly in her confidence, and caught her looking over her shoulder at Bruno. He was probably eyeing Julie, who had recently begun to really flaunt her adolescent charms. Her mother's body, but her dad's big, soft, deceptively kind eyes.

Doris is an awfully attractive woman, especially for someone with a sixteen year old. You've probably seen either pictures or one of her movies. Blonde, with a uniquely Playboy-like body, enhanced after Julie was born by some implants less for size than uplift. She'd always favored shorter hairdos, and her innocent face had made her a huge hit. But Angelo changed all that. He insisted she quit the business, but then used to show some of her films to guests, then made her show off her tits to those pimply faced bastards. I had seen him do it once, and had the impression it was a regular thing.

But I felt badly enough working for a mob guy, even though I never saw anything illegal. I didn't find out who the real owner was until a week after being hired, and accepted my first paycheck. His name didn't ring a bell anyway, my last tour was in India. We didn't get much of that kind of news there. So I gritted my teeth, and tried to be nice to Doris and Julie, even though I had to restrain myself from popping Angelo a couple of times. I'd had a lot of hand to hand training, and most of his goons were long on size, and short on quickness. The one time I'd had to deck one of them, they all saw, and avoided trouble with me from then on.

After a while, Angelo started calling me "hero". He found out about my DSC somehow. It came from a clandestine Seal operation which had gone wrong, and I'd had to pull three guys out of the water and fly them back to the Carrier. He always sneered, as though I was a fool for risking so much for what he always called "a government more bent than I am." Lately, I've caught him staring at me, in an unpleasant way.

But from then on, on long flights, both Julie and Doris liked to get me to tell war stories. I don't like doing that, but they both would get that misty look in their eyes, and I'm human, after all. They would make me tell about the helicopter exercise almost every time. And the one about landing the jet on a highway in Kuwait, blowing up five tanks with air to air rockets. You aren't supposed to do that, but since it worked, I got a commendation.

Anyway, it's been a mess for the last year, and I was looking forward to getting the United job, even though it would have started as copiloting. The money isn't as good, but that isn't crucial. My one marriage convinced me that I'm not the settling down type, both because of my career, and that military tendency to become a bachelor as soon as you leave home port. I have a good retirement, and no expensive hobbies. Except maybe for women. That's the thing. I'm not bad looking, and love the whole process of seduction. I mean, they're such soft, delectable people, women. Those titties, floppy or firm, big nippled or small, but soft. That tender flesh just at the cunt lips, whether they shave it or not. That dewy eyed look when they surrender.

Christ, I'm rambling. My arm hurts, in spite of the codeine. I don't see any infection, but maybe I lost more blood than I realized. Plus this damn heat. All I'm wearing is shorts, but I'm still chafed in the groin. I'm going to sleep.

Third day

Haven't seen or heard a plane. I spent an hour trying to see what parts I could find that might get the secondary radio working. Some of the chips are intact, but it'll be trial and error. I'm still tired, but better. Had to nap during the afternoon. Now I see why people in tropical climates developed siesta.

Julie is driving me nuts. For that matter, so is Doris. The little fox has these big boobs. I mean, sixteen. She keeps giving me these leering smiles when she thinks her mom isn't looking. This afternoon when I woke up, she was swimming in the stream bareass. Doris keeps trying to nurse me, even though I tell her I'm okay. She has that dewy eyed look. Her tits are firmer than her daughter's. The implants, I suppose. But her hips roll when she walks, the way a mature woman does. Not that tight, athletic way Julie's are. I mean, just bikinis. Thongs at that. Christ.

Food will be fine, there's a lot of fruit in the jungle, and I've seen some small animals. I have Bruno's thirty eight, and my Walther. Plenty of ammo. Actually, except for the afternoon heat, it's pretty nice. Not many bugs, the river is clean and cool, and plenty of shade. Since the hurricane, the ocean has been almost still. Plenty of fish.

They've asked me again and again about the time I was shot down over Indonesia, and survived for three weeks. I keep telling them I walked out, but they ask about diet, natives, dumb stuff. But Doris is a good cook, it's amazing what she does with an open fire, dried food, and nuts and stuff she finds. I'm dizzy again. Rereading this scares me. Where's this going?

Sixth day

Either I keep this up, or quit. Fucking military training, I feel guilty that this is the first time I've even thought of making an entry for three days. They're both asleep.

So, the fat's in the fire. I woke up late the fourth day, and they were both down in the surf, tits bouncing, pussies flashing, laughing as though there was no problem. But I couldn't take my eyes off them. My cock has never been harder. When they came out, they saw the look on my face, and Doris said "Don, the suits irritate us. Look, see this redness here? We decided, no matter what you said, not to wear clothes. You'll get used to it."

I couldn't take my eyes off them as they both ran into the river. One blonde, one brunette, Julie so damn trim and firm, lithe, except for the floppy boobs. Doris, so voluptuous, so womanly, so soft, except for those firm knockers. They both knew the effect they were having on me, and I swear they were posing in the fresh, cooler water as they scrubbed the salt off. I was twenty feet away, but could see both sets of nipples sticking up. I got up on shaky legs, and wandered into the jungle to relieve the pressure in my bladder. It took a while for my cock to soften enough.

As I stood there with panic, desire, and confusion in my mind, after relieving myself, my hand still around my prick, I thought maybe if I beat off, I might be able to keep things in control. I don't do that very often, never had to, y'know, but I had to take the pressure off somehow. Suddenly I realized Doris had snuck up behind me, and whispered "Don't Don. Please. Do me, please, and Julie too. We both love you, you know that. We're both horny, turned on. Julie says the guys say you're a stud. This is fate. You don't have to be a fucking Saint. Not with us."

I turned around, and there she was, legs spread, hips kind of bumping and grinding, hands in her blonde hair, a wanton, but smiling leer as she watched the effect her little dance was having on me. My pants were around my ankles, and my cock just sprang upright. Her smile broadened when she saw that. "God knows how long we'll be here, darling. I've been trying to figure out how to get you in bed for months. Oh shit. I'm creaming already. Julie says she knows you've noticed us but kept yourself under control because of... my husband. Well fuck him. I think I love you. I'll do anything for you. She's such a little cunt. Just like I was at her age. She has this big clitty, that's so damn sensitive it makes her a pushover. Like mine, darling."

With that, she let her hands run slowly, sexily down her body, jiggled her tits, then spread her pussy lips, and even from ten feet away, I could see this small finger that was almost white at the top of her slit. And my god, it was twitching. Really. As though it was beckoning me.

There was a roaring in my ears, I couldn't catch my breath, and she took a step toward me, still spreading that cunt. "Don, Don. Come on baby. I'll make it good for you. I... oooooooh." I took three steps, grabbed her, and kissed her as hard as anyone in my life. Her arms went around my waist, as our mouths seemed to try to suck our souls out. I couldn't even think.