"Stand by one."
"99 Alpha Bravo, this is Inspector Corban."
"Go ahead Inspector. Is Manuel in trouble?"
"Manuel?"
"The mechanic."
"Oh that Manuel."
"Yes that Manuel."
"No he's not in trouble. I think you should return."
"It's always good to talk with a DOT inspector but I'm afraid you are breaking up. You are breaking up. Over."
"You are cleared for a straight in approach."
"Roger Control. Proceed east is that it? You're still breaking up."
"Straight in approach, straight in approach, 99 Alpha Bravo."
We broke out of cloud. The blue Caribbean lay directly ahead. I reached over and snugged up Clarissa's harness.
"Um that's even nicer than yesterday."
"We're going to follow this valley down to the sea. Hang on."
Clarissa had been quiet but now she was squirming like a bored grade fiver working on a test that was awesomely hard or far too easy. "Max. Give me something to do."
"Keep your eyes open for chase aircraft. They may come after us. Just because they don't have an army doesn't mean they don't have an airforce."
"I've got to loosen my belt."
"Got ahead," I said. "I just wanted a cheap thrill."
"I've got my eyes on," Clarissa said.
When we got down almost to the water, I wondered how Barry Seal had survived mad dashes across the Caribbean that were said to be so low that spray kicked up by his props coated his airplane with salt. I was determined to stay at one hundred feet. Still I had trouble keeping the horizon constant. A dive boat crew gave us a wave. I waggled my wings. I advanced the throttles slowly and we climbed back to our original altitude of ten thousand.
"Costa Rica Control, 99 Alpha, ten thousand, clearing your airspace."
"99 Alpha, Air Traffic Control. Have a safe flight."
"Aztec 99 Alpha. Panama Control."
"Panama Control. 99 Alpha Go ahead."
"Four zero miles west, latitude one three degrees. Enroute Caracas, ten thousand."
"99 Alpha. We have you on radar."
"99 Alpha. Out."
I checked our position and set course for Caracas. "I estimate Caracas at five minutes past noon."
"Our water speed must be pretty good then," Marissa said.
I tried hard not to laugh. I scanned the instrument panel, glanced down at a liner heading to the Canal, bit a fingernail, spotted a freighter steaming west from the Canal and wondered where it was headed. Calmed, I spoke.
"Airplanes have three kinds of speed: airspeed, ground speed and vertical speed."
"English is so not logical," she said. "I just thought that if we were over the water, we would be calculating our water speed."
I suddenly felt warm; short-term memories flooded in. I had a sudden urge to caress her. Perish the thought. This was neither the time nor the place. Romance has no place in the cockpit. Why do they call it a cockpit then? Romance, sex, whatever, kept intruding. One moment I was mushy, the next, horny. I didn't know which was worse. If you can't do it, you can at least talk about it. I explained the Mile High Club to Clarissa.
"Plenty of room in the back, Max."
"I don't trust the autopilot," I said. "If it suddenly kicked out, we'd really be screwed."