Chapter Two

Israeli Air, Flight 7628


Hayes had become his usual self once they were on the plane. He had been a professor for far too many years to remember the normal give and take of information, so Jenna sat and listened as he bounced from phone call to e-mail; dutifully updating her on the progress with each new bit of information he gleaned.

“We refuel in Frankfurt in 7 hours, then on to Ben Gurion. Total flight time is about 14 hours.” Hayes said, returning to his laptop. She waited for him to speak again, but after a moment she realized that he was again lost in whatever data was flashing from the screen. When he hadn’t looked up for several minutes she decided to stretch her legs and familiarize herself with the plane.

David appeared out of nowhere as soon as she stood.

“Will we be moving, ma’am?” he asked. Jenna smiled at the question.

“Sorry. Yes, I was thinking of moving. I was going to go see if they had some sort of pub or service area… Unless you feel there’s a security threat?” she said lightly.

David smiled. “There are no threats.” he said. “One does not get aboard Israeli diplomatic flights without a full security check.” The accent was there, but almost imperceptible. She wondered if suppressing it was part of the man’s training.

“I didn’t go through any security measures.” Jenna countered.

“Not that you are aware of.” David said cryptically. Jenna raised an eyebrow but said nothing more of it.

“OK then.” Jenna continued. “I may not need a bodyguard on board, but I could use a guide. Which way to food?”

“The plane has both a lounge and a galley.” he said.

“Good, someone who knows where I’m going.” she said. “Lead the way.”

*****
The plane was an Airbus A330, converted for use by diplomas and other dignitaries. Walking the aisle she was impressed by how much room the plane actually had when the airline wasn’t trying to fit 130 seats into one section.

“This is the press room.” David explained as they moved through the first divider. A few of the male passengers lifted their eyes as Jenna passed, though not for professional reasons. She and David crossed the room to the small dividing port on the left.

“And this is the galley.” David said, drawing back the curtain.

Jenna had expected something akin to the serving areas she had seen on other flights. This was entirely different. Each of the dozen or so dining tables were adorned with linen napkins, real silverware, and lead crystal glass. A variety of flower arrangements sat as centerpieces, the different fragrances mixing in the air as she walked in. To her right was a service area. To her left, a large oak door.

“Men’s washroom.” David explained. “The woman’s is on the other side of the lounge.” Jenna followed his gaze and saw a matching oak door some forty feet ahead.

“They don’t seem to be overly worried about bathroom lineups.” Jenna said.

“The diplomatic corps prefer quality over quantity in all things.” David offered.

Jenna turned to look at him “Was that a joke?” she asked, surprised.

“Your Professor Hayes has asked that I try not to scare you. He suggested that I be more familiar when speaking with you.” David said.

“Familiar?” she repeated. She was not good at innuendo but hoped the attempt was friendly enough to be demure.

“He suggested that I not stand on formalities.” David explained. “If you would rather I keep to my duties I am most willing to—“

“No, no…” Jenna interrupted. “I’m going to be up to my neck in formalities. I’d welcome having one person around who isn’t caught up in it. Please, continue the tour. I’m enjoying it. You were explaining that diplomats prefer quality toilettes over having enough toilettes. Is there some protocol for dealing with lineups then?”

“Well,” David said, a sheepish grin suddenly appearing on his face. “I doubt there is anyone more qualified to hold it in than a bunch of guys who make their living by being full of—.”

“Not that familiar.” Jenna interrupted, smiling all the same.

Past the dining area was an open transition to the lounge. The lighting was more subdued, which made it treacherous to navigate heels from the tiled dining area to the carpeted darkness. Jenna stumbled briefly, David’s hand instantly clasping her arm and righting her.

“Thanks.” she replied, straightening herself.

“Body guard.” he said, smiling. “It’s in the job description.” When he let go Jenna found herself wondering if he had held on a second longer than he needed to.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized that there were more people around her than she had first thought. Small clusters of them filled the alcoves, their tables rife with fancy drinks and classified documents. The bar itself was against the wall, and divided the seating port and aft. They made their way past it to an empty booth in the far corner. A young woman named Deborah arrived at their table a moment later, brightly asking what they wished to order.

“I was thinking of something with a bit of a kick.” Jenna said to David.

“We have a variety of mixed drinks.” Deborah explained. “Our house specialty is Scottish coffee.”

“OK… what’s in a Scottish coffee?” Jenna asked.

David interrupted. “As your duly appointed bodyguard I have to intervene and suggest the Irish. Scottish Coffee has a tendency to kill people.”

“Irish it is then.” Jenna agreed.

For the next hour and a half Jenna and David talked about their lives, the plane, and the effect of two Irish coffees. She’d been a tad disappointed to learn that David really was married, but enjoyed hearing the stories he offered of his life in Tel Aviv with two children and a wife named Marta. In turn, Jenna had told him everything there was to know about her life up to this point, complete with intimate details of her early dreams to be an actress. This naturally led to explaining how her dream had morphed into studying theology when her mother was killed in a car accident. She had been only eighteen at the time, and the loss had left a lot of questions in her. Some she had answered over the years, many others she was still working on. Still, talking about it all with David seemed to give her a warm catharsis.

During the lull between topics, Jenna sat staring at the remnants of her Irish coffee. This is one of the good moments, she thought to herself. This is why we endure… to get to moments like this.
It was the last of those simple moments that she would ever know.

*****

She awoke with a start, still in the dimness of the plane’s lounge. She had no memory of having drifted off, and no concept of how much time had passed. She was still wide-eyed and unfocused when Deborah stepped up.

“Hey… it’s OK.” the woman said. “You dozed off. Your friend said to tell you that he’s just gone back to check in with some professor and that he’ll return shortly.”

“How… how long was I out?” Jenna stammered.

“Only about an hour. Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time. The seats here are more comfortable than the compartments, so people wander in when they want a quick nap.”

Jenna was unconvinced, but thankful for the woman’s nicety. She straightened her blouse and sat up.

“Would you like a real coffee this time?” Deborah offered.

“Yes, please. And… thank you.” Jenna replied.

Deborah smiled and went to fetch the coffee. Moments later she returned with a large mug, cream, sugar, and a cloth napkin. Jenna smiled politely as she laid each item out on the table in from of her.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” Deborah said, and was gone.

Jenna had added the cream and sugar and was stirring her coffee before she noticed that she was not alone. In the dim light, she had not immediately seen the man in the high-backed leather chair opposite her. She froze, suddenly aware that he must have been there, watching, as she slept. She dropped the spoon into the coffee with a loud clang.

“This time it’s going to be different.” the man said without prelude. “As are you. Let’s have a look.” The accent was definitely not Middle-Eastern. Jenna couldn’t place it.

“Excuse me?” Jenna said, her eyes moving from the man to the doorway, then back. David would ‘return shortly’, Deborah had said.

The man ignored Jenna’s obvious discomfort. He was looking her up and down as one might a horse before buying it.

“Well done.” he said cheerily. “Good frame. No deformities. I quite like the hair actually. And…” he said, looking closer to confirm his suspicion. “You seem to have all your limbs.”

“I… yes. Yes, I have all my limbs. Now if you don’t mind I am waiting for someone, and he won’t be too happy to find you talking with me.” Jenna said. She felt cheap mentioning David, but there was obviously something wrong with this guy.

“Yes, the bodyguard. I’d forgotten about him.” The man said, leaning forward into the dim light. “I was thinking about that… a body guard. Wouldn’t the name imply that he should be guarding you when you’re dead? I mean, a body is a body, and as such can be lifeless. Not that he would do much good once you were dead, but you get the idea. It seems… quixotic.”

“Quixotic?” Jenna repeated.

“OK, not quite quixotic. But I heard the word from a barista in Soho and I’ve been anxious to use it.” the man said. He then set to repeating the word over to himself, putting the emphasis on different syllables as if trying it out. “Quix-O-tic… QUIX-o-tic… quix-o-TIC.”

In the light Jenna could see some of the man’s features. Present circumstance aside, he was not what she would have guessed to be a troubled soul. In fact, he was beautiful. His skin was a light brown; she guessed Indian with Caucasian influence. His hair was long and jet black, flowing neatly over a white silk tunic. A powerful musculature moved strong and firm beneath the fabric. But what struck her most about him was his face. It was absolutely smooth, almost feminine. She blinked, trying to fight a sudden urge reach out and touch the softness of his cheeks. They seemed somehow perfect; irresistible.

Her hand was actually moving of its own accord before she caught herself, pulling it back with a mixture of embarrassment and disappointment. Realizing that he had likely seen the gesture, she tried to apologize and excuse herself, but failed. Seconds before the words were to leave her lips, her eyes fell on his. For a brief second she was held fast by the icy blue colors that swirled within them. Then, as she looked deeper, her world crumbled.

Until just that moment she had never been convinced of the existence of a soul. She had played with the idea— debated it in class and in the student lounge— but she had never been convinced that there was a part of her that existed separate from her body. She had tried, lying in bed at night next to Jim, to find a ‘soul mate’. She’d held him inside her as close as she possibly could, projecting every ounce of her inner self toward him in the hope that he could touch a part of her that was real. Each time they were together she’d try to explain it to him, only to be frustrated at how the flesh was always in the way of the connection she craved.

Now, as her eyes fixed on the stranger, she could feel the tangible substance of the soul within her leap at his presence. The deepest part of her being, the place where she had given up ever being known, was being laid bare in front of him. He could see her, really see her. After a lifetime of trying to make connections with those she loved, a total stranger was casually touching every sadness she had ever felt, every loathsome thought that had ever plagued her in the wee hours of the morning.

Everything she was opened to him without warning. Totally exposed, she hung there, waiting to see what he would make of the deepest core of her being. If he laughed, it would destroy her. If he smiled, it would echo to the heart of her. After an eternity, she finally began to feel him moving within her. Soft words she couldn’t understand began wiping away pain and guilt she had no idea she was harboring. When she drew her next breath she was free of them. She was… clean. There was a moment beyond intimacy when all of who she was nestled into him, warming to the essence of the stranger. They were together, she in him, he in her. Then, without warning, he was gone.

As the blue of his eyes subsided, Jenna could hear voices calling to her. They were distant at first, but growing louder. She fought against them, trying to filter out the world around her so she could find her way back to the blue eyes that had held her so deeply. It didn’t work. Despite her best efforts, the world was coming back.

“Jenna? Jenna, can you hear me?” David’s voice was saying.

She was alone again, trapped in flesh, staring out at a cold and profane world.

“Are you OK?” David asked.

Jenna met David’s eyes for the briefest second. He could see her mouth move, as if ready to speak.

“You passed out.” David said gently.

Part of her mind wanted to tell him that it was just the effects of the alcohol. She wanted to smile and be embarrassed so they could all laugh and forget the incident. It wasn’t until Jenna opened her mouth to speak that she understood that the part of her mind that wanted these things was no longer in charge.

It was the strangest sensation— watching as her own lips moved air through them, producing words and sounds she had never intended or known. Distantly, she became aware that she was screaming. Some raw part of her that had lain dormant was awakening, and would not be swayed. David tried but failed to comfort her. Deborah too came running, but could only watch helplessly as Jenna’s body was wracked by deep, soul-wrenching sobs that echoed through the plane.
Words that Jenna had never heard before were screaming from her lips, demanding succor that no mortal could offer. In time she collapsed, vaguely aware that David was carrying her.