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Dennis Blackmon

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  1. Second Scene – Introduces one of the two protagonists, sets the story in Colombia, and reveals the catalyst for the story – a plane crashed. NIGHT RUNNER Chapter 2 A Long Day The ringing was a warning. The next ring jolted through Margaret’s nightmare and she opened her eyes to see a dark bedroom. She was alone in her condo in Georgetown. She pulled the covers over her head, but the sound of the phone ringing penetrated the fabric, hornets stinging her brain. Reaching an arm out from underneath the bedding, Margaret glanced at the alarm clock glowing a red “AM 3:47.” She tilted her caller ID box to see the name Harrison Burr. He is finally going to fire me, she thought. She picked up the phone, but before saying anything, she shrank back into the bed. “Loughlin,” she said from under the covers, her voice grinding like bald tires over dry gravel. “Wake up, Maggie, I’ve got an assignment for you,” said Harrison Burr, her boss. She sat up. Boss – assignment – a crash – not fired. She glanced at her “Go-bag” in the corner. Harrison continued, “Looks like we got a plane down on the side of a mountain. No radar or radio contact. Need you to help the Army take a look at it.” She straightened up to improve her posture and pulled the T-shirt down a little to cover herself. Did he say Army? “Maggie, you there?” “Yes, yes Harrison, I’m just a bit foggy. Where is the plane again?” she asked, slurring her Scottish accent. “Colombia,” he answered. “Army wants us to share the load on this one. Can you get to the airport in an hour?” She remembered her car was still parked at a bar downtown, but she answered, “Of course, National?” “Yes, you’ll fly out of National to Bogota. Flight leaves at 5:30.” “Got it, boss,” she said, already standing. “Takahashi will meet you at the gate with the file. Keep it close. This situation requires discretion.” “Was he still at work when the teletype came in?” she asked “I think so. He’s the one who called me,” Harrison said. Hayato Takahashi, her amazing assistant, needed a better work/life balance. Then she paused, “Doesn’t Charlie have emergency duty this weekend?” On the one hand, she had tried to jump ahead of some of her crewmates before, and didn’t want Charlie pissed at her, too. On the other hand, “Never mind, I’m going.” She would buy Charlie a drink when she returned. Silence. Then, Harrison said, “Charlie, yeah, he’s retiring. He told me he wasn’t going to spend his last few weeks in Colombia. Anyway, you need this one, Maggie. And they requested someone who speaks Spanish,” he said. “I’ve already talked to the Ambassador, and he is expecting you. He’s Brett Crenshaw, an old friend from law school. He’ll take care of you.” She looked at the phone incredulously. The Ambassador, holy shit. “Hey, Maggie,” he said. “Before you hang up, this case could help you. Some important people are counting on us to lend a hand. I know you’ve had a rough patch, but you’re a good investigator. I believe in you. Just don’t let your emotions get the best of you this time. Everyone is going to be watching, so make me look good.” Doubt crept out of the dark recesses of her unconscious and cast a shadow over her image of success, to perform well for Harrison. “I won’t let you down,” she said, trying to convey certainty. Harrison’s confidence in her added an extra layer of pressure. He was like a second father to her; she would never want to let him down. She had the sensation that things were moving quickly and that she was already behind. She needed to get to that crash site. Harrison said, “You see anything, you call me, Okay. You call me at the office or at home.” “Absolutely, boss,” she said. This would be only the fourth aircraft accident she had inspected, and she would be working with the Army, and the crash was in Colombia. She didn’t want Harrison to hang up. “Can you tell me anything else about the plane?” “You’ll get the file at the airport,” Harrison said. “Get moving.” She heard the dial tone and then hung up. She picked the pistol up off the nightstand and put it in the drawer beneath. Her D.C. apartment was small, so it was a short shuffle into the bathroom. The sudden light hurt her skin. Last night, whiskey flowed and lies were told. Was today Saturday, she wondered, or Sunday? In the mirror she saw her pillow creased face under a bird nest of red hair. Her ratty tee-shirt needed to find the dustbin. She dressed to impress every day but slept looking like a hobo when she slept alone. She filled a glass with water and gulped it down without coming up for air. Rubbing the palm of her hand on her eye, she decided to take an aspirin before showering. She opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved the big yellow bottle of pills, the largest size available for purchase. Looking in the mirror again, she felt the fatigue of the long day ahead. She had only an hour to get to Washington National Airport. The United States government was flying her to Bogota to investigate why an Army plane had lost all communications and dropped off the radar, gone.
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