Phobos: Mayan Fear by Steve Alten

Author:Steve Alten [Alten, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Fantasy, Thrillers, Fantasy fiction, Science Fiction, End of the World
ISBN: 9780765330338
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2010-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

—Enrique Kolbeck,

air traffic controller

Used by permission of the Disclosure Project

17

MCCARRAN AIRPORT, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

JULY 4, 1990

The United 737 airbus touches down with a heavy skid of rubber on concrete, its spoilers—small hinged plates situated along the top portion of the wings—flipping up into the air stream to slow the plane’s forward inertia.

Pierre Robert Borgia glances again across the first-class aisle at the long-legged woman in the pleated gray business skirt and see-through blouse. It had taken the fifty-three-year-old anthropologist and son of Congressman Robert Borgia a mere three minutes to catalogue the thirty-one-year-old hazel-eyed redhead as a Tony Robbins disciple with a chip on her shoulder. Leading her easily into her favorite topic (herself) he had listened politely and nodded, all the while peppering their conversation with a few of his own superlatives—that his family were power brokers in the defense sector, that he was being groomed for a senatorial race in either 1994 or 2000, only his backers insisted he settle down first, that voters preferred their candidates married with children. “I told my father I’d rather remain a bachelor than date another former fashion model whose only aspiration as an adult was to be a millionaire’s arm candy. Give me a smart, emancipated woman any day—one who’s as dominant in bed as she is in the boardroom. I mean, am I right or am I right?”

By the end of the ninety-minute flight from Los Angeles, the mid-level assistant holding down a dead-end job at a second-rate insurance company was ripe for the picking, but by the time they began their descent, Pierre found himself already losing interest. To the Cambridge graduate, the final conquest in the hotel room was never as good as the game of mental masturbation, and with a “chippy” there was always the dangerous moment afterward when she realized his only interest after sex was a shower, room service, and a brief respite to catch the baseball scores on ESPN before he fell asleep. Which is why Pierre usually preferred a pro, where the outcome was predetermined and the only game was hiding his wallet before his “date” arrived.

“So, Pierre, I was thinking, if your meeting ended early, maybe we could meet somewhere for dinner.”

“What’s early?”

“I don’t know … eightish?”

“Eight may be tough, but give me your phone number and we can catch a nightcap together back at my hotel … unless you’re tired of hearing about my terminal bachelorhood.”

“I’m sure we can find a cure.”

“Now, don’t tease me. You’re way too hot for that sort of thing.”

The plane’s arrival at the gate triggers the usual chaotic rush of passengers fighting to claim standing room in an aisle of immovable bodies. Retrieving his bag from the overhead bin, Pierre turns back around to the redhead—

—the woman’s raincoat concealing her hand at his genitals. “Call me. We’ll have some fun.” She slips the business card into his pants pocket and exits the plane.

Borgia’s eyes remain glued to the back of her skirt. By lunch, she’ll have authenticated his story; by tonight, she’ll be primped and properly motivated to please.

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