The Book of Blind Trust

The man patted the seat next to him, signaling for the stewardess. The young woman swallowed loudly as she sat beside him, straightening her skirt over her white stockings. Acrid smoke slipped from between his thin lips as he adjusted the briefcase on his knees.

“Did you give them the note?” He asked. He drew a long drag of his cigarette and glanced out the tiny plane window to his left, his dark tinted sunglasses casting a haze over the afternoon sky.

“Yes,” she answered quietly. She smiled sweetly at a passenger eyeing her, unaware of the situation unfolding around him. “Is it true?” She asked, her face deceptively calm. “Do you really have a bomb in there?” Her eyes shot toward the case.

He patted the case and nodded. “Why would I lie about something like that?” He held the cigarette between his lips and opened the case, revealing an intricate arrangement of batteries, wires, and electrical tape. She gasped tightly at the sight, her young eyes wide.

He snuffed his cigarette out in the built-in ashtray before gently snapping the case closed. His stomach dropped at the fear in her eyes. He positioned his top half partially out of her view before pulling a little black book from the chest pocket of his suit jacket. He opened the book and stared at the words inside. The book had led him many places since he had found it four months ago, but never anywhere quite like this. The previous instructions remained on the first page, the remaining pages blank as this one would also become as soon as he had fulfilled the mystery directions.

He read the directions that sprawled across the lined page in wispy cursive. The mystery words never failed to deliver both clear, thorough instructions such as step-by-step directions on constructing a fake bomb as well as impossibly vague information such as dates and times.

Today, the message had led him to Portland, Oregon where he had boarded the 2:30 Northwest Orient Flight 305 toward Seattle, Washington with nothing more than his briefcase and a note. The guidelines regarding the note had been very simple. One sheet of paper. Folded into quarters. Three lines: ‘Miss, you’re being hijacked. I’ve got a bomb. Come sit next to me.’

As he reviewed the previous directions, new words appeared on the page, one letter at a time as if created by an invisible hand. He read and reread the instructions, convinced his eyes had deceived him, before finally speaking the indicated words.

“Tell the pilots,” he began, again verifying the letters on the page before continuing, “I want two hundred thousand dollars in cash and four parachutes.”

The attendant opened her mouth in shock. “I--” She froze when he once again patted the case on his lap. She nodded in understanding before picking up the phone hanging on the wall behind her, discreetly relaying the information to the cockpit.

He nodded in appreciation. The flight continued peacefully, the passengers completely ignorant. He smoked three more cigarettes while waiting for the plane to land in Seattle. To his surprise and mild annoyance, once the plane hit the tarmac, a new line formed in the little black book. The disembodied words informed him he would stay strapped in his seat as the passengers filed off of the plane. The flight attendant followed them through the walkway. He grew nauseous, his heart racing as she disappeared from view.

He had never done anything like this before. In fact, he had lived a relatively boring life before finding the mysterious book in the condemned bookshop. His mundane past life seemed like the better option as he sat in lone silence, the possibility of arrest very real and no doubt only a few feet outside the plane door. His breath hitched in his chest as the heavy door shut, only releasing once the stewardess returned alone, her only company four parachute packs and a massive banker’s bag dragging at her side. He swallowed, his mouth dry, as stacks of rubber-banded bills peeked out of the top.

After stationing the hefty bag in the walkway to his right, the stewardess buckled herself back in beside him as previously directed. “Where to now?” She questioned shakily.

He checked his book. “South.”

She picked up the phone and to his relief, the plane began moving. Soon, they were in the air again, the night view outside of the window completely shrouded by his dark glasses. With a look of astonishment painting his thin face, he cracked open the little black book.

New words unfolded. He thanked the stewardess for her time then sent her to the cockpit. He then stood, his balance wobbly as the plane navigated heavy wind and rain, and tied the heavy bag to himself. As his fingers completed the intricate knot, new letters arose:

‘Bury 180K when you land. Keep 20K’.

He was irritated by the new instructions, however, twenty thousand dollars was more than he had and most likely would ever see in his lifetime. He would begrudgingly do as he was told. He nearly snapped the book shut when he read the newest section:

‘Jump’.

Without hesitation, he strapped a parachute to his back, opened the emergency hatch and jumped into the black sky.

DB Cooper was never seen again.