“Take the next exit,� he muttered, continuing to stare ahead. Eric said nothing in return, but changed lanes in preparation. The ramp came up faster then he expected, and he slowed down, turning onto it. Stopping at the light, he noticed a sign for the airport, leading him left.

“No, keep going for a while,� Mr. Rittevon ordered, and Eric started to protest, but was cut off. “Just do it.� With a shrug, Eric obeyed.

After a little drive, Mr. Rittevon pointed him to a small paved road leading off the main one. Eric turned despite what his conscience was telling him, and it wasn’t more than two minutes until he could see the back end of the airport.

Coming to what looked like a lone toll box, he slowed down and rolled down his window, searching for a change box. The toll officer peered at him suspiciously until Mr. Rittevon leaned over Eric, showing a card of identification.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rittevon. Your plane is waiting, go on through.� With that, the officer pressed a button and the guard arm lifted. Eric drove through, with a glance at his employer, whose expression betrayed nothing.

Suddenly, Eric realized he was driving on tarmac, towards a large private jet. Attendants waved him over to the right to park next to an old-fashioned shiny black car, made perhaps in the 1930’s or 40’s. Mr. Rittevon got out of the car as soon as it stopped, walking over to his plane.