He explains that the suitcase method of entry, the way I got back to London from New York a week ago, with me folded inside reinforced wheeled luggage, may not work this time. Too risky. The airports have heightened security. He doesn’t know if it’s connected to the recent spate of murders in Manhattan, or if it’s just the TSA tightening up. So we have a new method. There’s no way this would work with a commercial airline, but private is different. This box solution, combined with the fact that James Kandee has two officials at the airport on his payroll, will suffice. Though he says ‘payroll’， no cash has ever changed hands, of course. Just two sponsorships so one guy’s daughter can study at Brown and the other guy’s son gets put through Penn State. A favour for a favour: an easy passage through customs for a free college education.
The bespoke leather container is roomier than the customised suitcase I travelled in last time. I ached for two days after that journey and I had a cramp for the second half of the flight. I wore an adult diaper, supplied, but I didn’t need to use it. I’m used to wearing them for research marathons. They don’t bother me. That suitcase was reinforced; this is even more luxurious: French leather from the house of Hermès. I’m the same weight as the dog, apparently. And this long leather box allows me to stretch a little. DeLuca explains how the matching boxes were built to exacting specifications, with mesh vents and air holes and full coverage, unlike traditional crates, to ensure the anxious dogs are calm in transit. I have a water bottle with a straw and a kibble feeder full of organic granola.
Before we leave in the Mercedes another guy walks through and drives off in the Volvo we arrived in. Two minutes later we drive out of the door.
It’s a strange feeling being encased in a box of your own volition. The human instinct – my instinct – is still to scream. To fight. I was zipped into this thing voluntarily, clutching my Dictaphone device and my folded piece of fur. But still I want to yell and force my back up through the zipped leather lid. I want to break this open, but I just stay as calm and as quiet as I can.
‘Test the devices,’ says DeLuca from the driving seat.
I press button one and the Dictaphone emits a growling noise. I press button two: a different growl, more aggressive. Three and four are both barks, one short, one more of a howl. He opens the Velcro hatch and I hold the patch of fur as instructed and he scans it.
‘Good,’ says DeLuca. ‘Any questions.’
‘Did you get my money from my room?’
‘The Man will fill you in.’
That doesn’t sound positive.
‘All good?’
‘All good.’
We drive about thirty minutes and then pull into Teterboro airport. I can’t see anything from inside here unless I open a leather hatch on the roof section of the crate.
When we arrive in the hangar I close the hatch and spread out inside the box, my senses on high alert, my finger on the Dictaphone button.
I wait, listening.
My breath moistens the inside of the leather box.
The sound of men talking.
DeLuca opens the rear of the Mercedes and he, along with, I’m guessing, one other guy, maybe James Kandee, unload my box. What I didn’t realise is that the crate has integrated wheels. They pull me outside the hangar on to the taxi area. I’m deposited next to an identical dog crate. I can smell Krista through the material. Dog odour and expensive leather.
She growls.
The men outside my crate are joined by others and I hear laughing.
Then the sound of jet engines starting up.
More talking. Are they checking James Kandee’s passport? Do they even check in a place like this?
I get a kick to my side so I unfold the piece again and it feels like pony skin complete with black and brown and white fur. I hold it up to the leather hatch and then I press button one. A low growl. Krista responds with a similar growl from her own crate. The men laugh again. Someone rips off the hatch and holds a microchip scanning device to the fur and it beeps. The hatch closes.
‘Beautiful dogs,’ I hear the customs official say.
‘Yes, they are,’ says a boyish voice. Nasal. The voice of James Kandee.
I press button two for a longer growl.
More laughing and then the men leave DeLuca to manhandle both dog crates into the jet. I get bumped around through the plane door and back into the rear of the aircraft, where I know the private bedroom is located.
Silence.
I’m on board a Gulfstream G650 jet and the dog in the next crate over is sniffing and scratching at her box.