About helicopters, private jets and airports

The elections started heating up with the HeliPóptero scandal, the aircraft seized by the Federal Police in Espírito Santo, during the unloading of half a ton of cocaine.

On the ground, the aircraft was met by several cars which were soon filled with blocks of base paste ready for refining. The incident occurred at a property in the city of Afonso Cláudio, in Espírito Santo. A few hours earlier, the same helicopter had reportedly landed near Cláudio, a poor town in Minas Gerais where Aécio's family owns a farm.

It all ended in a mess. Owned by Congressman Gustavo Perrella, the HeliPóptero disappeared from the news in the mainstream media. The justice system also shrugged it off, turning a blind eye to both the loading and unloading.

The incident had the potential to derail Aécio's campaign. From the control tower came the order: hush it up. And poof, the helicopter disappeared.

Just when everything seemed beautiful and clear, like a clear blue sky, a landing strip has now appeared in Minas Gerais, paved by the Minas Gerais government during Aécio Neves' administration for the paltry sum of 14 million reais, taxpayer money.

The public airport is located on land that once belonged to Aécio's great-uncle, and is near the family farm where the senator likes to relax. The airport, which then-governor Aécio had paved at the cost of 14 million euros, is fenced and locked; the keys – and there's a whiff of corruption in the air – are in the hands of Quêdo, Aécio's uncle.

The senator himself admits that he landed there a few times, although no one could land on the new runway because the airport in question did not have authorization from ANAC (National Civil Aviation Agency) to operate.

It was later discovered that, in addition to the one in Cláudio, Aécio had renovated another airport in Montezuma, in northern Minas Gerais, where Aécio and his sister own an agricultural company.

In the air, Aécio's campaign seemed to be losing momentum and, out of caution, was preparing to land. Then, as fate would have it, Eduardo Campos's aircraft nosedived into a residential area in São Paulo.

Eduardo dies. Just as Aécio was preparing to launch his attack, a candid candidate suddenly appears, embracing a corpse, some orphans, and a widow.

And this time it was the toucan that dove headfirst.

Eduardo, now dead, is elevated to the pantheon of statesmen. Overnight, the man who was stuck in third place in the polls became the most competent politician in Brazil: ethical, strategic, conciliatory, and republican. And all these adjectives stick to Marina, his heir.

The wake turns into a political rally. Marina rests her elbow on the coffin and poses for a photo, followed by selfies, clenched fists, slogans, distribution of leaflets, and many smiles. Meanwhile, at the cemetery, an institute conducts a study on "Boca de Túmulo" (a term used to describe people who are very quiet or easily distracted by others).

Moved by the nightmare, the country says it wants the dreamlike approach.

Marina takes off, the sky is clear blue, God is up above, smiling and waving to her as if to say: this is my girl.

But then, son of man, suddenly, we see the same holy God with his hair standing on end.

"Damn it all," it seemed to say now, "the ship that carried Dudu and that often carried Marina, the candid candidate, is shrouded in murky dealings."

The weather turned bad.

The private jet was uninsured, was not declared in the expenses of the ethical and honest candidate, belonged to a bankrupt sugar mill owner, and was now without an owner.

Someone quickly pointed out that the owners were some guys who didn't have enough money to buy the aircraft. It seems they're front men for someone (who?), it seems there are signs of slush funds, concealment of assets, and attempts to deceive the Electoral Court.

Eduardo is dead. Alive, and very much alive, Marina may have to give explanations about this flying goat, or rather, the goat that used to fly.

Marina is surrounded by wealthy people; there's always a banker by her side and a guy who owns a successful cosmetics company. And Marina and her millionaire friends keep saying they won't give up on Brazil.

The phrase is easy to interpret: some idiot said in '89 that if Lula won the elections, 800 businessmen would leave Brazil. It was a bluff, of course. And from bluff to threat, these same people, with knives drawn, now say that this time they won't give up on Brazil.

But you know, between departures and arrivals, ups and downs, there's still a lot up in the air.