Jack did not say anything else.
They sat there until the first wave of adrenaline finally left her body.
Then Dana asked, “Why were you the one sent today?”
“Luck, mostly. My flight was diverting through Buckley after an exercise. The false code triggered an intercept request, and we were closest.”
“You recognized me through an airliner window.”
“You still tap signals too hard.”
She gave him a tired look.
“That is not a thing.”
“It is absolutely a thing.”
For the first time in two years, Dana laughed without immediately feeling guilty for it.
The investigation into the airport disruption moved quickly after that. The modified transmitter had been hidden inside legitimate ground equipment and programmed to inject a false threat code during a scheduled network maintenance window. The people responsible were identified through access records and the device itself. Dana gave one technical statement and refused every request for an interview from reporters who somehow learned a retired fighter pilot had helped communicate with the intercept aircraft.
She did not need to become a headline.
She needed to sleep.
That night she checked into an airport hotel because the canceled flight had left hundreds of passengers stranded. At 2:13 a.m., she sat on the edge of the bed with Jack’s data card in her hand.
The dog tags lay beside it.
ETHAN VALE.
She had rubbed the stamped letters so often that the edges had gone smooth.
Dana inserted the card into an old secure reader Jack had arranged for her to borrow through the base liaison office.
Static filled the headphones.
Then her own voice, younger and sharper.
“Viper, Ghost, break east. We’re done here.”
Jack answered first.
Ethan answered second.
“Copy, Wraith.”
Seconds later came the warning tone.
Dana stopped breathing.
Her recorded voice ordered him out again.
Ethan said, “Negative. Rescue bird is exposed. I’ve got one pass.”
“Ghost, that’s an order.”
A pause.
