“Understood.”
“Dana.”
She almost took off the headset.
“What?”
“Do not disappear before I get down there.”
“That’s not an operational instruction.”
“No. It’s a personal request.”
Her throat tightened.
“We’ll see.”
Rourke pretended to study an instrument panel.
Twenty-five minutes later, airport communications were restored. The maintenance cart was towed behind an armored vehicle. The fighters remained in place until ground controllers confirmed the false code had disappeared from the network.
Passengers began breathing normally again.
Dana returned to 13F.
Bradley had gone quiet.
He moved his briefcase from beneath her seat without being asked.
“Major,” he said.
“Dana is fine.”
He looked toward the dog tags. “Were those yours?”
“No.”
That was all she gave him.
When the plane finally taxied back to the gate instead of departing, groans rippled through the cabin. The flight had been canceled pending inspection. Nobody complained loudly.
At the jet bridge, federal agents asked Dana to remain for a statement. She expected an hour of questions.
Instead, after ten minutes, one agent glanced toward the terminal and said, “There is an Air Force officer insisting that if we keep you any longer he will start reciting regulations until everybody regrets joining government service.”
Dana knew exactly who it was.
Jack stood beyond the security doors still wearing his flight suit. His helmet hung from one hand. He looked older than he had two years ago, leaner around the face, a fresh line beside one eye.
For several seconds neither moved.
Then Jack crossed the distance and stopped in front of her.
He did not salute this time.
“You look terrible,” he said.
Dana almost laughed.
