Chương 4
Marisol moved quickly through the aisle, checking belts.
Victoria appeared at the forward curtain despite the announcement.
She was arguing with a flight attendant.
“I just need the restroom.”
“You need to sit down.”
“I paid eight thousand dollars for this seat.”
“And right now your eight-thousand-dollar seat has a seatbelt.”
Victoria saw me.
Her face sharpened.
Even from thirty rows away, I could feel the direction of her anger.
She ducked around the flight attendant before the woman could stop her and began walking aft.
Passengers looked up as she passed.
She no longer had a glass in her hand.
That did not make me feel better.
Marisol stepped into the aisle near row thirty-six.
“Mrs. Sterling, you need to return to your seat.”
“I’m speaking to her.”
“You are not.”
Victoria stopped.
“I don’t remember asking permission.”
“This is a safety instruction.”
“Move.”
Marisol did not.
The aircraft dropped suddenly.
Several people gasped.
A cup slid off a tray table and struck the floor.
Victoria grabbed a seatback to steady herself.
For one second, fear replaced everything else on her face.
Then embarrassment covered it.
“Fine,” she snapped.
She looked directly at me.
“This isn’t over.”
I said nothing.
She turned and walked forward.
Harold exhaled through his teeth.
“She seems nice.”
Owen snorted.
I pulled the blanket higher over my stained cardigan.
“She’s frightened.”
“Of turbulence?”
“No.”
Owen looked at me.
“You know something.”
“I know frightened people.”
That ended the conversation.
Twenty minutes later, Daniel sent the first piece of evidence that truly changed the day.
Security capture from Gate B22 showed Chad meeting a man near the employee corridor forty-three minutes before boarding.
The image was grainy, taken from an angle, and the man’s face was partially hidden by a baseball cap.
But he handed Chad an envelope.
Chad put it inside his blazer.
Five minutes later, he logged into the departure-control system.
I enlarged the image.
The man wore an airport vendor badge on a blue lanyard.
The badge number was unreadable.
The logo was not.
NorthStar Aviation Services.
I knew the company.
They handled subcontracted cargo coordination for several of our East Coast routes.
I typed the name into the audit file.
Sterling Maritime.
NorthStar Aviation Services.
Two lines appeared three pages apart.
NorthStar had approved weight documentation for all three freight shipments flagged in the audit.
My pulse changed again.
This time, I did not ignore it.
I sent Daniel a screenshot of the connection.
His answer took longer.
When it came, it contained a warning.
Federal liaison requests you remain a passenger and avoid alerting any involved party.
Customs believes there may be a sealed-cargo diversion network operating through subcontractors.
They do not know whether Sterling is financier, client, or unrelated name overlap.
That last sentence mattered.
Name overlap.
Suspicion was not guilt.
I had watched careers ruined by people who forgot that distinction.
I looked toward the first-class cabin.
Victoria was unpleasant, cruel, entitled, and possibly married to a man under federal scrutiny.
None of those facts made her part of his business.
I sent Daniel one reply.
No assumptions about Victoria.
Separate assault and seat incident from cargo inquiry unless evidence connects them.
A minute passed.
Then his answer appeared.
Agreed.
I leaned back.
The blanket smelled faintly of detergent and something medicinal.
Owen was asleep again.
Harold had opened a crossword puzzle on his phone.
I tried to read a maintenance memo.
I made it through the first paragraph four times.
On the fifth attempt, Marisol returned.
She crouched beside the aisle seat.
“The captain wants to speak with you.”
“Now?”
“He asked whether you could come to the forward galley when the seatbelt sign goes off.”
“Did he say why?”
“He got a message from operations.”
I looked at her.
“What kind of message?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“That’s sensible.”
She lowered her voice further.
“He also asked whether your name was Eleanor Vance.”
Harold stopped pretending to do his crossword.
Marisol noticed.
“So I assume this is the part where I realize I should know who you are.”
“Most people don’t.”
“I searched you.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Of course she had.
“What did you find?”
“That you used to run Defense Intelligence.”
“Deputy director, then director.”
“And that Vanguard International owns this airline.”
“Vanguard owns sixty-eight percent of the holding company.”
Marisol stared at me.
“You’re correcting the percentage?”
“It matters.”
“You’re sitting in thirty-eight E.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She covered her mouth with one hand.
For a moment, I thought she might laugh.
Instead, she whispered, “Oh my God.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Your job.”
“My job just got very weird.”
“That happens.”
She looked toward first class.
“Does Mrs. Sterling know?”
“No.”
“Does Chad?”
“I don’t think so.”
Marisol’s expression changed again.
Not fear this time.
Anger.
“So he did that because he thought you were nobody.”
The sentence landed harder than I expected.
I folded the edge of the blanket between my fingers.
“No,” I said.
“He did it because he thought nobody would stop him.”
The seatbelt sign switched off.
Marisol stood.
“The captain is waiting.”
I handed my laptop to Harold.
He recoiled slightly.
“I don’t want responsibility for whatever is on that.”
“You don’t have access.”
“That is not the reassuring part.”
“Don’t let anyone take it.”
“What if they insist?”
“Ask for their name.”
“And then?”
“Remember it.”
He stared at me.
“That’s your security plan?”
“For the next five minutes.”
I stepped into the aisle.
As I walked forward, passengers watched without knowing why.
Some had seen the wine incident.
Some had only heard pieces.
The woman across the aisle gave me a small nod.
I returned it.
At row twenty, a little boy was building a tower from plastic cups on his tray table.
His mother apologized when one rolled into the aisle.
I picked it up and handed it back.
“Thank you,” the boy said.
May you like
“You’re welcome.”
There was something absurdly comforting about the fact that he had no idea what was happening.
