Chương 1
"Natalie Whitmore stepped between Marcus and the access panel before anyone could reach for a tool.
“Who authorized you to give instructions in my hangar?”
Her voice was not loud, but three conversations behind her stopped anyway.
Marcus looked at the identification badge clipped to her blazer, then at the aircraft.
“Derek Pollson called me.”
“I didn’t ask who called you.”
Natalie held out one hand toward his toolbox.
“I asked who authorized you.”
“No one.”
Garrison gave a short laugh that found immediate company among two engineers behind him.
Natalie did not laugh.
She looked Marcus over again, slower this time, taking in the faded canvas jacket, the cracked leather boots, and the toolbox with one corner repaired by a strip of aluminum riveted over a split.
“What exactly are you contracted to do here?”
“Whatever the work order says.”
“And what does today’s work order say?”
Marcus glanced toward Derek, who had appeared near the office door with a clipboard pressed against his chest.
Derek looked as if he wished the clipboard were large enough to hide behind.
“I called him before a work order was issued.”
Natalie turned.
“You did what?”
Derek swallowed.
“I was trying to find somebody who could help.”
“We have nine engineers here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And your solution was to call a maintenance contractor without authorization?”
Derek’s mouth opened, but Garrison rescued him with the enthusiasm of a man who had just discovered someone else could be blamed.
“He’s not even one of our certified aircraft technicians.”
Marcus looked at him.
Garrison lifted his chin.
“I checked.”
That produced another ripple of laughter.
This time Natalie let it happen.
Marcus had been laughed at in better rooms by more important people.
It still landed.
He simply had more practice pretending it did not.
He set his toolbox beside his boot.
“Open the panel.”
Garrison stared at him.
“You don’t get to come into my facility and order my team around.”
“It’s her facility.”
Marcus nodded toward Natalie.
“That isn’t helping you.”
“No.”
Marcus rubbed his thumb over a scar along his palm.
“It usually doesn’t.”
One of the younger engineers snorted before catching Natalie’s expression and becoming fascinated by the tablet in his hands.
Natalie folded her arms.
“Why that panel?”
“Because the sound is wrong.”
For the first time, Garrison looked genuinely offended rather than merely annoyed.
“The sound.”
“Yes.”
“What sound?”
“The environmental circulation pump cycling under standby load.”
“That has nothing to do with engine start.”
“Normally.”
Garrison stepped closer.
“Do you have any idea how many diagnostics we’ve run since yesterday?”
“No.”
“Every primary bus.”
“Okay.”
“Both starter-generator control units.”
“Okay.”
“We pressure-tested the hydraulic circuits twice.”
Marcus looked at the aircraft.
“That was probably expensive.”
Someone laughed before realizing Garrison was not joking.
Garrison’s face reddened.
Natalie checked her watch.
It was 5:41.
The delegation from Osaka was due at nine, and the aircraft was supposed to carry three Whitmore executives and two representatives to a manufacturing site ninety minutes south.
Marcus knew none of that yet.
He only saw the way Natalie looked at the time and then at the airplane, measuring one against the other.
“What happens if we open it?” she asked.
“Maybe nothing.”
“And if you’re right?”
“Then I’ll tell you what I see.”
“That’s your pitch?”
“It’s what I can promise.”
Natalie stared at him long enough that Derek shifted his weight.
Then she pointed at Garrison.
“Open it.”
Garrison’s jaw moved.
“Natalie—”
“Open the panel.”
A technician fetched the proper driver.
Marcus did not touch the aircraft.
He stood several feet back while four fasteners were removed and the narrow access panel swung outward.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No smoke escaped.
No wire dangled loose.
No hidden mechanical disaster revealed itself to the room.
Garrison spread his hands.
“There.”
Marcus moved closer.
“Flashlight.”
The technician handed him one.
Marcus crouched without stepping inside the marked safety boundary and directed the beam through the opening.
He kept it there for several seconds.
Then he moved the light higher.
“Kill auxiliary power.”
Garrison laughed again, but there was less confidence in it.
“You wanted the panel open, and we opened it.”
“Kill auxiliary power.”
“You don’t even know what you’re looking at.”
Marcus lowered the flashlight.
“I know exactly what I’m looking at.”
Natalie’s phone vibrated.
She checked the screen, rejected the call, and looked at Marcus.
“What?”
He pointed through the opening.
“Your bonding strap has been disturbed.”
Garrison crouched beside him.
“No, it hasn’t.”
“The upper one.”
“That’s seated.”
“It’s seated now.”
Marcus handed him the flashlight.
“Look at the washer.”
Garrison leaned farther in.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The hangar ventilation system rumbled overhead.
Somewhere near the offices, a coffee machine beeped twice.
A technician named Alvarez walked over carrying a paper cup, saw the crowd, and quietly backed away with it.
Garrison stood.
“There’s scoring.”
“Yes.”
“That could be from installation.”
“No.”
“You can’t know that.”
Marcus finally looked at him.
“Then pull the maintenance history and prove me wrong.”
Natalie made the decision before Garrison could answer.
“Do it.”
Derek hurried toward the operations office.
Garrison stayed beside the panel.
His irritation had changed shape.
It had not become respect.
Not yet.
It had become caution.
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything yet.”
“You said somebody made the jet fail.”
“I haven’t said that.”
Marcus looked toward the access bay again.
“Not yet.”
Natalie’s eyes narrowed.
Perhaps she heard something in the qualification.
Perhaps she was simply exhausted.
Either way, she did not ask.
Derek returned carrying a tablet.
“Last documented access was seventeen days ago.”
“By whom?” Natalie asked.
Derek scrolled.
“Avionics inspection.”
“Names.”
“Caleb Morris and Anthony Ruiz.”
Garrison held out his hand for the tablet.
“Both are second shift.”
Marcus looked toward the exposed compartment.
“Any work yesterday?”
“Not in that bay.”
“Anything near it?”
Garrison scrolled through the records.
“Cabin network upgrade.”
“Where?”
“Aft interior.”
“When?”
May you like
“Finished around six yesterday evening.”
Marcus looked at the clock mounted above the office windows.
