He shut his mouth.
The jet leveled out at cruising altitude. The air smoothed. clouds stretched out in pillowy layers beneath us. For a long, tense moment, there was only the hum of the engines and the faint radio chatter between our aircraft and the fighter jets escorting us. Richard kept glancing at me with a mix of suspicion and fear, like I might suddenly peel off my civilian clothing to reveal a superhero suit underneath. He finally broke the silence.
“So, you what? You work in Washington? You’ve been hiding rank from my son?”
“No,”
I said.
“I haven’t hidden anything from Daniel.”
He frowned.
“Then why doesn’t he know about this?”
He motioned wildly toward the window where an F-22 was still gliding beside us like a silent guardian.
“Because it’s not his burden to carry,”
I said gently.
That answer didn’t satisfy him, but he didn’t know how to argue with it either. Men like Richard were used to holding power. They weren’t used to being shut out of it. After a minute, he folded his arms and leaned back, pretending to be calm.
“All this, this security, it must be some overblown government mistake.”
“It isn’t.”
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