“Maybe today is the first time you’re seeing me without your assumptions getting in the way.”
He flinched, not because it was harsh, because it was true. And somewhere deep inside that armored businessman’s chest, a crack formed. Not big, but real.
The cockpit door clicked open again, and the pilot stepped out. This time, moving with the stiff formal posture of someone addressing a superior officer. Not a passenger, not a VIP. A superior.
“Ma’am,”
he said, voice steadying itself.
“The escort formation is locked. NORAD confirmed your clearance level. We’re approved for immediate ascent to 38,000 ft. The Raptors will hold formation until we reach cruising altitude, then transition to staggered shadow position.”
Richard looked from him to me like he’d stepped into a movie he didn’t audition for.
“NORAD Raptors. What in the what does any of this have to do with her?”
The pilot didn’t even look at him.
“Sir, please remain seated.”
Richard sputtered.
“Remain. This is my aircraft.”
The pilot gave a short nod.
“With respect, Mr. Dawson, this flight is now under protective protocol because of her designation.”
He gestured toward me. Richard’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. It was strange watching him wrestle with the realization that for the first time in years, he wasn’t the highest ranking person in the room. Not even close.
“Ma’am,”
the pilot continued,
“We’ve also received message traffic from the Naval Security Coordination Center. They request confirmation of your final destination so they can adjust ground teams accordingly.”
“Ground teams?”
Richard choked on his water.
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