Chapter 4 - The Landing That Silenced the Billionaires|
The fighter appeared out of the storm like something falling out of a nightmare.
For one terrible moment, its right wing dipped toward the runway.
I watched the aircraft yaw against the crosswind.
The nose swung sideways.
Then Aaron corrected.
The wing came level.
I didn't breathe.
"Come on, Rook," I whispered.
"Come on."
Chief Brooks stood beside me, his portable radio clenched in one hand.
Around us, the rescue crews waited at their designated positions.
Nobody moved onto the runway.
Nobody wanted to become another obstacle between that damaged fighter and survival.
Through the emergency frequency, I could hear Aaron breathing.
The Denver controller continued transmitting essential information.
Every word sounded painfully calm.
But I knew calm voices could hide terror.
I'd heard them over enemy territory.
I'd used one myself while my aircraft burned.
"Ghost Two-Four, wind update available," the controller said.
Aaron acknowledged.
His jet descended another few feet.
For a heartbeat, it seemed almost stable.
Then a sudden gust struck the aircraft.
The left wing lifted.
The fighter rolled slightly right.
I heard Aaron grunt with the effort of correcting it.
The runway rushed upward.
"Hold it together," I whispered.
The wheels touched down.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then the entire airport shook beneath a violent metallic roar.
The landing gear compressed hard.
A shower of sparks erupted behind the aircraft.
The fighter bounced.
Its nose rose.
My stomach dropped as I watched the jet leave the pavement again.
Aaron fought it back down.
The second touchdown was harder.
The nose gear slammed into the runway.
The aircraft began sliding toward the right edge.
"He's losing directional control!" Brooks shouted.
I grabbed the radio.
"Ghost Two-Four, rescue crews are standing by!"
Aaron's response came through clenched teeth.
"I know!"
The fighter continued rolling.
Its wheels threw up clouds of snow.
For a terrifying instant, I thought it would leave the pavement and collide with the frozen drainage ditch beyond the runway.
But Aaron managed another correction.
The aircraft straightened enough to continue down the long strip.
Its speed began to fall.
Slowly.
Painfully.
It passed the midpoint.
Then the far taxiway.
And finally, with one last violent shudder, Ghost Two-Four came to a stop.
Nobody spoke.
I stared at the motionless fighter.
The snow swirled around its wings.
Its engine noise faded.
Then the rescue radio crackled.
"Aircraft stopped."
"Stand by for emergency response."
I dropped into the passenger seat.
My legs had stopped working.
For the first time since grabbing the microphone, I allowed myself to feel how close we'd come.
Aaron was alive.
At least, I hoped he was.
"Come on," I whispered.
"Answer somebody."
The rescue commander established communication with the cockpit.
There was a long pause.
Then a weak voice replied.
"Ghost Two-Four."
"Aircraft secured."
"Pilot conscious."
I covered my mouth.
Beside me, Chief Brooks let out a breath that sounded almost like a sob.
"Thank God," he said.
I didn't realize I was crying until something warm rolled down my cheek.
A few minutes later, the airport rescue team reached the aircraft and began coordinating with the military response authorities.
Aaron was able to leave the cockpit with assistance.
He staggered when his boots touched the pavement.
A firefighter caught his arm.
I watched from the emergency operations vehicle as he turned toward the runway he had nearly died on.
Then he looked toward the buildings.
Even through the storm, I recognized him.
Seven years had carved new lines around his eyes.
His hair had gone gray at the temples.
He moved more carefully than the young lieutenant who had once challenged me to a race across a flight line.
But when he spotted me, something in his expression changed.
He brushed past the medic.
"Jessica!"
I stepped into the snow.
He crossed the remaining distance as quickly as his exhausted body allowed.
Then he wrapped his arms around me.
For one second, I froze.
Touch had become difficult after Syria.
Unexpected hands brought back memories I didn't want.
But Aaron wasn't grabbing me.
He was holding on because he was alive.
And he knew exactly how close he had come to dying.
"Beacon," he whispered against my shoulder.
"You brought me home."
I closed my eyes.
"No, Rook."
"You flew the jet."
"You brought yourself home."
He pulled back just enough to look at me.
"You're still doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Giving everybody else the credit."
Before I could answer, the lounge doors opened behind us.
Grant Whitmore stepped outside with Carter and the rest of his friends.
They had apparently decided to watch the aftermath now that the danger had passed.
Grant approached with the confident smile he used when greeting investors.
"Major Mercer," he called.
"Grant Whitmore, chairman of the Silverwood Aero Club."
"I want to personally welcome you to our facility."
Aaron turned slowly.
I watched his expression change.
"Whitmore?"
Grant extended his hand.
"That's right."
Aaron didn't take it.
Instead, he looked at me.
"Jessica, is this the Grant Whitmore who owns the club?"
"Yes."
The silence grew uncomfortable.
Grant lowered his hand.
"Is there a problem, Major?"
Aaron's eyes hardened.
"You tell me."
Grant glanced at the emergency crews.
"I'm not sure what you're implying."
"Then let me make it simple."
Aaron pointed toward the damaged fighter.
"That aircraft nearly killed me."
"And I was investigating an equipment discrepancy tied to Whitmore Defense before it failed."
Grant's smile disappeared.
"Major, I don't personally oversee defense engineering."
"Then you'll have no objection to cooperating with the investigation."
Aaron's voice was ice.
Carter stepped forward.
"Look, let's not start throwing accusations around."
"Jessica has already caused enough trouble tonight."
Aaron looked at him.
"Who are you?"
"Carter Hayes."
"A pilot myself, actually."
Aaron's gaze moved from Carter's expensive leather jacket to the broken glass visible through the lounge doors.
Then back to me.
"Jessica, what happened?"
I hesitated.
Carter answered before I could.
"She assaulted me when I tried to stop her from interfering with air traffic control."
Aaron stared at him.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't a friendly laugh.
It was the exhausted, disbelieving sound of a man who had just survived disaster.
"You tried to stop Beacon from using a radio?"
Carter stiffened.
"She's a mechanic."
"She's also one of the finest combat aviators I've ever flown beside."
Aaron took a step closer.
"And unless you've got seventy-two combat missions, a Distinguished Flying Cross, and a Purple Heart hiding under that jacket, I suggest you stop talking about things you don't understand."
Nobody moved.
The snow fell between them.
Grant looked at me as though he had never seen me before.
"Jessica," he said slowly.
"Is that true?"
I met his eyes.
"Every word."
Aaron turned toward the club members.
"You people think she couldn't finish military training?"
He shook his head.
"She survived an enemy missile strike, kept her wounded weapons officer alive, and still managed to help guide other aircraft out of danger."
"Most people would have been unconscious."
"She was still trying to save lives."
My throat tightened.
I hadn't wanted this.
I hadn't spent years hiding my past because I needed an audience.
I had hidden it because remembering hurt.
But Aaron wasn't finished.
He turned back toward Grant.
"And there's one more thing you should know."
Grant swallowed.
"What?"
"The last senior officer who tried to discredit Jessica Ward was Colonel Victor Kessler."
I felt the cold settle deep inside my chest.
Aaron glanced toward the fighter.
"And Victor Kessler's name is connected to the maintenance records I was investigating tonight."
Suddenly, the storm seemed very far away.
I looked at the damaged aircraft.
At the emergency lights.
At the cut cable Lena had photographed.
And I understood that the life I'd spent seven years hiding from was finally coming back.
May you like
Not because I had gone looking for it.
But because somebody had brought the same darkness to my doorstep.
