Chapter 5 - The Uniform Outside My Door|
By sunrise, the Silverwood Aero Club no longer looked like a playground for billionaires.
The private jets were grounded.
The main hangar had been secured.
Military vehicles stood outside the terminal.
And two investigators were examining the generator control cable that Lena had photographed during the emergency.
I was sitting in the maintenance office with a paper cup of coffee I hadn't touched.
My hands were trembling.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But enough that I kept them wrapped around the cup.
I'd spent years learning how to hide the symptoms.
Sometimes it felt as though hiding had become my only real talent.
"Jess?"
I looked up.
Lena stood in the doorway.
She had changed out of her soaked jacket, but her hair was still damp from the storm.
"You should go home."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because Aaron said Whitmore Defense was involved."
She closed the door behind her.
"Is that why you've been staring at that wall for twenty minutes?"
I gave her a weak smile.
"Partly."
She sat across from me.
"Everybody's talking about you."
"That sounds terrible."
"Grant's friends have been calling the club office demanding to know whether you're really a military pilot."
I laughed softly.
"Former military pilot."
"They're asking why you never told anyone."
I looked down at the grease beneath my fingernails.
"Nobody asked."
Lena studied me.
"That's not true."
I looked up.
"People asked you all the time, Jess."
"They just never asked respectfully."
Her words landed harder than I expected.
Before I could answer, somebody knocked.
A woman in a dark military coat stepped into the office.
She was tall, perhaps in her early forties, with short brown hair and the controlled expression of someone accustomed to delivering difficult news.
"Jessica Ward?"
"That's me."
"Lieutenant Colonel Maya Bennett."
"Air Force flight safety."
She showed her credentials.
"I'd like to speak with you about last night's emergency."
I stood automatically.
Old habits were difficult to kill.
"Yes, ma'am."
Something softened in her face.
"You're not under my command, Jessica."
"You can relax."
I nearly laughed.
Relaxing hadn't been particularly easy since Syria.
Bennett pulled out a chair.
"I've reviewed the preliminary radio recordings."
"Major Mercer credits your terrain knowledge and coordination with helping him reach the airport."
"The controllers and rescue crews made important contributions as well."
I nodded.
"They did."
"There's something else."
She placed a folder on the desk.
It contained a printed photograph of the emergency generator cable.
"Airport authorities believe this damage was deliberate."
Lena leaned forward.
"I found it."
Bennett looked at her.
"And you did the right thing by preserving the scene."
Then she turned back to me.
"We're also reviewing maintenance records associated with the aircraft."
"At this stage, we're not making a final determination about the cause."
I appreciated the distinction.
Investigations could be destroyed by people who decided what happened before the evidence was collected.
"What about Aaron?" I asked.
"He's being evaluated at the regional medical center."
"He's stable."
I finally took a breath.
"Good."
Bennett watched me for a moment.
"Major Mercer told me you served with him."
"I did."
"He also told me about the mission that ended your flying career."
My hands tightened around the coffee cup.
"Then he should have kept his mouth shut."
Bennett didn't seem offended.
"He was trying to explain why he trusted you."
"I didn't ask him to."
The words came out sharper than intended.
I looked away.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't owe me an apology."
She waited.
Then she asked a question I hadn't heard in years.
"How much of what happened in Syria are you willing to discuss?"
The office seemed to shrink.
I could almost smell burning insulation.
I saw the cockpit filling with smoke.
I saw Noah Bell, my weapons systems officer, slumped against his restraints with blood running down his neck.
And I heard the terrible silence after our aircraft hit the ground.
"Not much," I whispered.
Bennett nodded.
"Then we won't start there."
I looked at her in surprise.
"We'll start with what happened last night."
For the first time, I felt something close to relief.
Then the office door swung open.
Grant Whitmore stood outside.
He was wearing a fresh designer coat and the expression of a man who had spent the morning consulting attorneys.
"Jessica, we need to talk."
Bennett turned.
"Mr. Whitmore, this is an official interview."
"With respect, Colonel, Jessica is an employee of my club."
"Then you can speak to her after we're finished."
Grant ignored her.
"Jessica, Carter is considering filing assault charges."
Lena rose from her chair.
"You've got to be kidding."
Grant continued.
"There's also the matter of unauthorized radio transmissions and the damage to club property."
I stared at him.
He was threatening me.
After everything that had happened, he was still trying to remind me who controlled my paycheck.
"You want to fire me?" I asked.
Grant hesitated.
"I want you to understand the consequences of your behavior."
I set down the coffee.
"Then fire me."
His expression changed.
"Jessica—"
"Do it."
"Right now."
"Put it in writing."
"You can't afford to lose this job."
He said it with the casual confidence of a man who had never worried about rent.
I felt something shift inside me.
For years, I had tolerated his insults because fixing aircraft gave my hands something useful to do.
It gave me mornings without nightmares.
It gave me a place where nobody expected me to be heroic.
But I had mistaken peace for silence.
And Grant had mistaken my silence for permission.
"I can find another job," I told him.
"But I can't find another conscience."
Bennett rose.
"Mr. Whitmore, please leave."
Grant's jaw tightened.
He looked at the folder on the desk.
Then at the photograph of the severed cable.
For one brief instant, something flashed across his face.
Not anger.
Recognition.
He recovered quickly.
"My attorneys will be in touch."
He turned and walked away.
Lena waited until his footsteps disappeared.
"Jess, did you see that?"
I nodded.
"He recognized something."
Bennett took out her phone.
"That's worth documenting, but let's not jump to conclusions."
Before she could make the call, my own phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
The picture showed me standing beside a wrecked F-15E in a desert hospital compound.
My face was burned.
My flight suit was soaked with blood.
And somebody had written six words beneath the image.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN SYRIA.
I stared at the screen.
There were only a handful of people who had access to that photograph.
May you like
One of them had been Colonel Victor Kessler.
And until that morning, I had believed he was finished with me.
