eyes became accustomed to the dimness.
“Ms. Sexton, I presume?” a man’s voice said, only yards away.
Rachel jumped, wheeling toward the sound. “Yes, sir.”
The hazy shape of a man approached.
As Rachel’s vision cleared, she found herself standing face to face with a young, stone-jawed buck in a NASA flight suit. His body was fit and muscle-bound, his chest bedecked with patches.
“Commander Wayne Loosigian,” the man said. “Sorry if I startled you, ma’am. It’s pretty dark in here. I haven’t had a chance to open the bay doors yet.” Before Rachel could respond, the man added, “It will be my honor to be your pilot this morning.”
“Pilot?” Rachel stared at the man. I just had a pilot. “I’m here to see the administrator.”
“Yes, ma’am. My orders are to transport you to him immediately.”
It took a moment for the statement to sink in. When it hit her, she felt a stab of deceit. Apparently, her travels were not over. “Where is the administrator?” Rachel demanded, wary now.
“I do not have that information,” the pilot replied. “I will receive his coordinates after we are airborne.”
Rachel sensed that the man was telling the truth. Apparently she and Director Pickering were not the only two people being kept in the dark this morning. The President wastaking the issue of security very seriously, and Rachel felt embarrassed by how quickly and effortlessly the President had taken her “off-the-grid.” Half an hour in the field, and I’m already stripped of all communication, and my director has no idea where I am.
Standing now before her stiff-backed NASA pilot, Rachel had little doubt her morning plans were cast in stone. This carnival ride was leaving with Rachel onboard whether she liked it or not. The only question was where it was headed.
The pilot strode over to the wall and pressed a button. The far side of the hangar began sliding loudly to one side. Light poured in from the outside, silhouetting a large object in the center of the hangar.
Rachel’s mouth fell open. God help me.
There in the middle of the hangar stood a ferocious-looking black fighter jet. It was the most streamlined aircraft Rachel had ever seen.
“You are joking,” she said.
“Common first reaction, ma’am, but the F-14 Tomcat Split-tail is a highly proven craft.”
It’s a missile with wings.
The pilot led Rachel toward his craft. He motioned to the dual cockpit. “You’ll be riding in back.”
“Really?” She gave him a tight smile. “And here I thought you wanted me to drive.”
• • •
After donning a thermal flight suit over her clothes, Rachel found herself climbing into the cockpit. Awkwardly, she wedged her hips into the narrow seat.
“NASA obviously has no fat-assed pilots,” she said.
The pilot gave a grin as he helped Rachel buckle herself in. Then he slid a helmet over her head.
“We’ll be flying pretty high,” he said. “You’ll want oxygen.” He pulled an oxygen mask from the side dash and began snapping it onto her helmet.
“I can manage,” Rachel said, reaching up and taking over.
“Of course, ma’am.”
Rachel fumbled with the molded mouthpiece and then finallysnapped it onto her helmet. The mask’s fit was surprisingly awkward and uncomfortable.
The commander stared at her for a long moment, looking vaguely amused.
“Is something wrong?” she demanded.
“Not at all, ma’am.” He seemed to be hiding a smirk. “Hack sacks are under your seat. Most people get sick their first time in a split-tail.”
“I should be fine,” Rachel assured him, her voice muffled by the smothering fit of the mask. “I’m not prone to motion sickness.”
The pilot shrugged. “A lot of Navy Seals say the same thing, and I’ve cleaned plenty of Seal puke out of my cockpit.”
She nodded weakly. Lovely.
“Any questions before we go?”
Rachel hesitated a moment and then tapped on the mouthpiece cutting into her chin. “It’s
“Ms. Sexton, I presume?” a man’s voice said, only yards away.
Rachel jumped, wheeling toward the sound. “Yes, sir.”
The hazy shape of a man approached.
As Rachel’s vision cleared, she found herself standing face to face with a young, stone-jawed buck in a NASA flight suit. His body was fit and muscle-bound, his chest bedecked with patches.
“Commander Wayne Loosigian,” the man said. “Sorry if I startled you, ma’am. It’s pretty dark in here. I haven’t had a chance to open the bay doors yet.” Before Rachel could respond, the man added, “It will be my honor to be your pilot this morning.”
“Pilot?” Rachel stared at the man. I just had a pilot. “I’m here to see the administrator.”
“Yes, ma’am. My orders are to transport you to him immediately.”
It took a moment for the statement to sink in. When it hit her, she felt a stab of deceit. Apparently, her travels were not over. “Where is the administrator?” Rachel demanded, wary now.
“I do not have that information,” the pilot replied. “I will receive his coordinates after we are airborne.”
Rachel sensed that the man was telling the truth. Apparently she and Director Pickering were not the only two people being kept in the dark this morning. The President wastaking the issue of security very seriously, and Rachel felt embarrassed by how quickly and effortlessly the President had taken her “off-the-grid.” Half an hour in the field, and I’m already stripped of all communication, and my director has no idea where I am.
Standing now before her stiff-backed NASA pilot, Rachel had little doubt her morning plans were cast in stone. This carnival ride was leaving with Rachel onboard whether she liked it or not. The only question was where it was headed.
The pilot strode over to the wall and pressed a button. The far side of the hangar began sliding loudly to one side. Light poured in from the outside, silhouetting a large object in the center of the hangar.
Rachel’s mouth fell open. God help me.
There in the middle of the hangar stood a ferocious-looking black fighter jet. It was the most streamlined aircraft Rachel had ever seen.
“You are joking,” she said.
“Common first reaction, ma’am, but the F-14 Tomcat Split-tail is a highly proven craft.”
It’s a missile with wings.
The pilot led Rachel toward his craft. He motioned to the dual cockpit. “You’ll be riding in back.”
“Really?” She gave him a tight smile. “And here I thought you wanted me to drive.”
• • •
After donning a thermal flight suit over her clothes, Rachel found herself climbing into the cockpit. Awkwardly, she wedged her hips into the narrow seat.
“NASA obviously has no fat-assed pilots,” she said.
The pilot gave a grin as he helped Rachel buckle herself in. Then he slid a helmet over her head.
“We’ll be flying pretty high,” he said. “You’ll want oxygen.” He pulled an oxygen mask from the side dash and began snapping it onto her helmet.
“I can manage,” Rachel said, reaching up and taking over.
“Of course, ma’am.”
Rachel fumbled with the molded mouthpiece and then finallysnapped it onto her helmet. The mask’s fit was surprisingly awkward and uncomfortable.
The commander stared at her for a long moment, looking vaguely amused.
“Is something wrong?” she demanded.
“Not at all, ma’am.” He seemed to be hiding a smirk. “Hack sacks are under your seat. Most people get sick their first time in a split-tail.”
“I should be fine,” Rachel assured him, her voice muffled by the smothering fit of the mask. “I’m not prone to motion sickness.”
The pilot shrugged. “A lot of Navy Seals say the same thing, and I’ve cleaned plenty of Seal puke out of my cockpit.”
She nodded weakly. Lovely.
“Any questions before we go?”
Rachel hesitated a moment and then tapped on the mouthpiece cutting into her chin. “It’s
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