Chapter 1 - The Voice Behind the Door
The cockpit door opened three inches, and Laura Vance heard a man say something that made her blood turn cold.
"Tell me that's not the same failure we had over Kandahar."
She stopped walking.
Seven years had passed since Kandahar.
Seven years since a burning aircraft had fallen out of a black sky.
Seven years since her husband had spoken his last words over a military radio.
And now somebody inside a commercial airliner, thirty-eight thousand feet above the Atlantic, had mentioned the place where her life ended.
"Ma'am?"
The flight attendant touched her elbow.
Laura barely heard her.
"Who said that?"
The attendant looked confused.
"Who said what?"
"Inside the cockpit."
Before the woman could answer, the door opened wider.
A man in a white pilot's shirt stood behind it.
He was tall, with dark circles beneath his eyes and blood on his left sleeve.
"Laura Vance?"
Laura froze.
The man stared at her.
Then his expression changed from desperation to something dangerously close to recognition.
"Captain Daniel Mercer," he said.
"Thank God you're here."
Laura looked past him.
The captain sat in the left seat, struggling to keep his breathing steady.
His face was gray.
One hand rested against his chest.
The right side of his uniform was soaked with sweat.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Possible cardiac event," Mercer answered.
"He was conscious until about five minutes ago."
"You're the first officer?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you asking for a fighter pilot?"
Mercer hesitated.
Laura stepped closer.
"Answer me."
He lowered his voice.
"Because somebody is interfering with our aircraft, and I think they're doing it from inside this airplane."
A warning tone sounded.
Mercer turned immediately.
Laura followed his eyes to the flight displays.
She didn't recognize every system on the modern wide-body aircraft, but she recognized a cockpit in trouble.
The aircraft was descending when it should have been holding altitude.
The navigation displays showed conflicting information.
Several caution messages appeared in succession.
Mercer reached toward the radio.
"Shanwick Control, Atlantic 417, requesting immediate assistance."
Static answered.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Laura looked at the captain.
"Has medical assistance been requested?"
"Cabin crew are bringing a physician forward."
"Good."
She glanced toward the instruments.
"What exactly happened?"
Mercer swallowed.
"First, we lost reliable position information."
"Then the flight management system began rejecting inputs."
"Then we received a message."
"What message?"
Mercer pointed toward a maintenance display.
Laura leaned forward.
Six words appeared in pale lettering.
WELCOME BACK, MAJOR VANCE.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Laura stared at the screen.
Her military rank had not appeared on any public passenger document.
Her ticket had been purchased under her civilian name.
She had not told a single person on the aircraft about her service.
Mercer watched her face.
"You know what this means?"
Laura felt the old scar beneath her collarbone begin to ache.
"No," she whispered.
"Not yet."
Then another message appeared.
YOU HAVE FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES TO REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID.
A violent shudder passed through the aircraft.
Somewhere behind them, passengers screamed.
Mercer grabbed the controls.
Laura braced herself against the doorway.
And beneath the screaming warning tones, she heard a voice she had spent seven years trying to forget.
A man's voice.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Almost amused.
"Hello, Laura."
May you like
Her heart stopped.
Because the voice sounded exactly like her dead husband's.
