Chapter 8 - THE TEDDY BEAR HELD A DEAD WOMAN’S SECRET
I cut open Bear beneath one arm.
Norah cried harder than when the plane shook.
“Dad!”
“I’ll fix him.”
“You’re hurting him!”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Inside the stuffing was a plastic capsule.
Emily.
I had buried my wife four years earlier after ovarian cancer took her at thirty-two.
She had spent the final six months quietly putting Norah’s life in order.
Letters for birthdays.
Videos.
A college account.
Apparently, also evidence capable of destroying me.
Inside the capsule was a microSD card.
One handwritten note.
WARREN:
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, SOMEBODY CAME FOR HER.
My knees nearly failed.
Emily’s handwriting.
I read.
I loved you, but I never trusted the world you built around us.
Fair.
I have copied enough to protect Norah if the men around you decide she is useful.
Patrick knows some of it exists.
He does not know where.
Do not kill him for this.
End it.
That last sentence hit hardest.
End it.
Not avenge me.
Not protect the empire.
End it.
Norah looked at me.
“Was that Mom’s?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
I swallowed.
“That she loved you.”
That was true.
Not all of it.
Enough for seven years old.
Then Michael Sloan made his move.
He had been waiting.
He grabbed Norah from behind.
I turned.
A small blade pressed against her throat.
Passengers screamed.
Jason drew his weapon.
“Don’t!”
I raised both hands.
Norah froze.
“Dad.”
“I’m here.”
Michael’s face twisted.
“I need the card.”
“You said Patrick wanted it.”
“He does.”
“You’re helping him.”
“I’m helping myself.”
Of course.
Everyone discovers ambition when a kingdom begins dying.
“Give me the card.”
“No.”
His blade moved closer.
Norah whimpered.
Every violent part of me screamed to attack.
But this was not a warehouse.
Not Chicago.
My daughter’s neck was under the blade.
So I dropped the card.
Michael looked down.
That was enough.
Jillian threw a coffee pot.
Not at him.
At the floor.
Metal crashed.
Michael flinched.
Norah bit his hand.
I crossed the distance.
One strike to the wrist.
Another to the shoulder.
Jason took him down.
No gunshot.
No blood.
Norah ran into my arms.
I held her.
She sobbed into my hoodie.
“Bear is broken.”
I almost laughed and cried at once.
“We’ll fix Bear.”
“You promise?”
“That one I can promise.”
Then the aircraft rolled suddenly right.
Passengers screamed.
I grabbed a seat.
Aaron’s voice:
“Warren!”
Back in the cockpit, the news was worse.
Fuel.
Thirty-two minutes.
Runway.
Thirty-eight.
Headwind stronger than forecast.
“We won’t make Shannon,” Aaron said.
Keane pointed toward a military field on the Irish coast.
“Baldonnel?”
“Too far.”
Another strip.
Short.
Regional.
Closed overnight.
“Knock?”
Aaron shook his head.
“Runway can take us, but conditions are marginal.”
“How marginal?”
“Wet. Crosswind. No ground crew ready. And our braking system is showing faults.”
Of course.
“What’s the alternative?”
“The ocean.”
Norah’s voice came from behind me.
“No ocean.”
I turned.
She stood in the cockpit doorway holding wounded Bear.
Jillian tried to pull her back.
Norah looked at me.
“You said you used to fly.”
I crouched.
“That was a long time ago.”
“So?”
Children have a brutal way of simplifying fear.
“So we’re going to land?”
I looked at Aaron.
He looked at the fuel.
Then at me.
“Yes.”
I told her.
“We’re going to land.”
She nodded as if that settled physics.
Then the aircraft warning system announced another failure.
AUTOBRAKE INOPERATIVE.
Aaron whispered:
“Warren.”
I looked through the windshield into darkness.
We had enough fuel for one attempt.
One wet runway.
No reliable autobrakes.
A crosswind.
May you like
And hundreds of lives behind us.
This time, there would be no second pass.
