“Haven’t the slightest.”

“Think he’s one of us?”

“I’m betting he’s a spook. CIA or NSA.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Including English, five.”

“Think I should I let him into the cockpit?” Jenkins asked.

“If you asking me if he’s dangerous, I’d have to say no.”

“Think he bought our act?”

“Not for a second.”

“Well, until Lansing changes his mind, we stick to the plan and fly him wherever he wants to go.”

* * *

Nathan considered calling Harv but decided against it. It was almost three in the morning in Sacramento. He set his overnight bag on the small table next to the bed. In the bathroom, he washed his face, brushed his teeth, and plugged in his phone. He stripped down to his underwear, pulled the sheets off the bed, and made a makeshift bunk on the floor. He set the alarm clock for 0700, an hour away. Staring at the ceiling, he rehearsed the questions he planned for the Castle’s shrink, hoping this little jaunt would be worthwhile. His mind moved to the pilots. When he’d spoken Arabic to the cabbie, Nathan had been certain First Officer Williamson understood every word. He’d seen it in his eyes, an unmistakable twinkle of recognition. What were the odds that one of the pilots assigned to ferry him around spoke Arabic? It seemed Lansing’s trust had limitations.

Too tired to worry about it, Nathan rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Another long tomorrow loomed. Actually, he realized, tomorrow’s already here.

* * *

Despite his exhaustion, Nathan awoke before the alarm sounded. He cracked the curtains and scanned the parking lot where a smattering of pickups, sedans, and SUVs waited beneath a red Kansas sky. At the opposite end of the room, he made a miniature pot of coffee.

After a quick shower and shave, Nathan called Henning’s room. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not too well, you?”

“About the same. Hungry?”

“I called the front desk. There are several coffee shops within walking distance.”

“What about our pilots?” Nathan asked.

“I didn’t want to wake them.”

“Five minutes,” Nathan said and hung up.

Over breakfast, Henning asked about Nathan’s background. Although Henning seemed to understand Nathan’s need for discretion, there was a touch of resentment. The stuff in Nathan’s head was doled out on a need to know basis, and Henning didn’t need to know. Simple as that.

On the walk back to the motel, Nathan’s cell rang. He looked at the screen. Harv.

“How was your flight?”

“First-class. It’s a nice ride.”