Jack wanted to say he preferred jumping out of planes rather than sitting in them, preferably HALO or HAHO. “You know you’re more likely to die in a car wreck than a plane crash, right?”

“Not a big fan of car wrecks, either.”

“How’s your stomach? Feeling queasy?”

Paul thought about it. “I don’t feel any turbulence. I think I’m good.”

“Good. They’ll be serving dinner soon.”

Paul checked his watch. “It’s nearly seven. I’d like some hot chamomile tea.”

“Why? Is your stomach upset?”

“I always have a cup of tea at seven. It’s just a habit I have.”

The flight attendant appeared a few minutes later with her service cart and Paul requested his chamomile tea. She apologized and said she didn’t have that particular flavor, so Paul requested a cup of hot water and fetched a zippy bag crammed with Celestial Seasonings chamomile tea bags from his duffel. “I packed some for the hotel just in case they didn’t have any,” he explained. Jack was content with bottled water.

When the beverage service cart cleared, Jack decided he needed to take a leak. He apologized to Paul as he crawled over him and headed for the restroom in the back of the plane because the first-class cabin was partitioned off with a curtain. He had to wait a couple turns until one vacated. He slipped into the cramped little facility and did his business hunched over, his large frame ill suited for the angular geometry of the phone booth–sized john. He flushed, then washed his hands, and practically fell out the folding door and back into the aisle.

When he emerged, the overhead cabin lights were dimmed and the darkened interior was gently lit by purple accent lighting. When Jack reached his row he saw that Paul was sound asleep, mouth agape and lightly snoring, his neck wedged in his inflatable pillow. The Dramamine had hit him hard. Jack was a little disappointed. He took Hendley’s advice to heart and was determined to try and get to know Paul Brown better. He seemed nice enough, though painfully shy. There would be plenty of time on this trip to find out more about the man.

Jack opened up the overhead compartment and fetched his Kindle, then climbed as carefully as he could over and around the beefy accountant so as not to wake him. He finally managed to fall into his own seat and buckle in. With any luck he’d be able to finish the Churchill biography he’d started the other day. But a few electronic pages into his read his eye caught the flight attendant walking toward them with a tablet in her hand, followed by a silver-haired captain. A moment later they stood over Paul.

“That’s Mr. Brown, Captain,” she whispered.

Some of the passengers around them cast furtive glances in their direction.