Roland Bell was beside her. He was haggard and sullen. The good ole boy was long gone. She grieved for him, as much as for herself; it seemed that Brit Hale was the first witness he’d lost. She felt an unreasonable urge to touch his arm, to reassure him, as he’d done for her. But he seemed to be one of those men who, when faced with loss, disappear into themselves; any sympathy would jar. He was much like herself, she believed. Bell gazed out the window of the van, his hand frequently touching the checkered black grip of the pistol in his shoulder holster.

Just as she finished the last flight plan card, the van turned the corner and entered the airport, stopping for the armed guards, who examined their IDs and waved them through.

Percey directed them to the hangar but she noticed that the lights were still on in the office. She told the cars to stop and she climbed out, as Bell and her other bodyguards walked with her, vigilant and tense, into the main part of the office.

Ron Talbot, grease-stained and exhausted, sat in the office, wiping his sweating forehead. His face was an alarming red.

“Ron . . . ” She hurried forward. “Are you all right?”

They embraced.

“Brit,” he said, shaking his head, gasping. “He got Brit too. Percey, you shouldn’t be here. Go someplace safe. Forget about the flight. It isn’t worth it.”

She stepped back. “What’s wrong? You sick?”

“Just tired.”

She took the cigarette out of his hand and stubbed it out. “You did the work yourself? On Foxtrot Bravo?”

“I—”

“Ron?”

“Most of it. It’s almost finished. The guy from Northeast delivered the fire extinguisher cartridge and the annular about an hour ago. I started to mount them. Just got a little tired.”

“Chest pains?”

“No, not really.”

“Ron, go home.”

“I can—”

“Ron,” she snapped, “I’ve lost two dear people in the last two days. I’m not going to lose a third . . . I can mount an annular. It’s a piece of cake.”

Talbot looked like he couldn’t even lift a wrench, much less a heavy combustor.

Percey asked, “Where’s Brad?” The FO for the flight.

“On his way. Be here in an hour.”

She kissed his sweaty forehead. “You get home. And lay off the weeds, for God’s sake. You crazy?”

He hugged her. “Percey, about Brit . . . ”

She hushed him with a finger to her lips. “Home. Get some sleep. When you wake up I’ll be in Erie and we’ll have ourselves that contract. Signed, sealed, and delivered.”

He struggled to his feet, stood for a moment looking out the window at Foxtrot Bravo. His face revealed an acrid bitterness. It was the same look she’d remembered in his milky eyes when he’d told her that he’d flunked his physical and could no longer fly for a living. Talbot headed out the door.

It was time to get to work. She rolled up her sleeves, motioned Bell over to her. He lowered his head to her in a way she found charming. The same pose Ed had fallen into when she was speaking softly. She said, “I’m going to need a few hours in the hangar. Can you keep that son of a bitch off me until then?”