But it also overlooks part of Morgan Airport.

With apologies to naturalists everywhere, I manage to seize control of the surveillance system and rewind back to the time when I last saw the van—I wait.

And wait.

The video feed comes back to life, and I get a shot of the airport, its strip, and the two outbuildings.

Nothing else.

I fast-forward, but not too fast, because I don’t want to miss anything.

Some minutes flicker before me. I hear harsh whispers. I look up, and Sue Judson is having a serious talk with two other librarian staffers at a center workstation.

I make the informed guess that I’m the subject of the irritated chatter and go back to the screen.

The camera captures something flying by.

A bird?

No.

I hunch forward, peering at the screen.

Oh, yeah, it’s a bird all right, but a man-made bird.

A jet aircraft, lining up for a landing. It gets closer and closer, and then it makes the landing and slows itself, and I recognize it as a twin-engine Learjet 60, one of the most popular business-sized jets in the world.

I rub my fingers together.

All right.

Not a big deal. This airport belongs to a medical device company, and maybe they’re here to drop off or pick up someone.

The jet taxis to the end of the runway, slowly circles around, the view now being blocked by the two buildings. I can make out the nose of the fuselage and nothing else.

Strike that.

I can make out that no one’s walking in or walking out.

The jet seems to be waiting for somebody.

“Oh, God, yes,” I whisper. At the very limits of the camera, one can make out a dirt access road leading to the small airport.

Bouncing along this dirt road is a red van.

I get three seconds of view, but it’s enough.

I reach to the screen, give the van a quick touch as it, too, disappears from view.

All I can see now is the fuselage of the Learjet.

It stays still.

I know why the earlier system, CYCLOPS, didn’t pick up on the van. It was too far away, fuzzy, indistinct.

But now I’ve seen it.

And I know who is in it.

I touch the screen again.

The Learjet starts to taxi out and—

There!

I freeze the view and I catch the registration numbers, painted on the near engine nacelle. The letters and numbers aren’t sharp, but they’re sharp enough.

I quickly write them down.

NS-28312.

I let the video play again, and the jet gains speed, goes down the runway, and lifts off, and within seconds, it’s gone from view.

“Fly safe, you bastards,” I whisper. “You’ve got my family in there.”

Then I clear everything, shut down, log off, and push my chair back.

I need to get moving, but I also need to do something else. On my way out I catch a red-faced Sue Judson’s attention and put a reassuring hand over hers.