The Marshal in 12A

MAYA

At 8:17 p.m., Maya Levchenko had forty-three minutes left on airport reserve and half a cup of bad coffee to finish.

Her phone rang.

She looked at the screen, then at the clock above the vending machines.

“No,” she told Crew Scheduling before the woman could speak.

“Good evening to you too, Maya.”

“I’ve been sitting here for five hours. You waited until I could see freedom.”

“We like to maintain suspense.”

Reserve meant arriving at the airport in full uniform, with a packed suitcase, and waiting to replace anyone who became ill, got delayed on another flight, or simply failed to appear. Sometimes Maya spent the whole shift reading in the crew room. Sometimes she was sent across the country seven minutes before she expected to go home.

“Where am I going?”

“Los Angeles. Flight 417. Gate B31.”

“Of course it’s Los Angeles.”

“Would you prefer Buffalo?”

“No. But I would complain more efficiently.”

The scheduler laughed. “You’re taking the lead position. Serena Clarke has the rest of the crew at the gate. Boarding begins in thirty-two minutes.”

Maya stood, poured the coffee into the sink, and picked up her suitcase.

“Why does the flight need a replacement?”

“Nina Park reported sick.”

“When?”

“Eleven minutes ago.”

That was late. Flight attendants did get sick, but most of them tried to do it before the rest of the crew had reached the gate.

“Anything serious?”

“I’m Crew Scheduling, not her physician.”

“Fine. Send me the briefing.”

“It’s already in the app.”

The call ended.

Across the room, Ben Ortiz lowered the sandwich he had been eating.

“You got a flight?”

“Los Angeles.”

He looked at the clock. “That’s cruel.”

“I’ll try to survive the warm weather and hotel breakfast.”

“Bring me a palm tree.”

“Carry-on or checked?”

“Surprise me.”

Maya pulled up the flight information while walking toward the elevators.

Westbridge Airways Flight 417. New York to Los Angeles. An Airbus A321 with every passenger seat occupied. Six hours and twelve minutes in the air, assuming the weather cooperated and Los Angeles remembered how runways worked.

The notes included two wheelchairs, one passenger traveling with a portable oxygen concentrator, three infants, and a dog named Walter.

The dog’s name was rarely relevant, but passengers who entered an animal’s name tended to call several times before departure.

Maya had worked for Westbridge for fourteen years. She could read a flight summary and predict at least half the problems before reaching the aircraft.

The other half usually introduced themselves during boarding.

She reached B31 with four minutes to spare.

Serena Clarke stood near the gate desk with a crew tablet in one hand. She was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a neat twist and lipstick that had somehow survived the entire day. Maya had flown with her twice before. Serena was efficient, polite, and unlikely to forget anything.

That made her either an excellent acting lead or a very organized serial killer.

Maya blamed the reserve-room coffee for the second thought.

“There she is,” Serena said. “Thank you for coming.”

“As if I had a choice.”

“You always have a choice. Sometimes it’s between keeping your job and making an interesting point.”

Ben would have liked her.

Two other flight attendants stood beside Serena. Lily Tan was new enough to keep checking that her scarf was straight. Marcus Bell had been flying almost as long as Maya and looked as if he had already forgiven the entire passenger list for whatever it planned to do.

Serena introduced everyone and handed Maya the briefing tablet. With only minutes left before boarding, she had already assigned positions. Maya reviewed them, then looked at the crew.

“We have a full cabin. No major weather until we approach California. The captain expects some turbulence over Colorado, but nothing unusual.”

Passengers heard the word turbulence and imagined the aircraft falling out of the sky. Flight attendants thought about open coffee pots, unsecured carts, and passengers who waited for the seat-belt sign before deciding they urgently needed the bathroom.

“Passenger in 14C has a privacy note,” Maya continued. “No name spoken in the cabin, no assistance unless requested. Treat him normally.”

“What does normally mean?” Lily asked.

“It means don’t stare at him and don’t tell the other passengers not to stare at him.”

Lily nodded seriously.

Serena turned to Maya. “The crew system hasn’t updated your assignment yet. Can you sign in manually?”

She passed over the tablet.

Maya entered her employee number and six-digit code. The screen took several seconds to load, then displayed her name and photograph.

MAYA LEVCHENKO — TEMPORARY FLIGHT ASSIGNMENT CONFIRMED

Serena took the tablet back.

“Perfect. Operations can stop calling me.”

“Do they ever stop?”

“Only when they want something.”

The gate agent announced preboarding.

They walked down the jet bridge together. The aircraft smelled faintly of cleaning spray and the coffee the previous crew had poured away but not quite removed. Maya stowed her suitcase, checked the emergency equipment in her section, and tested the jump seat.

A flight attendant’s seat was designed for survival, not comfort. The back was straight, the padding was thin, and the harness caught loose hair with impressive accuracy. After fourteen years, Maya could fasten it without looking.

She checked the rear galley while Marcus counted meals.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Eventually.”

“You don’t sound committed.”

“I’ve met airplane coffee before.”

“It speaks highly of you.”

“That’s because you add enough sugar to prevent honest testimony.”

The first passengers appeared at the door.

Boarding began with the usual confusion. A man stopped directly inside the aircraft to search for his glasses. A woman asked Maya where row twenty-three was while standing beneath a sign that pointed toward rows twelve through thirty-two. Walter the dog arrived in a soft-sided carrier and looked more prepared for the flight than his owner.

Maya helped a family rearrange three seats so a six-year-old would not spend the night beside a stranger. She explained twice that a large garment bag could not occupy an empty business-class closet because there was no empty business-class closet. She found space for a violin and refused to lift a suitcase that weighed more than its owner seemed to.

“You’re not going to help me?” the passenger asked.

“I’ll help you find a safer place for it. My shoulders and I have a long-term agreement.”

He looked annoyed, but he lowered the suitcase.

The agreement had been reached after Maya spent six weeks in physical therapy. Passengers assumed flight attendants were responsible for lifting bags. The airline assumed otherwise the moment someone got injured.

By the time boarding reached Group Four, the cabin had settled into the familiar combination of impatience and resignation.

Maya stood near row twelve, checking the overhead bins, when a man stepped through the curtain from the forward cabin.

She noticed the way he looked around before she noticed his face.

Left, right, forward. Exit. Galley. Crew.

Alex had always entered rooms as if someone might ask him to explain them later.

He wore dark trousers, a navy sweater, and a charcoal jacket. His hair was slightly shorter than she remembered. He had one small carry-on and no expression at all.

Then he saw her.

He stopped.

The passenger behind him nearly walked into his back.

“Sir?” Maya said.

Alex continued toward her.

For one stupid second, she forgot that she was at work. She was back in his apartment, standing beside a half-packed suitcase while he asked her not to take the international promotion and refused to explain why.

Then the passenger behind him sighed loudly, and the cabin returned.

“Good evening,” Alex said.

Maya looked at his boarding pass.

“Seat?”

His eyes remained on hers. “Twelve A.”

She stepped aside.

“You hate window seats.”

The passenger waiting behind him looked from Alex to Maya with immediate interest.

Alex moved into the row. “I’ve become more flexible.”

“That must have happened recently.”

The other passenger smiled. Alex did not.

He put his carry-on beneath the seat instead of in the overhead bin. Maya remembered that too. He liked everything close enough to reach without standing.

She hated that her mind had saved such useless information.

“Did you know I was on this flight?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I usually know what I know.”

“There he is.”

“Who?”

“The man who can make three words sound irritating.”

The corner of his mouth moved, but not enough to qualify as a smile.

“I saw your name on the final crew display at the gate,” he said. “By then I was already checked in.”

“I wasn’t on the original crew.”

“I gathered that.”

“So neither of us arranged this.”

“No.”

“Good.”

Alex glanced up at her. “Good?”

“I wasn’t prepared to be flattered.”

A woman waiting in the aisle cleared her throat.

Maya stepped back. “Fasten your seat belt and try not to create additional work for me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Your best has historically been unpredictable.”

She moved down the aisle before he could answer.

Her hands were steady. That annoyed her more than if they had shaken.

A year and four months had passed since she had last seen him. Not that she counted. The date remained in her memory because it was the same day she completed lead-attendant training.

The training had gone better than the breakup.

At row eighteen, a passenger asked whether they would depart on time.

“That’s the current plan,” Maya said.

“Is it a good plan?”

“Aviation is very respectful of plans. It doesn’t always follow them.”

He considered this, then nodded as if she had confirmed his worst suspicions.

Maya continued checking seat belts and bags. She did not look toward row twelve.

She did, however, remain aware of it.

Alex had not asked how she was. He had not said she looked good. He had not mentioned the shorter hair or the new pin on her uniform that showed she had received the promotion he once wanted her to refuse.

That was probably better.

It still bothered her.

When boarding ended, the gate agent brought the final paperwork to Maya. The aircraft door closed. Maya made the announcement while Serena and Marcus completed the last cabin check.

At row twelve, Alex’s seat belt was fastened. His jacket remained on.

“You’ll be more comfortable if you take that off,” Maya said.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that when you’re not.”

The woman in 12B turned toward him.

“You two know each other?”

“No,” Maya said.

“Yes,” Alex said at the same time.

The woman’s eyebrows rose.

Maya smiled professionally. “We had a brief disagreement about the definition of knowing someone.”

“Two and a half years is brief?” Alex asked.

“The ending was.”

The woman in 12B looked delighted. She had apparently received free entertainment with her ticket.

Maya leaned closer to Alex.

“If you make this flight difficult, I will move you beside the restroom.”

“You don’t have an empty seat.”

“I’ll find one.”

For the first time, he smiled properly.

It lasted less than a second, but she recognized it. That was the problem with former lovers. The body remembered things the mind had already rejected.

Maya straightened.

“Devices in airplane mode, please.”

Alex lifted his phone to show her the screen.

A message appeared before he could lock it.

Maya caught only three words.

Remain on assignment.

She looked at him.

Alex turned the phone facedown on his thigh.

“Work?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“The kind I can’t discuss.”

There it was. The sentence that had occupied more space in their relationship than she had.

Maya nodded once.

“Of course.”

She walked away.

During the safety demonstration, Alex watched the cabin instead of the video monitors. He noticed Serena near the front, Marcus beside the overwing exits, and Lily checking a seat belt in row seven.

Then he looked at Maya.

She was demonstrating the oxygen mask with the same calm expression she used whenever she was angry enough to break something.

Maya knew his work involved aviation security. She knew he carried a federal credential and that some assignments required him to leave without warning. He had never told her exactly what he did.

She had eventually stopped asking.

As the aircraft pushed away from the gate, Maya took her jump seat. Serena’s voice came through the interphone.

“Cross-check complete?”

“Rear doors checked,” Maya replied.

She hung up and secured the handset.

Across the cabin, Alex was looking at her again.

Maya raised one eyebrow.

He looked away first.

That felt better than it should have.

The engines grew louder. The aircraft turned toward the runway, and the cabin lights dimmed.

Maya tightened her harness.

It was going to be a long night.

ALEX

Alex waited until Maya could no longer see him clearly from the rear jump seat.

Then he opened the secure message.

CONFLICT DISCLOSED. REED RETAINS OPERATIONAL LEAD. YOU REMAIN OBSERVATION ONLY UNLESS THREAT IS IMMEDIATE.

He typed a short acknowledgment.

Agent Naomi Reed sat in 4C. She had boarded before him, carrying a laptop bag and a paperback she had not opened. They had not looked at each other since entering the aircraft.

That was deliberate.

Most of an air marshal’s work involved watching people who had no idea they were being watched. There were no dramatic introductions and very few chases down airplane aisles. On a normal flight, the most serious problem might be a drunk passenger or someone refusing to stop smoking in the restroom.

This flight was not normal.

Three protected passenger records had been accessed inside Westbridge Airways during the previous six weeks. In two cases, private travel information had been sold. In the third, a laptop containing confidential evidence had disappeared between boarding and arrival.

Tonight’s passenger in 14C was bait. So was the bag beneath his seat.

Only a small group of airline employees had access to the false itinerary. Someone had opened it ninety-three minutes before departure.

That person was now believed to be on the aircraft.

Alex glanced toward the rear galley.

Maya was not supposed to be here. Her name had appeared on the crew list only after Nina Park called out sick. By then, the operation was already active and there had been no time to replace him.

He had asked anyway.

Reed would lead. Alex would observe. If Maya became relevant to the investigation, he would stay out of any interview or decision involving her.

Those were the rules.

Rules were easier than feelings. They were written down.

The aircraft accelerated. Alex let his head rest against the seat and kept his hands visible.

His phone vibrated once.

A new encrypted update filled the screen.

UNAUTHORIZED SESSION CONFIRMED. CREW DEVICE 03.

A second line appeared.

TEMPORARY CREDENTIAL: MLEVCHENKO.

Alex read it twice.

Then a third message arrived.

THE THREAT IS WEARING A UNIFORM.

He locked the phone and looked toward the rear of the cabin.

Maya sat upright in her jump seat, one hand resting near the interphone. She was watching the passengers, not him.

Sixteen months ago, she had told him she could not keep loving a man who treated information like a reward she had failed to earn.

Now her name was attached to a federal operation.

Alex looked at the dark screen of his phone.

For the moment, Maya was not his former girlfriend.

She was part of the case.