In flight
Leaving Minneapolis

Patrick had never been on a private jet before. The huge leather captain chairs swiveled and reclined. The walls were paneled, the floor carpeted. They were being served beverages in crystal glassware. The pewter coasters were indented into the wooden side table and had the Senator’s initials, A.F., engraved. It was pretty amazing and yet all he could think about was his phone conversation with Rebecca.

It was short, way too short.

“I’m so sorry,” was one of the first things she said. After all she had been through and she was apologizing to him.

“Dixon made me think you might be involved somehow,” she explained. “He was scared. He made a mistake. I was scared. Can you ever forgive me?”

He was simply relieved to hear her voice, to know she was finally safe. He couldn’t, however, tell her about Phoenix. Couldn’t explain what was going on, except that he would see her in a couple of days.

He looked around the inside of the plane, wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into. A couple of days ago he would have steered clear, content to be on the sidelines. He still wasn’t sure why he wanted to do this, needed to do this.

Deputy Director Wurth and Mr. Morrelli were at the back of the plane. They had a map of Sky Harbor spread out on a table and were going over details. Assistant Director Kunze had taken one of the chairs on the other side of the aisle and was stretched out, fast asleep, or at least it sounded like it from his heavy breathing.

Maggie sat directly across from Patrick, staring out the window into the night. She had been reading what looked like poor photocopies of documents that had black rectangles stamped throughout the pages. Classified stuff, no doubt. He didn’t think the documents held all her attention. She looked preoccupied, thinking about something else. But then how would he know? He kept telling himself that Maggie didn’t know him at all. Yet how hard had he tried to get to know her?

One thing he did know—she wasn’t happy that he was coming along.

“I guess I really just want to help,” he said, out of the blue, almost as if he had only now found the answer for himself.

She looked over at him as if she had forgotten he was there.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He smiled at that. Couldn’t help it. He caught himself trying to hide it with a swipe of his fingers to his mouth. If she’d only seen what he had already gone through in the last twenty-four hours.

“What?” she asked, her voice sounding defensive.

“I’ve never had anyone worry about me.”

“Your mom worries about you.”

This time he laughed. She obviously didn’t know his mom either. “I’ve worried about my mom for a lot more years than she’s worried about me.”

Her eyes met his and there was something he recognized before she looked away.

She glanced out the window again.

“We have more in common than either of us realize,” she told him.

“Probably why I need to go along.” This time she smiled.

“I really can take care of myself,” he told her and only hoped she never found out about the dryer incident.

They sat in silence, a bit awkward, but Patrick knew she was letting him control the silence. Leaving the decision to him and what, if anything, he wanted to share. Maybe it was time he told her some things about himself if he ever wanted her to get to know him.

“I changed my major,” he said.

Before he could continue, she surprised him by saying, “I know. Fire Science. How do you like it?”