Chapter 4 - The Man Behind the Curtain“YOU KNOW ADRIAN VALE?”
I hadn't intended to say the words so loudly.
But Grant's expression had changed in a way I'd never seen before.
His usual arrogance had vanished.
He looked like a man who had heard a name that was never supposed to be spoken aloud.
“Jessica,” he said carefully, “this isn't the time.”
I stepped toward him.
“Then answer the question.”
His eyes darted toward General Reed.
“Adrian Vale is a business associate.”
“What kind of business?”
“Investment.”
“What kind of investment, Grant?”
He swallowed.
“Defense infrastructure. Aviation technology. Commercial real estate near military installations.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Adrian Vale.
The name belonged to the founder of Vale Aeronautics, a privately held defense technology company that had grown from a modest avionics contractor into a multibillion-dollar enterprise.
I'd heard his name years ago.
Not because I'd met him.
Because his company supplied equipment and support systems to military aviation programs.
Some of those systems had been used by our squadron.
Grant had occasionally mentioned Vale at dinner, usually while boasting about an upcoming investment or an exclusive business meeting.
I'd never paid much attention.
The company was only one name among dozens of wealthy contacts my husband collected like expensive watches.
Now that name was connected to the aircraft that had nearly killed me.
Twice.
General Reed interrupted.
“Jessica, Ghost Two-Four is entering the final phase of his emergency approach.”
I turned immediately.
The screen showed Falcon descending toward the auxiliary field.
Daniel stood beside the console, listening to the airport operations network.
“Runway condition confirmed. Emergency vehicles staged. Ground crews clear.”
Outside, powerful floodlights pierced the swirling snow.
I could barely see the first section of pavement.
But I knew the runway.
Long before Grant and I married, I'd visited Silverwood while recovering from my injuries.
I'd walked the nearby mountain trails.
I'd sat beside the old maintenance hangars and watched airplanes take off.
The rhythm of engines had been the only thing that quieted my nightmares.
Eventually, the club offered me part-time maintenance work.
I accepted because repairing aircraft made sense when the rest of my life didn't.
It had never occurred to me that this quiet refuge might someday become part of the very nightmare I was escaping.
“Ghost Two-Four, this is Silverwood emergency operations,” Daniel transmitted through the authorized ground coordination channel. “Emergency vehicles are positioned. Runway lighting is active. Ground personnel report blowing snow across the surface.”
Denver Center acknowledged.
Falcon confirmed the information.
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Raven,” he said after the controller cleared another exchange, “I remember what you told me in the hospital.”
I stared at the microphone.
“What did I tell you?”
“That surviving wasn't enough. We had to learn how to live afterward.”
My throat tightened.
“I remember.”
“I didn't understand it then.”
“Neither did I.”
He took a slow breath.
“I think I do now.”
The controller resumed guidance.
Falcon reported that he had intermittent visual contact with the runway lights.
I gripped the edge of the console.
Come on, Falcon.
Come on.
A low rumble rolled across the mountains.
For a moment, I thought it was thunder.
Then I saw a dark shape emerging from the whiteout beyond the southern windows.
A fighter jet.
Its landing lights flickered through the snow.
Someone behind me gasped.
“There!”
I could see the aircraft now.
It was lower than I'd expected.
One wing appeared to dip before Falcon corrected.
The fighter continued toward the runway.
“Ghost Two-Four,” the controller said, “confirm runway in sight.”
“Runway in sight.”
“Continue according to your emergency recovery procedures. Military recovery coordinator monitoring.”
I held my breath.
The fighter descended.
For a terrible second, it seemed to disappear behind a curtain of snow.
Then its lights reappeared.
The wheels touched the runway.
A sharp puff of snow erupted beneath the landing gear.
The aircraft bounced once.
Settled.
Then began slowing.
Someone shouted in relief.
Grant's friends started cheering.
I didn't.
Not yet.
The fighter was still moving too fast.
Its remaining systems were damaged.
And the runway was slick.
Falcon's voice came over the radio.
“Braking response poor.”
I watched the aircraft's lights continue down the runway.
Too far.
Too quickly.
A moment later, the military recovery coordinator transmitted instructions for the pilot to use the aircraft's emergency stopping procedures.
The fighter continued toward the far end.
A long white cloud rose behind it.
Then the aircraft slowed abruptly.
It stopped well short of the final boundary, with its nose angled slightly toward the runway edge.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
“Ghost Two-Four,” the controller called. “Confirm status.”
Nothing.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
“Ghost Two-Four, do you copy?”
Another pause.
Then a tired voice answered.
“Ghost Two-Four. Aircraft stopped. Pilot conscious. Request immediate assistance.”
I lowered my head.
For the first time that afternoon, I allowed myself to breathe.
Falcon was alive.
We had brought him home.
And then, before anyone could celebrate, General Reed's phone rang.
He answered.
I watched the color drain from his face.
“What do you mean the recovery team has been reassigned?”
A pause.
“By whose authority?”
He turned away from the room.
I followed him with my eyes.
Whatever he was hearing, it frightened him more than Falcon's emergency landing.
Finally, he ended the call.
“General?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“The military team dispatched to secure Falcon's mission materials has been ordered to stand down.”
“Why?”
“The order came from an office claiming oversight of the investigation.”
I stared at him.
“Which office?”
He hesitated.
Then his voice dropped.
“The office currently working with Adrian Vale.”
Behind us, Grant quietly reached for his phone.
I noticed.
And for the first time in our marriage, I wondered whether my husband was simply an arrogant fool.
Or whether he knew far more than he'd ever admitted.
Then his phone lit up.
May you like
The caller's name appeared on the screen.
ADRIAN VALE.
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