Chapter 3 - The Shadow of Flight 229
The debriefing room at Kansas City International was cold and smelled of stale coffee. Federal investigators from the NTSB, rep from the FAA, and Air Force liaison officers filled the room, their notebooks open and recorders spinning. For three hours, I answered questions about the hydraulic failure, the spoiler lock, and the structural integrity of the wing.
They treated me like a hero. The Captain and First Officer had already told the media that my flying had saved 214 lives. But I didn't feel like a hero. I felt like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into an abyss that was about to swallow my past.
When the investigators finally cleared me for the night, I walked out into the private aviation lounge. The terminal was quiet, the sound of rain tapping rhythmic beats against the high glass windows.
A man was standing near the far window, staring out at the foam-covered Boeing parked on the apron. He wore a dark flight suit without squad patches, but the posture was unmistakable. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the same stubborn tilt of the chin his father had possessed.
“You fly just like he said you did,” Daniel Hayes said without turning around. “Relentless. Calm when everything around you is dying.”
I walked over and stood beside him, catching his reflection in the glass. He had Ethan’s green eyes, but the cold hardness in them was all his own.
“You broke formation protocol and crossed civil airspace without an escort, Daniel,” I said quietly. “You could lose your wings for today.”
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“I don't care about my wings, Sarah,” Daniel turned to face me, reaching inside his flight jacket. “I care about the fact that my father didn't die because of a mechanical failure or pilot error over the Pacific. He was hunted. And the man who ordered his flight path is sitting in the Pentagon right now.”
He pulled out a heavy, matte-black steel drive, sealed with a red tactical security tag.
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