through, leaving a hide large enough for a single backpack, thankfully without affecting the function of the lav itself. Maintenance also found another ten smaller spaces hidden behind inspection panels and servicing access doors throughout the aircraft. Some of these hides would allow for the stowage of nothing more than a pistol; others were bigger, maybe the size of a submachine gun with a folded stock and a few extra magazines.
All in all, maintenance crew found nearly ten cubic feet of nearly perfect hiding places, enough to transport a fair amount of gear covertly wherever and whenever The Campus needed to move items surreptitiously. Pistols, rifles, explosives, surveillance equipment that would have sent foreign customs agents into seizures, documents, money. Anything that Gerry Hendley’s men needed to do their work.
Hendley hired a flight crew of three, all ex-military and vetted for Campus operations. The lead pilot was from the Air Force, which would have surprised no one. The fact that she was female should not have surprised anyone, either. She was fifty-year-old Captain Helen Reid, a former B1-B pilot who had made the jump into corporate jets by taking a job with Gulfstream. She had been on the G650 project as a test pilot, but she didn’t seem to mind “slumming” by flying the G550 instead. Her first officer was Chester Hicks, but everyone still called him by his call sign of “Country” because of his pronounced southern drawl. He was an ex — Marine Corps aviator from Kentucky who’d flown rotary and fixed-wing aircraft in the Corps. He spent the last six years of his career training young pilots at Naval Air Station, Corpus Christi, piloting B-12 Huron multi-engine aircraft, before retiring and going into business aviation. He’d flown G500s and G550s for a decade.
Hendley had surprised the five operators of The Campus back in June by taking them on their first ride in the G550. They’d driven to BWI, through the gate of an FBO called Greater Maryland Charter Aviation Services, which was run by a friend of Gerry Hendley’s. Gerry’s FBO-owning friend allowed Hendley’s aircraft and his employees to avoid virtually all scrutiny.
On this first flight, the six men had boarded their new plane, and Gerry i c, ay.
Adara Sherman was an attractive thirty-five-year-old with short white-blond hair and bright gray eyes that she kept behind serious glasses. She wore a blue uniform with no insignia, and she always kept her jacket on.
Sherman had spent nine years in the Navy, and she looked like she had not let her physical training slack in the least since leaving the service.
She was polite and professional as she showed the men around the cabin for a one-hour flight that would have them circling the area and then performing a touch-and-go in Manassas, before returning to BWI.
As Jack sipped his wine over the Atlantic, he thought back to that day, and it made him chuckle. During takeoff, while Adara Sherman was out of earshot, Gerry Hendley had addressed the three single men in the cabin. “We’re going to play a word-association game, gentlemen. Our flight attendant is Adara Sherman. I want you to think of her as
“Keep it businesslike,” Sam had said with a slight smile.
“You got it.”
Caruso nodded obediently, but Jack spoke up. “You know me, Gerry.”
“I do, and you are a good man. I also know what it’s like being twenty-six years old. I’ll just leave it there, okay.”
“I understand. The flight attendant is a no-fly zone.”
All the men had laughed, just as Adara unstrapped herself and returned to offer coffee to the passengers. Immediately Dom, Sam, and Jack Junior looked away from her, kept their eyes low, somewhat nervously. Clark, Chavez, and Hendley just chuckled.
Adara wasn’t in on the joke, but she worked it out pretty quickly. The single men had been told that she was off-limits, and that was best for everyone. A minute later, she’d leaned across a table to grab a towel, and her jacket rose as her arms stretched. Jack and Dom both chanced quick glances — it had been coded into their DNA, after all — and both men saw a small but serious-looking Smith and Wesson with a stainless-steel slide and a spare magazine tucked into a holster that disappeared into her skirt in the small of her back.
“She’s packing,” Caruso had said appreciatively when she returned to the forward galley.
Hendley just nodded. “She provides security for the aircraft. She has a couple of weapons to help her do that.”
Jack smiled again thinking about Sherman and her weapons. He looked down to his watch and saw it was 10:30 p.m. on the East Coast. He grabbed the phone and called his mother’s mobile.
“I was hoping to hear from you today,” she said as she answered.
“Hey, Mom. Sorry it’s so late.”
Cathy Ryan laughed. “I don’t have morning rounds tomorrow. I’m with Dad in Cleveland.”
“Which means you’ll still have to get up, get ready, and walk through a diner shaking hands at morning rush hour, right?”
Now she laughed out loud. “Something pretty close to that. We’re going to a conveyer belt factory, but first breakfast with the media here at the hotel.”
“Fun.”
“I don’t mind it. And don’t tell him I told you, but I think your dad enjoys it more than he admits. Well, parts of it, anyway.”
“I think you’re right. How are Katie and Kyle?”
“Everybody’s fine. They are back at home; Sally is watching them for a couple of days. You should go up if you can get away from work. I wish I could give the phone to your dad so you could say hi, but he’s meeting with Arnie in a conference room downstairs. Can you wait a few minutes?”
“Uh, no. I’ll have to catch up to him later.”
“Where are you?”
Jack exhaled slowly, then said, “Actually, I’m on a plane right now. Flying over the Atlantic.”
That got a quick response. “Heading where?”
“Nowhere exciting. Just work.”
“Do you know how many times your father has given me that exact response?”
“Probably because it was true most of the time. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?”
Jack Junior started to say “I promise” but refrained. He’d told himself he would not lie to his mother. Telling her she had nothing to worry about was damn close to an outright falsehood, but he sure wasn’t going to tip the scales into the realm of deceit by promising anything. He had no idea what he was about to get into, other than the fact he’d be on a crew of five armed men who planned on killing three other armed men and capturing one more.
Cathy said, “I’m worried, Jack. I’m a mother, it’s my job to worry.”
“I’m fine.” He changed subjects quickly. “So is Dad ready for the debate tomorrow night?”
He had no doubt that his mother would know what he was doing. His father had told him she would be able to see any “tricks” he tried to play on her from a mile away, and, so far, his dad had been right about that.
Still, she let it go. “I think so. He’s got the facts and figures dead to rights. I just hope he can keep his hands to himself and not reach out and slap Ed Kealty. This is the debate where the two candidates sit right next to each other at a table. It is supposed to be less formal, more like a friendly chat.”
“I remember Dad talking about this one. Kealty didn’t want to do this format at first, but since he’s down in the polls, he changed his mind.”
“Right. Arnie thinks this will be your father’s best chance to show his warm-and-fuzzy side.”
They both laughed at that.
Adara Sherman appeared over Jack with a small pitcher of water. Jack shook his head with a polite smile but made certain not to hold eye contact for too long, lest Gerry somehow find out about it later. She turned to head back to the forward galley, and he wanted to watch her walk away, but he knew this cabin was full of reflective surfaces, and he did not want to get caught checking her out, so he just looked down to his laptop.
“Okay, Mom. I’d better go. Get some beauty sleep for the presser in the morning.”
“I’ll do that. And you please be careful, okay?”
“I promise.” That was a promise he felt he could keep. He had every intention of doing his best to avoid
