He drove without music, just the road and the engine, and the particular quiet that comes after a long time of carrying something heavy and finally setting it down somewhere safe. He thought about Ida May about what she would say if she could see him right now. Driving back from the FAA, 43 Mayos filed and officially received. A federal investigation already in motion. A lawyer with silver hair who believed in the case.
He thought she'd probably say something simple, something like, "I told you you were made for the sky." He thought about Zoe, about what it meant to her growing up to watch her father handle this the way he was handling it. Not with rage, not with collapse, with documentation and discipline and a willingness to sit in uncomfortable rooms and tell the truth in an organized way for 4 hours. He wanted her to see that, not because it was heroic, because it was the right way to be a man in the world. He was 2 miles from Mon when his phone rang through the truck's speaker system. He glanced at the screen on the dash.
Unknown number, this time with a Washington DC area code, he answered it. Marcus Reed. Yes, Mr. Reed. My name is Colonel David Marsh.
I'm calling from the office of the Chief of Naval Operations. I understand you're a former Navy aviator call sign Viper 1. Is that correct? Marcus felt every muscle in his body go completely still. The road stretched out ahead of him, straight and empty.
"That's correct," he said quietly. "Mr. Reed," said Colonel Marsh. "I'm calling because a situation has developed and there are people in this building who believe you're the right person to help resolve it. I know this is coming out of nowhere, and I apologize for the abruptness, but what I'm about to tell you is time-sensitive, and I need to know if you're willing to hear it." Marcus looked at the road, at the sky above it, at the horizon that had always.
His whole life felt more like home than anything on the ground. "I'm listening," he said. Colonel David Marsh's voice carried the particular weight of a man who chose every word with the precision of someone who understood that words in his line of work had consequences. Mr. Reed, what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this call until we say it does.
Are we clear on that? Yes, sir. Marcus said old habits. 12 Years of military inct don't dissolve just because you've been out for seven years and you're driving a truck down a Georgia highway. 3 Days ago, a Callaway Regional Flight Flight 1,147 Atlanta to Charlotte experienced a critical hydraulic failure at 31,000 ft.
The aircraft made an emergency landing at Greenville Spartanberg. All 112 passengers and crew survived. A pause, but it was close, Mr. Reed. Very close.
The NTSB is on scene now. The preliminary read on the maintenance logs is, let's say, it's consistent with concerns that have recently come to the FAA's attention. Marcus felt the blood drain from his face. He knew that route. He'd flown that route dozens of times.
Charlotte, early morning, the kind of flight where business travelers were on their second coffee and nobody was paying attention to anything outside the window. Was anyone hurt? He asked. 14 Minor injuries during the emergency descent. No fatalities.