The sun began to bleed over the horizon as the Obsidian King began its descent toward Paris. The sky turned a bruised purple, then a fiery orange, illuminating the cloud deck below. Inside the cabin, the silence was absolute. It wasn't peaceful. It was heavy, like the air before a tornado touches down. Alara hadn't slept. She had spent the last 4 hours organizing her digital life, ensuring that every piece of evidence regarding the unauthorized Bahamas flight was backed up on three different secure servers. She had also reviewed the employment contracts for both Ryan Sterling and Tara Blair. She knew their clauses, their severance packages, which were now void, and their liabilities better than they did.
Tara sat in the jump seat near the galley, her eyes red and puffy. She had spent the flight staring at the curtain, terrified of what was happening on the other side. Every time the plane hit a pocket of turbulence, she flinched as if expecting Alara to burst through the curtain and throw her off the plane. In the cockpit, Ryan Sterling was a man unraveling. His hands, usually steady on the yoke, were slick with sweat. He had flown this approach into Le Bourget a hundred times. It was a simple arrival. But today, the runway lights looked like judgement eyes staring up at him.
"Le Bourget Tower, Global 750 Alpha Bravo, establishing localizer runway 27," Ryan said into the radio. His voice sounded thin, stripped of its usual bravado. "750 Alpha Bravo, Le Bourget Tower, cleared to land runway 27, winds calm. Welcome to Paris," the controller replied cheerfully. Ryan clicked the mic. "Cleared to land." He glanced at the co-pilot, a young man named Jason, who had been hired only a month ago and knew nothing of the Bahamas scheme. Jason looked at Ryan with concern. "Captain, you okay? You look pale," Jason said. "Just fly the damn plane, Jason," Ryan snapped, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
Ryan was running calculations in his head. If she fires me, I lose the pension. But maybe... maybe if I beg Marcel Thorne, maybe if I offer to pay back the fuel cost for the Bahamas trip, I can salvage this. I can go fly cargo in Alaska. No one has to know. He was bargaining with a fate that had already been sealed. The wheels touched down on the French tarmac with a gentle squirt, a perfect buttery landing. Alara didn't even spill her water. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Paris," Tara's voice came over the intercom, trembling audibly. "Please remain seated until we come to a complete stop."
The massive jet slowed, turning off the main runway and taxiing toward the private hangars of Le Bourget. This was the most exclusive airport in Europe for private aviation. It was where heads of state and A-list celebrities landed. Alara looked out of the window. She saw the familiar hangars. She saw the ramp agents waiting with their orange wands. And then she saw the lights. Blue lights. Flashing rhythmically against the gray morning mist. There were three cars parked right at the designated parking spot for the Obsidian King. They weren't black limousines waiting to whisk her to the Ritz. They were white hatchbacks with blue stripes. Gendarmerie de Transport Aérien. The French air transport police.
Alara adjusted her blazer. She checked her reflection in the darkened window. She looked powerful. She looked ready. In the cockpit, Ryan saw the cars, too. "What is that?" Jason asked, squinting. "Is there a VIP arrival next to us?" Ryan's heart stopped. It didn't just skip a beat. It seized. He knew exactly who those cars were for. "No," Ryan whispered. The blood drained from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse. "No, no, no. She didn't. She wouldn't." He slammed on the brakes a little too hard as they approached the chocks. The plane lurched to a halt. Ryan sat there for a moment, the engines winding down with a high-pitched whine that sounded like a dying scream. He couldn't move. His hands were frozen to the throttle quadrant.
"Captain?" Jason asked. "Checklist complete. Engines cut. We're clear to open the door." Ryan didn't answer. He just stared out the window at the six uniformed officers stepping out of the police vehicles. They weren't smiling. One of them had a pair of handcuffs looped over his belt. The cabin door opened with a mechanical hiss, the stairs slowly extending down to the tarmac. Tara rushed to the door, her instinct to be the perfect hostess kicking in despite her terror. She plastered a fake smile on her face, ready to greet the ground crew. Instead, she found herself face to chest with a stern-faced French officer. "Bonjour," the officer said, stepping onto the stairs. He didn't wait for permission. He walked right up, followed by two others. "We are looking for Captain Ryan Sterling and flight attendant Tara Blair."
Tara gasped, backing away until she hit the galley wall. "I... That's me. I'm Tara." "And the captain?" the officer asked. "He's... He's in the cockpit," she squeaked. Alara emerged from the main cabin. She walked with a slow, predatory grace. She stopped in the middle of the galley looking at the officers. "Bonjour, officers," Alara said in perfect, fluent French. "I am Alara Banks. I am the owner of this aircraft and the complainant." The lead officer, a tall man with silvering hair named Commandant Lefevre, nodded respectfully to her. "Mademoiselle Banks, we received your dossier. The evidence regarding the unauthorized flight N753AB to Nassau is quite comprehensive. We also have the allegations of attempted assault and harassment at Teterboro."
"Excellent," Alara said. "They are all yours." At that moment, the cockpit door opened. Ryan Sterling stumbled out. He had taken off his jacket as if trying to shed his rank would somehow save him. He saw the police and stopped dead. "Captain Sterling," Commandant Lefevre said, his voice booming in the small space. "Please step forward." "There's been a mistake," Ryan said, his hands held up in surrender. "This is a civil matter. It's an employment dispute. You have no jurisdiction." "Grand larceny of an aircraft is not a civil matter, monsieur," Lefevre said coldly. "Nor is fraud. Nor is falsifying international flight logs. You entered the Bahamas illegally. You returned illegally. And you did it with stolen property."