Point of Contact

“Good. They’ll be serving dinner soon.”

Paul checked his watch. “It’s nearly seven. I’d like some hot chamomile tea.”

“Why? Is your stomach upset?”

“I always have a cup of tea at seven. It’s just a habit I have.”

The flight attendant appeared a few minutes later with her service cart and Paul requested his chamomile tea. She apologized and said she didn’t have that particular flavor, so Paul requested a cup of hot water and fetched a zippy bag crammed with Celestial Seasonings chamomile tea bags from his duffel. “I packed some for the hotel just in case they didn’t have any,” he explained. Jack was content with bottled water.

When the beverage service cart cleared, Jack decided he needed to take a leak. He apologized to Paul as he crawled over him and headed for the restroom in the back of the plane because the first-class cabin was partitioned off with a curtain. He had to wait a couple turns until one vacated. He slipped into the cramped little facility and did his business hunched over, his large frame ill suited for the angular geometry of the phone booth — sized john. He flushed, then washed his hands, and practically fell out the folding door and back into the aisle.

When he emerged, the overhead cabin lights were dimmed and the darkened interior was gently lit by purple accent lighting. When Jack reached his row he saw that Paul was sound asleep, mouth agape and lightly snoring, his neck wedged in his inflatable pillow. The Dramamine had hit him hard. Jack was a little disappointed. He took Hendley’s advice to heart and was determined to try and get to know Paul Brown better. He seemed nice enough, though painfully shy. There would be plenty of time on this trip to find out more about the man.

Jack opened up the overhead compartment and fetched his Kindle, then climbed as carefully as he could over and around the beefy accountant so as not to wake him. He finally managed to fall into his own seat and buckle in. With any luck he’d be able to finish the Churchill biography he’d started the other day. But a few electronic pages into his read his eye caught the flight attendant walking toward them with a tablet in her hand, followed by a silver-haired captain. A moment later they stood over Paul.

“That’s Mr. Brown, Captain,” she whispered.

Some of the passengers around them cast furtive glances in their direction.

Jack wondered what kind of trouble his partner was in. It was against FAA rules for the pilot to vacate his cockpit while in flight. Something was wrong. He nudged Paul. “Hey, buddy, better wake up.”

“Wha…?” Paul woke with a start.

“Paul Brown,” the captain whispered. “I don’t believe it.”

Paul blinked heavily. Squinted. His face broke into a smile. “David Miller. What are you doing here?”

“Flying, supposedly. Babysitting the autopilot is more like it.” The tall aviator held out his hand. Paul shook it. “I saw your name on the manifest and just wanted to make sure. I’m so glad you’re on this flight. What brings you my way?”

Paul was still groggy. He pulled his glasses off and wiped his eyes. “Business trip. Oh, I’m sorry. This is my associate, Jack Ryan. Jack, this is David Miller. An old friend.”

Jack extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Captain.”

“Same.” A firm, steady grip. But the captain clearly wasn’t interested in a conversation with Jack. He turned his attention back to Paul. “Is Sally taking good care of you?”

Jack saw the respect in Miller’s eyes. Or was it something more?

Paul smiled. “She’s been wonderful.”

The flight attendant beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Brown. It’s been a pleasure. There will be a regular food service in half an hour, but if there’s anything special I can get you before then—”

“Oh, no. I’m fine, thank you.”

Jack tried to hide his utter confusion. She was acting like he was a celebrity or something.

What the hell was going on?

The captain leaned close and lowered his voice even further. Jack could barely hear him say, “Look, Paul, I just checked with Sally. There was a last-minute cancellation in first class. I want you to take it.”

“Me? No, I couldn’t—”

Captain Miller grinned. “I insist. For old times’ sake.”

Paul turned toward Jack, his neck still wedged in the inflatable pillow. “How about you, Jack? Why don’t you take it?”

Sounded like heaven to Jack. Hot facial cloths, mixed drinks, steaks. “You need to take it. Your back and your knee will do a lot better in first class if you can stretch out.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll just be reading anyway.”

Paul rubbed his knee. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Good,” Captain Miller said. “Sally will help you with your things. I need to get back to the salt mine. Good to meet you, Jack. Have a pleasant flight.”

Captain Miller turned and headed back toward the cockpit while Sally helped Paul gather his things. He wouldn’t let her carry the heavy duffel, though.

“See you in London, Jack. Hope you sleep well.”

“Thanks. Have fun up there.”