He was taller than Brad expected, 6’3″ of lean muscle. When he rose, he loomed over the flight attendant. Brad took a half step back, his hand falling away. Finally, Mrs. Vanderhovven huffed, adjusting her fur coat. Wipe down the seat, Jessica. God knows what he has. Marcus stepped into the aisle, but he didn’t move toward economy.
He stood his ground, blocking the path. I want to speak to the captain, Marcus said. The captain is busy prepping for takeoff, Jessica snapped, trying to herd him backward. You will take your seat in 24B, or you will be escorted off the plane by federal marshals. Those are your options. I don’t think you understand, Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave becoming dangerously smooth.
I am giving you a chance, Jessica. I am giving all of you a chance to rectify this. Check the manifest again. Look at the name. Really look at it. I don’t care if your name is Barack Obama, Mrs. Vanderhovven shouted, slamming her hand on the overhead bin. This is my airline.
I havebeen flying with the Vance family for 20 years. I know the CEO, Jonathan Vance, personally. We had dinner in the Hamptons last summer. Do you want me to call him? Do you want me to call Jonathan and tell him a thug is harassing me in his cabin? Marcus’s lip twitched, a micro expression of amusement. Jonathan Vance, the former CEO, the man who had sold the company because he was drowning in gambling debts, the man Marcus had signed the papers with 5 hours ago. Call him, Marcus challenged.
Go ahead, call Jonathan. Mrs. Vanderhovven pulled out her goldplated iPhone. Oh, you are going to regret this. You are going to rot in a cell. She dialed furiously, putting the phone to her ear. He won’t pick up, Marcus said. She ignored him. [clears throat] “Voicemail,” she screamed. She looked at Jessica. “Get the captain.
Tell him I am being held hostage by a maniac.” Jessica ran to the cockpit door and banged on it. A moment later, the door opened. Captain James Miller stepped out. He was a veteran pilot, gray-haired with a look of exhausted annoyance. “What is going on out here?” Captain Miller demanded. “We missed our slot. Tower is asking why we aren’t moving.
” “Captain,” Mrs. Vanderhovven cried, playing the victim instantly. She pointed a manicured finger at Marcus. This man refuses to move from my seat. He’s threatening me. He’s threatening the crew. Captain Miller turned to Marcus. He saw the hoodie. He saw the dreadlocks. He made the same calculation everyone else had.
Sir, the captain said, his voice stern. I don’t know how you got up here, but on my plane, the crew’s word is law. If they say move, you move. Captain Miller, Marcus said, reading the name tag. I am asking you to follow protocol. Ask the passenger for her boarding pass. Ask me for mine. Whoever has 1A sits in 1A.
I don’t have time for a debate. Captain Miller barked. Brad, get security on the line. Have them meet us at the gate. We’re removing this passenger. You’re making a mistake, Captain. Marcus said, a careerending mistake. Are you threatening me, son? The captain stepped closer, chest puffed out. I’ve been flying for 30 years.
I don’t take orders from street trash. The slur hung in the air. The mask was off. It wasn’t about the seat anymore. It was about power. Mrs. Vanderhovven smirked. Street trash. Exactly. Get him off. Brad grabbed Marcus’s arm again, this time with aggressive force, trying to wrench him toward the door.
Marcus didn’t fight back physically. He knew the cameras were rolling. He could see the businessman in row two recording on his phone. “Good, he needed the evidence.” “Okay,” Marcus said, shaking Brad off with a sharp jerk of his arm. “I’ll get off, but I’m taking my luggage and I’m making a phone call. Make your call from the holding cell,” Jessica sneered.
Marcus reached into his pocket, but he didn’t pull out a phone to call a lawyer. He pulled out a sleek black satellite phone, the kind used for secure, high-level corporate communications. He dialed a single number. The cabin went quiet as he held the phone to his ear. Mrs. Vanderhovven rolled her eyes.
Who are you calling? Your bale bondsman? No, Marcus said into the phone, his eyes locked on Captain Miller. This is Marcus Thorne. Authorization code Delta Sigma 91. Execute order 66 on flight AV 402. He paused, listening to the voice on the other end. Yes, immediate grounding. Cancel the flight plan and patch me through to the JFK Tower supervisor.
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