Chapter 7 - The Breach on the Jet Bridge
“Hold the forward galley door, Captain,” my mother commanded, her tone leaving zero room for argument. “Do not let them cross the threshold. Engage the interior bulkhead security lock immediately.”
“Already on it, Colonel,” Captain Vance replied, his voice firm. “My first officer is locking the forward partition now. But I don't know how long that glass will hold if they decide to force entry.”
Mom dropped the intercom handset back onto its cradle and stood up from her plush VIP seat, moving with a sudden, fluid agility that defied her months of hospital recovery.
“Mom, what are we going to do?” I asked, standing up as well, my heart hammering against my ribs. “We’re trapped in a metal tube on a tarmac with armed men outside!”
“We’re not trapped, sweetheart. We’re positioned,” Mom said, reaching into her carry-on bag and unzipping a hidden compartment that I had never noticed before. She pulled out a heavy, secure aluminum case, flicked open the dual combination latches, and lifted the lid. Inside rested a sleek, satellite-linked portable override terminal complete with military-grade encryption keys. “When you command a strategic transport wing for twenty years, you learn never to fly without a contingency plan.”
Outside our private cabin door, a muffled crash echoed through the aluminum framing, followed by the sound of shouting and the unmistakable crack of a heavy-duty breaching tool slamming against the bulkhead.
“Open this door! Federal transport mandate—step away from the cabin!” a gruff, muffled voice yelled from the hallway.
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Mom didn't flinch. She plugged the satellite terminal’s uplink cord directly into the data port beneath the lounge table, her fingers flying across the backlit mechanical keyboard with practiced precision.
“They’re breaking through the glass!” I shouted, watching as a spiderweb of cracks splintered across the small viewing window of our private partition door.
