Chapter 5 - The Co-Pilot’s Secret
I hauled myself up into the cockpit of the transport jet, slammed the heavy hatch sealed, and dropped heavily into the pilot’s seat.
The instrument panels glowed with familiar green and amber readouts, instantly grounding my racing thoughts into pure, mechanical focus. I flipped the master avionics switch, engaged the fuel pumps, and ran through the pre-flight checklist with practiced, lightning-fast precision.
"Engine two stabilized," a cool, synthesized voice echoed through my headset from the co-pilot seat beside me.
I didn't look over immediately. I was too busy clearing the clearance code with the control tower. "Tower, this is Falcon Six-Zero, requesting immediate takeoff vector for Runway One Zero."
"Falcon Six-Zero, vector cleared. Watch your altitude—we've got an unverified civilian chopper tracking your perimeter."
"Copy that. Rolling now."
I pushed the throttles forward. The twin engines roared to life, pressing my back deep into the leather seat as the heavy aircraft surged down the tarmac, lifting off the ground with a smooth, effortless grace that made my spirit soar.
At ten thousand feet, I leveled off, banking the nose toward the western horizon.
Only then did I turn my head to look at my co-pilot.
The seat was empty.
Except it wasn't empty. A heavy tactical duffel bag sat on the floor, and resting on the armrest was a familiar silver-plated lighter—the exact lighter my brother Tyler always carried when he wanted to look older than he was.
My breath caught.
The cockpit door—the heavy internal bulkhead separating the cockpit from the cargo hold—clicked.
Slowly, the latch turned.
May you like
A figure stepped out from the dim shadows of the cargo hold, wiping a smudge of grease from a civilian mechanic's jumpsuit, wearing a nervous, crooked grin that I had spent a lifetime cleaning up after.
"Hey, sis," Tyler said, raising a hand in a small, mocking wave. "Nice flight. Mind if I catch a ride?"
