Silence.
Reeves suddenly looked less confident.
“Celeste is involved?”
Maya studied him.
“You’re not running this.”
“No.”
“You’re expendable.”
His jaw tightened.
The radio crackled.
Ethan.
“Falcon Two to Flight 417.”
Maya grabbed the radio.
“Ethan.”
Silence followed.
A different kind of silence.
Eight years compressed into one word.
Finally:
“Hello, Maya.”
Her throat tightened.
She wanted to scream at him.
She wanted to demand answers.
She wanted to hear his voice forever.
Instead she said, “Tell me how to save the aircraft.”
A breath came through the radio.
Exactly the answer he expected from her.
“Remote control is piggybacking through the satellite entertainment communications array. Kill that system physically, not electronically.”
Torres looked toward the circuit panels.
“We can isolate SATCOM.”
“No,” Ethan said. “They installed a bypass. Someone has to disconnect the hardware relay in the avionics compartment.”
Maya looked at Torres.
“Location?”
“Below the forward cabin.”
