As he leaned close to the floor, he paused.

He stared straight at my faded canvas bag tucked under seat 2B.

His eyes locked onto the small silver tactical unit pin fastened securely to the front flap.

The assistant nervously shifted his dark leather briefcase from his right hand to his left.

“Mr.

Caldwell,” the assistant whispered.

Caldwell didn’t look up from his contract papers.

“What is it, David?”