“Look at the division patch on her right shoulder, Carter,” Mason whispered, his voice shaking with held-back anger.

“Look at the unit crest before you open your mouth one more time.”

Evan knocked Mason’s hand off his sleeve and sat up straight against the vinyl chair.

“I don’t care about her patch,” Evan said.

“She doesn’t belong in charge of anything.”

A tall shadow stretched across the carpet between row 12 and the concourse walkway.

The faint smell of floor wax and jet fuel seemed to fade behind the heavy, even tread of polished leather dress shoes.

A senior officer came to a stop right at the edge of seat 12B, standing at his full height with both hands resting behind his back.