She’d Sworn Never to Fly Again. Then Someone Poisoned the Co-Pilot Six Miles Over the Atlantic
Like off a vial.”
I felt the whole thing turn over and lock into a single picture — the computer made to lie, the poisoned coffee, the vanished thermos, and now a company executive clawing at the flight-deck door in the middle of the emergency, wanting in.
I had spent a career learning to see a shape in scattered facts.
This shape I knew.
In the air you don’t get to solve a puzzle at your leisure; you get to name the threat fast enough to act on it, or you don’t get to act at all.
So I named it.