“We may need another day.”
Victoria laughed once.
It was not amusement.
“Another day.”
Andrew did not defend himself.
That irritated her even more.
Behind him, two technicians stood near an equipment cart while another engineer spoke through a headset with someone on the remote conference line.
Everybody appeared occupied.
Nobody appeared closer to an answer.
Victoria had spent her career surrounded by expensive expertise.
Consultants.
Lawyers.
Investment bankers.
Engineers.
Advisers.
People whose hourly rates often rose in direct proportion to the complexity of their vocabulary.
She did not resent expertise.
She paid for it willingly.
What she resented was standing beside something broken while highly paid people explained why understanding the problem required more time.
Her phone vibrated again.
She looked at the screen.
DENVER.
Victoria ignored it.
“Keep working.”
Andrew nodded.
She turned toward the terminal.
That was when Ethan Cole crossed the edge of the ramp.
He was carrying a black diagnostic case in his left hand and pushing a narrow tool cart with his right.
Victoria registered him the way executives often registered support staff in places they visited frequently.
Uniform.
Maintenance badge.
Work boots.
Useful if something needed carrying, inspecting, documenting, or cleaning.
Not relevant to the actual crisis.
Ethan was thirty-eight, tall without seeming imposing, with a lean athletic build that came less from exercise routines than from years of lifting panels, crawling beneath equipment, and spending long shifts on concrete floors. His dark-brown hair was cut short but never quite stayed organized, and a faint line of stubble covered a strong jaw that made him look more severe from a distance than he actually was.
His gray-blue maintenance shirt had the Hartwell Aviation Services emblem stitched above one pocket.
The other pocket held a mechanical pencil.
His hands were scarred in the small, ordinary ways of someone who worked around tools every day.
He was on his way to Hangar Three.
Nothing about him suggested he had any connection to Victoria’s helicopter.
Then the pilots attempted another start.
Ethan stopped walking.
He did not look at the executives.
He did not look at the manufacturer engineers.
He turned his head toward the aircraft.
The turbine starter engaged.
A rising mechanical whine crossed the tarmac.
Displays came alive inside the cockpit.
The sequence advanced.
Then stopped.
Silence.
Ethan remained still.
One of the ground technicians noticed him.
“You need through?”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
The technician followed Ethan’s gaze.
“They’ve been fighting that thing since Saturday.”
Ethan said nothing.
Another start attempt began.
This time he listened with his head tilted slightly.
Not dramatically.
Barely enough for anybody to notice.
The aircraft cycled.
The turbine began to accelerate.
Then the sequence terminated again.
Ethan’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
A small narrowing around the eyes.
The technician beside him noticed.
“What?”
Ethan looked at the helicopter.
“When did they change the batteries?”
The technician frowned.
“How do you know they changed them?”
Ethan finally looked at him.
“Did they?”
“Friday.”
“Before the fault?”
“Yeah.”
Ethan set down his diagnostic case.
Then another startup attempt began.
This time he closed his eyes.
Three seconds.
Four.
Five.
Shutdown.
Ethan opened his eyes.
“That’s early.”
“What’s early?”
“The cutoff.”
The technician listened as though the previous five seconds might replay themselves.
“It sounded normal.”
“No.”
Ethan picked up his case and started toward the aircraft.
Andrew Mercer saw him approaching.
The look on the engineer’s face was immediate.