“I will.”
That response earned the first genuine respect Marcus had felt since arriving at B12. He left the office at 7:42 p.m. Flight 447 was already taxiing. A government sedan arranged by the local federal office waited outside the terminal. Marcus climbed into the rear seat, set his messenger bag beside him, and finally allowed his hands to shake.
He looked down at them. They had been steady for more than an hour. Now, in private, they trembled hard enough that he interlocked his fingers. The driver, a federal protective-service officer named Malik Grant, looked at him in the mirror.
“You okay, sir?”
Marcus considered the question.
“No.”
Malik nodded.
“Fair answer.”
Marcus looked out the window as the terminal slid away. The city beyond the airport glowed in humid summer dusk. Planes climbed above the highway, their landing lights disappearing into cloud. Everything looked normal.
His phone vibrated again. Secretary Elaine Morrison. Marcus answered.
“Madam Secretary.”
“Marcus, drop the title. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Were you arrested?”
“No.”
“Was the passport actually torn apart?”
“Yes.”
Morrison swore quietly.
“I’ve seen the video.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Marcus rested his head against the seat.
“There is going to be pressure to turn this into tomorrow’s hearing.”
“There already is.”
“We need discipline.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m recusing from any Meridian enforcement action tied directly to today.”
“I expected that.”
“General Counsel should appoint a clean team. Inspector General if necessary. State handles the passport. Airport police handles the property destruction and local conduct. Our aviation consumer office can provide existing complaint data but I don’t touch the case decisions.”
Morrison was silent for a moment.
“You’re very good at being furious.”
“I’m trying not to be.”
“No, you’re trying to be useful while furious. Different thing.”
Marcus watched highway lights stream past.
“What is the public reaction?”
“Bad.”
“For me or Meridian?”
“For civilization, mostly.”