Chapter 4

The plate read:

OWNED BY KESTREL AIR LEASING LTD. ON LEASE TO NORTHBRIDGE AIR

Every Northbridge captain walked past that plate every flight. It was part of the cabin, like the row numbers, like the light switches - a fact you registered once as a new hire and never thought about again, the way you never think about who owns the building you work in.

Amara looked back at the card in the woman's hand.

IRIS M. BALLARD OWNER KESTREL AIR LEASING LTD.

"I'd like your name for the report," Amara said.

"Iris Ballard."

The cabin heard it. Somewhere behind her a phone was still up, and Amara did not look at it.

"Mr. Sloane."

"She printed that card," Victor said. "Anybody can print a-"

"This aircraft," Amara said, "does not belong to Northbridge Air."

She said it plainly, in her working voice, the one she used for turbulence and diversions. Nobody moved. Victor's mouth stayed open around whatever he had been about to say.

"We lease it," she said. "We lease it from Kestrel Air Leasing. The lessee is named on that plate. You walked past it when you boarded."

"That's paperwork," he said. "That's a shell company."

"That is the owner of this aircraft," Amara said. "And you asked me to have her searched and removed."

Tamsin's phone came down. Slowly. She understood before her husband did - Iris watched it happen, watched the woman's eyes travel from the credential to the plate to the four gold stripes, doing the arithmetic Victor was still refusing to do.

"I'd like the case closed now," Amara said to Iris. "And I'd like to keep this simple."

"Please," Iris said.

Amara turned. "Mr. Sloane. Mrs. Sloane. You'll be reseated in the last row for this flight. The station manager will meet you at the gate in Dublin." A pause. "A security allegation against another passenger becomes a written report. That report goes to the lessor."

"Wait-"

"You made it a matter of record," Amara said. "It's a matter of record."

Renn had gone the color of old paper. He offered Iris any seat on the aircraft - row one, both seats, anything at all - and his voice was not entirely steady. Iris said no, thank you. She liked the window.

Then she looked at Tamsin.

"The recording," she said.

Tamsin blinked. "What?"

"You made one. Attach it to the report." Iris closed the lid and pressed the latches down, one, then the other. "You'll want it there."

The cabin settled back into itself - phones, headphones, the soft chime at the door.

Iris put the key in her tote and opened her paperback.

She had read three pages when the captain came back down the aisle and leaned in, close, so that no one else could hear.

"Ms. Ballard. Dublin has called twice." Amara's voice was careful now. "They need to know whether you still intend to sign at noon."

Iris looked across the aisle. Victor was being walked aft by the purser, garment bag over one arm, gold watch catching the cabin light.

She didn't answer.