Chapter 20, part 1

The air was cold and the sky overcast, giving the day a dull gray quality. The water in the Thames seemed murky and almost brown, but the tree under which Alice sat was shedding yellow leaves, and they moved on the wind in an intricate dance. Alice was watching them, her mind pleasantly blank for the moment.

The debriefing had taken almost two hours, so far; she had described all the events aboard the plane in great detail—in fact, most post-mission debriefs weren't as detailed. Four people had assisted at the interview: Derby, Lancaster, another policeman—this one from the Metro division—Chief Inspector Robert O'Donnel and a representative of the Home Office named Terrence Durnham. So far, they'd asked few questions, aside from requesting a couple specifics while she talked, but they were not finished yet—they merely called a recess for lunch. Alice took the opportunity to step outside and get a bit of air. Nobody stopped her, but she knew they were watching her. She wondered idly if they let McQueen and the flight attendants go by now—Antonia and Jenny had been brought to London as well, but each of them had their interview in a separate room and with different people. Although Alice had a suspicion that her crowd might have been somewhat bigger than the others'.

"Major Boyd?" A voice said from behind her and she looked over her shoulder. A man in a bluish-gray uniform and a cap of the same color stood a few paces behind the park bench on which she was sitting. He had three light blue stripes on each sleeve, just above the cuff, a few ribbons on his chest and a sewn-in badge with wings above them. "Sorry to intrude. I'm Wing Commander Andrew Powell. We spoke on the radio."

"Of course." She stood up, feeling a bit inadequate in her jeans and leather jacket—not to mention her bloody sneakers, the most vivid reminder of the man she'd killed only a few hours ago, and the two pilots whose blood she'd had to step on in the cockpit. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander."

They shook hands. "I had to come down here to congratulate you personally on an excellent landing, ma'am. I have to admit I had my concerns, but you've proved me wrong and performed brilliantly," he said with an earnest smile.

"Well, I don't blame you, sir, you had no reason to trust me and my behavior must have seemed a little reckless to you," she allowed with a crooked smile of her own. "But, all's well that ends well, as they say."

"And it certainly did, thanks to you." He nodded gravely. "I want to thank you for saving us from having to shoot down a plane full of civilians," he added. "That is not an achievement any of us would like to have on record. We owe you."

"No, you don't. I only did what anyone would under those circumstances." She shrugged.

"Anyone?" He repeated with a twinkle in his eye.

She smirked. "Well, anyone with a bit of training."

"Either way, ma'am, we are in your debt. If there is ever anything the Royal Air Force can do for you, please let us know—we would welcome an opportunity to settle the score," he announced with humor.

"I'll keep that in mind," she promised lightly. Then she looked at her watch. It was almost time. "I've gotta get back, they want to grill me some more. It was nice meeting you, Commander."

"Likewise, Major—a pleasure and a privilege," he said gallantly, straightened to attention, and gave her a little bow. She replied with a similar gesture and then he walked away one way, and she turned to the other.

Back inside, she made a short stop at a bathroom, and then found the room where the interview was taking place. She wondered what else they could possibly want from her—she had already told them everything that happened that morning. She had a feeling they'd move on to more personal questions now and, as much as she wanted to appear cooperative, she was not looking forward to that.

Only Lancaster was back in the room when she entered. The remainder of their lunch was still on the table—foam containers and empty cans of soda—but he had pushed them to one side to make room for some papers which he was perusing.

"Welcome back, Major," he greeted her, closing a folder with a snap. "How are you feeling?"

"Ready to get this over with," she replied with a cocked eyebrow, trying to read the title on the file, but he put his hands on it, as if by accident.

"You sure you don't want to eat anything more? You've hardly touched your food," he encouraged, waving at the now-cold pasta.

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not hungry," she declared, taking a seat. "But I'd kill for a cup of coffee," she added longingly.

He snickered. "I don't think you'll have to resort to murder," he told her, getting up. He walked over to the door and stuck his head out to call for someone and Alice sneaked a furtive glance at the folder. It merely said Boyd, A. J.

"Coffee will be here in a minute," Lancaster said, coming back. "They'll bring biscuits, too, if you change your mind about eating."

Alice merely shook her head.

A moment later, someone came in with a tray containing a pot of coffee, some cups, and a plateful of cookies. They cleaned up the empty food containers and cans and left without a word.

"Sugar, milk?" Lancaster asked as he poured her a cup.

"No thanks, I take my coffee black and unsweetened," she replied. Like my soul, she added in her head, not entirely ironically.

"Biscuit?" He offered her the pastry and Alice accepted one.

"We call them cookies on our side of the pond," she informed him with a small smile.

"You heathens," he joked and they both had a good chuckle.

It was only a couple more minutes before Derby, O'Donnel and Durnham came back.

"I'm so sorry that it's taking so long, Major," Durnham apologized solicitously. "I promise you we'll be done very soon, we just have a few more questions and then you're free to go."

Alice cocked one eyebrow. "Am I not free to go now?"

He looked flustered for a moment. "Of course, ma'am, you are not under arrest or anything, I just meant—"

She took pity on him. "Relax, Mr. Durnham, I'm just yanking your chain," she interrupted. "Happy to help any way I can."

"We appreciate your cooperation, Major," Chief Inspector O'Donnel said conciliatorily. "This is going to be the biggest terrorism-related trial in recent years, if not ever," he added. "We need to sure up all our evidence for the prosecution, and that includes witness statements. This case has to be absolutely iron-clad."

"But you do expect me to have to testify at the actual trial, too, don't you?" She clarified.

"Yes, ma'am, there is no doubt about that," he confirmed. "As to whether your testimony will be public—" he exchanged a look with Lancaster "—there is some debate over that. Apparently neither your government nor ours are very eager to release your details."

"That should not come as a surprise." Alice glanced at the detective inspector and the MI5 agent. "I mean, you've literally heard me ask my CO to help me keep my name under wraps."

"I'm surprised it worked," Lancaster admitted. "Your Commanding Officer must have some serious pull."

You've got no idea, she thought, but she didn't say it; she merely smiled.

"Now, whether your testimony at the trial is public or not, you will have to face the defense's cross-examination, and they're sure as hell to use any possible avenue that will present itself to them," Durnham said, pouring himself a cup of coffee and adding four sugars. "We need to make sure that the prosecution has all the facts so they can anticipate those attacks."

"You mean that the defense will try to discredit me as a witness," Alice summed up, nodding. "It wouldn't be the first time my character would be questioned in court."

"You've been in court often?" O'Donnel asked innocently, but she knew it had started: probing her for weaknesses. She sighed.

"Courts-martial, two of them, I was a witness both times," she replied. "But I'm sure it's in that personnel file you've got there," she added with a sarcastic smirk.

Durnham and O'Donnel exchanged a look. The latter man reached for the folder.

"We've just had this e-mailed from your Pentagon," he explained, opening the file. "It's not particularly illuminating." He leafed through the pages to show her: most of the text was blacked out. "The only things that aren't erased are the record of your first two years in the Air Force, the three years it took you to get a PhD, the citations for your medals and the mention of these two military trials—but only one actually specifies the content of the case."

"Well, at least that means they decided not to feed you the cover story." She shrugged. "But if you're looking for more information than that, then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. I will not be able to tell you much more."

"It explains your cavalier attitude towards getting shot, at least," Derby put in. "Three Purple Hearts, is it? You've only shown us the one scar."

"There were more, it just didn't seem relevant." She smirked. "Doesn't seem relevant now, either."

"Oh, it's not, I'm just curious," he admitted with a smile.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Just ask your questions, please, and let's get this over with."

"Okay, I have a question," Durnham declared, leaning back in his chair. "Who are you, really?"

Alice arched her eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

"The others—the flight attendants and Mr. McQueen—they all said the same thing about you: you were so calm, collected and reassuring throughout the entire thing that it made them feel better, gave them hope. Weren't you scared at all?"

Alice meditated over the answer for a moment, and then decided to go with the truth. "No. I was concerned, of course, but men with guns don't scare me. I'm trained to deal with them. I'm also trained to fly, so landing a plane, even if one unfamiliar to me, is not something I'm afraid of, either. I usually don't have two hundred and thirty civilians in tow, but dealing with unpredictable circumstances is part of what I do."

"And what is it that you actually do?"

"I can't give you any specifics, I'm sorry," Alice replied, shrugging.

"But you are an F-16 pilot?"

"I used to be. I don't get to fly much anymore."

"That's the part I don't understand," O'Donnel interjected. "Your Air Force invested probably thousands of dollars into your training and then they just let you go do something else?"

"They didn't let me, they ordered me," she contradicted and then sighed. "There are specific circumstances that made my skill set more desirable in another position."

"What skill set would that be, exactly?" He asked, and there was just a hint of mocking in his tone.

She just smiled blandly at him.

"Well, we know you can fly a plane, shoot straight, take down a man twice your size in hand-to-hand, and open a door that's designed to keep you out," Lancaster summarized. "Sounds to me like a skill set of a spy." He smirked, but the look he threw Derby was quite probing.

"That's an interesting conclusion," she said with heavy sarcasm. She didn't tell him he was wrong, though—because he wasn't, not exactly. After all, wasn't her undercover work with the Lucian Alliance sort of an intelligence operation?

Derby's eyes were piercing as they bored into hers, but he didn't question her.

"Why is everything about you so deeply classified?" Lancaster asked, a little frustrated, it seemed.

Alice shrugged. It was a rhetorical question.

"I—" He began, but then stopped as at that moment, a little light started blinking on the phone that sat in the middle of the table.

Derby picked it up, then looked at Alice again, his eyebrows raised. "It's the Prime Minister—for you, Major."

Alice cocked an eyebrow, too, and took the offered receiver. "Hello?"

"Major Boyd!" The familiar voice exclaimed. "I did not expect to be talking to you ever again after our meeting in July, yet here you are—saving us from a devastating terrorist attack!" He paused for a moment, but since Alice didn't offer any comments, he continued after a beat: "I've just been briefed on the details of your heroic actions—it seems like we owe you a big debt of gratitude. I wanted to call and thank you personally. You've saved many lives today, and the soul of our kingdom, too."

His last words made little sense to Alice, so she frowned a little. "Um, thank you, sir—I'm just happy that I was able to help."

"Help? I heard you single-handedly took down the terrorists and landed the plane! Isn't that correct?"

"Yes, sir, it is—but you and I both know that it's not that big of a deal. With what I do and everything that happened—"

"Yes, I know," he interrupted her. "And I realize that what you do out there is very important and much more dangerous, but this is where we live in. This planet is our home, these people are our people—and they're alive because of you. Not to mention that everything about the Stargate Program is secret, and terrorist attacks are very public—and therefore much scarier to the nation at large."

Ah. So that's what you mean, she thought. You're just delighted that you don't have another Lockerbie on your hands. It was the deadliest terrorist attack in British history—in 1988, a Pan Am Flight 103 had exploded mid-air over the Scottish town of Lockerbie, killing two hundred and seventy people in total, including eleven people on the ground as parts of the aircraft literally crashed onto their heads.

"We were very lucky you were there," he continued. "When I think about what could have happened if they succeeded at getting to their target… it would have been disastrous. We haven't told them yet they were targeted, of course, but I expect they will want to thank you personally, too."

Alice was confused. "They, sir?"

"Derby hasn't told you? Ah, well, I'll let him explain. Either way, I just wanted to give you my sincerest thanks."

"Well, it's not necessary, sir, but I appreciate that."

"Alright. Can you pass me Derby, please? Or, better yet, put me on speakerphone, I want Durnham to hear this, too."

"Yes, sir." She bent over the phone and hit the right button. "You are on speakerphone, sir."

"Gentlemen, your boss told me all about your questions, and all I can say is that I personally have the utmost confidence in Major Boyd's integrity and abilities. You will not dig into her work history, I forbid it. It won't be part of the trial, either—when we get that far. These are matters of national security, nay, global security, so we'll do everything to protect that."

"Yes, sir," Durnham replied, looking at Alice with his eyebrows arched all the way up—making him look almost grotesque.

"Good," the Prime Minister declared. "Oh, and Derby, you can tell her everything you've found from the terrorists." There was a click and the line went dead. Alice replaced the receiver, restraining the urge to smirk.

"Well, that probably gave you more questions than answers, I'd imagine," she told the four men.

"Can't argue with that assessment," Derby agreed with a small sardonic smile. "It's not often that we get an order directly from the PM, though, so we can't dig deeper here."

"He seems to trust you a lot," O'Donnel noted, frowning. "More than us, in fact."

"I'm sure that's not true," Alice contradicted leniently. "It's just that he knows what I do, and what I do is highly classified."

"Well, he did just tell us to give you details that are not for public consumption yet," Derby said, the smile still on his lips. "Means he trusts you won't divulge them, either."

"I know how to keep my mouth shut," she reassured him. "From what he's said, I take it you know what was the hijackers' target?"

"They aren't very forthcoming, so far," O'Donnel said reluctantly. "But we have enough intel to make an educated guess. Tom?"

"See, when you first gave us their seat numbers, we've checked on the passenger manifest," Lancaster began. "All four of them have boarded the plane under false identities—American ones, in fact. We've managed to identify two out of four, so far, and only because they had previously been a subject of investigation by local police for ties to a fringe group of anti-royalists who's been stirring some trouble."

Alice blinked as it all clicked for her, all of a sudden.

"Wait, are you saying they were targeting the Buckingham Palace? They wanted to kill the Queen—with a plane?"

"Not just the Queen—most of the Royal Family was supposed to be there today, ahead of the Remembrance Day. If they had succeeded, they would've taken out most of the Family and destroyed a lasting symbol of our Kingdom."

"Damn," she murmured. "That's ambitious. You would've had your own 9/11. Not just people dead, but symbols attacked, too… Not a military power seat, perhaps, but a seat of power nonetheless." Alice was nineteen in 2001, and she felt the attacks as deeply as anyone in the country—but she didn't have anyone on the East Coast at that time: Aaron had just come home after spending four years in college in New York, and neither of her uncles were anywhere near Washington yet. It was horrible, but it wasn't personal. But she thought back to her time in the future—how the Pentagon had looked, riddled with impact craters where Wraith kamikaze darts crashed, the dead silence inside except for the rustle of wind, the water dripping here and there, the heavy construction creaking and sighing as if it was going to give in and bury her under, everything dark and coated in a heavy layer of dust. And then the thousands of dead bodies on streets of Washington, wearing foul weather gear and all green, putrefying, decomposing… there was no doubt that the Lambs of God chose that city for a reason, that street—Pennsylvania Avenue, the road that bridged the White House with the Capitol… symbols, all symbols, to be destroyed to strip away the survivors' pride and confidence. "I didn't know the anti-royalist attitudes were so hot."

"They aren't," Lancaster contradicted. "Like I said, it's a fringe group—maybe twenty regular members, or at least that's how many we're aware of. Still, it might not be connected to it—but we found no other relevant connections for these two. We're still working on identifying the other two, maybe this will tell us more."

Alice shook her head pensively. "But why would they choose this flight? It's quite a long one—wouldn't it have been easier to pick something that originated from another European country? Or even from within the UK?"

"Well, our working theory is that they chose to fly from America because it reduced the chances of being identified. If they had succeeded, the remains might not be easy to identify and if we believed they were Americans, we wouldn't be looking for them in our databases."

Alice frowned, thinking. "That's a possibility. There's another one, though," she said after a moment. "Have you considered that they might have chosen the States because it accorded them easy access to guns?" She saw their blank stares, so she elaborated: "As far as I know, it is difficult to purchase a gun in any European country, including Great Britain. They might not have had the contacts required to do it illegally, it's not like just any random person knows a weapons dealer, right?" She shook her head again. "But our gun laws are, well, less than stringent. In Colorado, you don't need a license or a permit to buy a gun. There aren't even background checks. They could've just walked into a store, bought what they wanted, and walked out."

"That's an astute point," O'Donnel said, looking significantly at Lancaster. The detective nodded, rose and stepped out of the room. "We'll be cooperating with your FBI on this case, maybe they can trace the gun sale."

"I wonder how they managed to smuggle the guns aboard, though," Alice commented offhandedly.

"We know," O'Donnel replied with a frustrated sigh. "Believe it or not, they managed to hide those guns inside laptops. They removed some internal parts, put the guns in along with some chips and wires, screwed in normal covers and voila—the airport scanners couldn't pick them up on normal sensitivity, and I assume your security did not see a reason to try to increase it."

Alice nodded. "They were swamped yesterday," she recalled. "I was traveling without checked baggage, so I had some travel-sized toiletries in my carry-on. They barely glanced at the bag." She shook her head. "Ingenious. And it explains something Antonia told me—two of them went to the lavatories with their bags. They probably had those laptops in them, and needed a moment to reopen them. It also explains why they only had pocket pistols."

"Small enough to hide in the laptops." O'Donnel looked around his shoulder as someone entered the room, but it was just Lancaster, returning.

"They'll let the FBI know," the detective informed him, sitting back down.

"So what would happen if they managed to reach Heathrow and wouldn't land when they were ordered to?" Alice asked. "Would your RAF shoot down the plane?"

"If they could," Derby replied, grimacing. "There's just, like, thirteen miles from Heathrow to Buckingham Palace in a straight line. Because that hijacker in the cockpit has been talking to the ATC, they would have had no cause for alarm until the plane was literally above the airport—and it might've been too late to scramble a jet, even if the RAF got the order immediately."

Alice nodded thoughtfully. "Thirteen miles, at one hundred and thirty knots approach speed, that's five minutes, tops. And that if they were approaching from the west, they could've made a loop around and approach from the east. That would put the Palace almost directly in their way."

"Either way, it's unlikely that the RAF would've managed to shoot it down," O'Donnel commented. "All because they were able to get a hijacker into the cockpit. That stupid little stewardess let him right in!" He shook his head angrily. "If she only did her damn job—"

"They threatened to start killing passengers," Alice interrupted, a little ticked off by his judgmental words.

"Better for all the passengers to die than terrorists to take over a plane!" He huffed with indignation.

"Remember, she didn't know their endgame," Alice reasoned. "It's not very difficult to say what should've been done once we have the benefit of hindsight, but you have to make your assessment based on the intel available at the time. Plus, she was young and scared…" She hesitated, looking up pensively. "And I wonder if that was just a coincidence or part of the plan?"

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it, if some other flight attendant was there at the time—maybe Antonia, or the purser—they would probably act differently. But what did our hijackers do? They split up to ensure that none of them knew what the others were doing, and they killed the purser and the other senior flight attendant who were resting at the time. What if they knew what the split of responsibilities would be ahead of time, what if they knew young Kayla would be serving the First Class today? Is this something that's agreed ahead of time, and if yes, who would know about it?"

O'Donnel blinked quickly. "I don't know. But we're gonna find out."

"You're a real treasure trove of potential avenues of investigation, Major," Durnham noted with a bit of a sarcastic grin. "Any other thoughts?"

"Nope, I'm all tapped out," she answered lightly, leaning back and returning his not-too-pleasant smile. "Any more questions for me?"

"Just one. What was your purpose in coming to our fair country today?"

Alice cocked an eyebrow. "It was personal." He responded with a blank stare, so she sighed, sat up straighter in her chair, and added: "I came to visit a grave of someone I used to know."

"Who?" Durnham pressed, his eyes intense.

She sighed again. "Why does it matter?" Then she shook her head. "His name was Sergeant Basil Karim, he was from your SAS, assigned to an international contingent, he was in my unit for three years. I didn't go to his funeral—I couldn't, uhm, due to injury." It was a lie, of course—she had been injured, but it wasn't the reason why she hadn't come.

"And what made you decide to come now?"

"He was under my command. I feel responsible for his death." She shrugged. "Someone told me visiting his grave might bring some closure, so I thought I'd try that."

Durnham looked like he wasn't satisfied with her answer, but Derby spoke up before he could.

"Thank you, Major. That will be all from our side, at this time. Thank you for your cooperation. We will be in further contact with you on next steps—our legal proceedings are probably a bit different than yours. First thing we'll need is a written witness statement—but you don't need to worry about it today. We can help you with it in a few days—"

"That won't be possible, I'm afraid," Alice interrupted him. "I'm going back home on Monday."

This threw the group a little.

"But—the investigation isn't over!" Durnham blurted. "We need a few days at least, there might be new questions coming to light—"

"And I'll be happy to answer them," Alice assured him calmly. "We do have this thing called the Internet, don't we? We can video-chat or whatever. But I need to be back at work on Tuesday."

"I'm sure your superiors will understand if—"

"It's not about that." She shook her head emphatically. "I have—uh, a thing to do. It can't be done by anyone else and it can't be moved to another time. It's a little more important than your investigation."

Durnham gaped at her, silent for the moment, as if the suggestion that there was anything more important was too much for him to handle.

"Well, if that's the case, then I'd suggest you stay a little longer and produce the written statement right away," O'Donnel said, his brow furrowed. "Lancaster will help you."

Alice nodded. "Not a problem. I do want to cooperate, sir, I just—I have other things to think about."

"Clear." Derby announced and stood up. "Well, we thank you for all your help, Major. We'll leave you to it, now. Sorry we took so long of your day, hope you can enjoy your short stay in London nevertheless."

"Well, I didn't come here to enjoy myself, exactly," she murmured, getting to her feet. "So don't worry about it."

He smiled, quite nicely she thought, and extended his hand. She shook it, and then repeated the gesture with O'Donnel and Durnham. Lancaster stayed behind, produced a sheet of paper from another folder on the table, and started explaining the template of the statement she was to write up.

The pub was crowded, almost as much as that day in July when she had stumbled her way into it for the first time. There was no sports match on the TV this time, however; it was showing two talking heads, but the sound was muted, so the only indication of what they were discussing was a red news ticker that said A British Airways flight hijack in big white capital letters, with a smaller font below that proclaimed An American Air Force Officer said to have foiled a hijack attempt that left 4 crewmembers dead.

So it made the news. Hope they kept their promise and left my name out of it, Alice thought, taking a seat at the bar. She flagged the bartender and asked for a Martini—a normal one, this time. She was not planning on repeating history tonight.

She sat, sipping her drink, for a long time, listening to the crowd all around her. Most conversations seemed quite inane, but there was a couple standing nearby that was passionately arguing over Kierkegaard and Heidegger whom Alice listened to for a while with genuine pleasure. Eventually, though, they drained their beers and moved on from the pub, and she was drowned again in conversations about sports, people's jobs and families—and the news, of which the biggest headliner was the hijack attempt, and she had little interest in listening to that.

She finished the Martini and was about to get off her seat to leave, when the door opened, letting in the cool air of a November evening, and she instinctively looked at the newcomers: a tall blonde man and a pretty brunette girl on his arm. The man looked around, noticed Alice—she saw his eyes widen in surprise—and then he bent, whispered something to his companion's ear, and walked towards the bar.

"Hello," he said with a grin, sliding onto the stool next to Alice. "Fancy meeting you here!"

She smiled back. "Hey, Jake. I had a feeling I might find you here on a Saturday night. If you hadn't come, I'd visit you tomorrow morning—I still remember where you live."

"Why didn't you just call me?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"I gave you my number, you never gave me yours," she told him with a smirk.

"Ah, oversight!" He chuckled, then looked around at his companion and caught the sight of the TV. "When'd you get here?"

"This bar or London?" She asked, a bit mockingly, and he rolled her eyes at her. "This morning."

"So… that was you?" He nodded towards the TV.

She merely smiled, and then turned to pick up her purse. She pulled a box wrapped in a colorful paper out of it and handed it to Jake.

"What's that?"

"I was gonna mail it in, but then I found myself on this trip unexpectedly and it seemed fitting to give it to you personally. Just a small token of thanks for being a decent guy. Not everyone is," she said, her voice quiet.

He tore the paper to look at the box. "It's a Chinook model!" He exclaimed with a huge grin. "Aw, that's so kind and thoughtful—thank you!"

She nodded. "Now, you should go back to your date."

He looked back at her with a delighted smile. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" He shook his head and glanced at Alice again. "It's our third date today and I already think she's a keeper."

"Good. Then go and tell her what a knight in a shining armor you were when you helped me. That's should impress her."

"I already did." He flashed her a full set of teeth. "But now I get to prove it!" And he picked up the box with the model kit and shook it a bit to make a point.

Alice chuckled. "Indeed. Now, go and have fun."

"Thanks, you too!" He went to rejoin his date, wrapping a hand over her shoulder and already speaking to her in hushed tones. She looked at Alice curiously, but then they disappeared from view as Jake led her to the back of the room.

"Who's the guy?" Another familiar voice asked and, to Alice's surprise, John Derby materialized next to her. He took the seat Jake had just freed, looking at Alice with a cocked eyebrow.

She shook her head, unsure if she was more amused or frustrated. "I should've known I'd have a shadow."

"Her Majesty's government would hate it if something happened to you after all you've done today." He sent her a little sardonic smile and then nodded towards the direction Jake had gone. "So who's the guy?"

Alice sighed. "Just someone I'd met the last time I was here. Why, you suspect I have nefarious intentions?"

"Not at all," he replied with another little ironic smirk and then he flagged the bartender. "Whiskey, neat, for me, and—what were you drinking before?"

"Martini, but I'm good with water now."

"Oh, come on, you've gotta let me buy you a drink." His grin now was openly mocking. Then he addressed the bartender. "Martini for the lady."

"Coming right up."

"Are you allowed to drink on duty?" Alice asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'm not on duty anymore." He winked at her.

"Oh? Then why are you here?"

"Because I want to be here," he said, throwing her a significant look.

"Oh." She finally understood and rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything because the bartender was back, putting glasses in front of them. She waited until he scuttled away to the other side of the bar. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but I'm not interested."

He didn't seem particularly put off. "Because of that boy?" He asked lightly.

"Jake? No. Jake's just a… an acquaintance," she explained, then sighed and took a sip of the Martini. "Last time I came to London, I ended up here, in this bar, downing Vodka Martinis… That was the first time in my life I got blackout drunk," she admitted with a tentative smile. "Apparently, I didn't even remember which hotel I was staying at, so Jake took me home, let me sleep it off in his bed, and then made me breakfast in the morning, judgment-free. I didn't properly thank him then, so I came here today in hopes of running into him, and what do you know—I was right."

"You were lucky," he told her with a bit of a frown. "Not every man would have the—restraint to not take advantage of the situation. You are a very beautiful woman," he added matter-of-factly.

Alice huffed. "Thanks, I guess. And I know, that's why I wanted to come thank him."

"But a helicopter model?"

"Jake's ex-RAF, he told me he was a Chinook loadmaster." She shrugged.

"Nice." He nodded. "A small, but thoughtful gift. But you should be more careful."

"Don't I know it," she murmured. "Why do you think I didn't want that second Martini?"

"But you're safe with me," he declared, his voice low.

"No offense, Mr. Derby, but I don't know you." She took another little sip of the drink and then stole a glance at him. He didn't seem offended, but he was watching her intently. "You've read my file," she added reluctantly. "You know what that second court-martial was about."

"I do. All the more reason to keep an eye on you while I can," he said, one eyebrow up. "Then if not the boy, what is it? Are you already spoken for?" There was a fair amount of doubt in his voice, and, for reasons she didn't understand, it irked her a little.

"That's a bit of a sexist phrase, don't you think?" She retorted coldly.

"It's just an expression." His other eyebrow joined the first one on his forehead. "Come on, just give me something. Don't you think I'm handsome enough?"

She snorted. "You don't pull any punches, do you?" She shook her head. "It's not about you, Mr. Derby."

"Please—call me John."

"John, then." She sighed and paused for a long moment; he didn't interrupt. "You remember what I said about why I came here?"

"I do." He nodded, his face scrunching into a frown. "To visit a grave of someone who died under your command. You said you felt responsible for his death."

"I do. And, uh…" She looked down at her drink. "There's more to it. I cared about him—more than I should've. I came to say goodbye. I mean… we never retrieved his body so they buried an empty coffin, but—I mean—what I'm trying to say is that it would feel like a betrayal," she finished, a little lamely.

"You can't betray someone who's dead," he reasoned, but his voice was quiet, subdued.

She swallowed hard. "My brain agrees, but my heart knows better."

They were both silent for a moment. Then he sighed. "Okay, then. You know, I'm sure I've sensed a vibe from you—and I'm never wrong about those things. But I get it. You're not done grieving."

"Not even close," she agreed softly, still not looking at him. Was she giving off a vibe? He was a handsome man, that was clear, but she hadn't seen him in that way until she understood why he'd come. It was a repeating pattern in her life—it was usually men coming onto her that made her even consider the possibility. Until they made a move, she treated them like friends or acquaintances (or, in some cases, as strangers, because that's what they were), and never even thought about attraction. The only outlier was Karim—and it took her over two years to see it…

"Well, when you're ready, I'll still be interested," Derby told her gently.

She shook her head. "Why? You've known me all of—" she looked at her watch "—ten hours."

"I know enough." He chuckled quietly. "I know you're beautiful, smart, kind-hearted and very, very strong. And I love strong women." He bent over his whiskey glass—almost empty by now—and looked at her sideways, flashing her a bit of a predatory smile. "It's a big turn-on."

She had to laugh at that. "Oh, how subtle you are!" And then she shook her head again. "You wouldn't say that if you really knew me."

He frowned. "What are you talking about? I've listened to the recordings from your conversations with the Air Traffic Controllers, I've seen you right after you've landed and when you were telling the whole story… you were stone cold. I've never seen anything like it, and I know a lot of big, strong men."

She snickered at that, but then grew more serious. "The thing you don't realize is that all of that was my comfort zone. I know it's counterintuitive to most people, but trust me when I say it, I'd rather deal with terrorists every day than go to a party with strangers or—or think about the future…" She sighed deeply. "I'm not the best at social interactions. I can't read people, and so I get lost in social cues and double-meanings. I've gotten better at it in the past few years, but it's still my least favorite thing to do."

"I didn't notice. You're okay talking to me," he noted.

Alice smiled at him wanly. "That's because you're one of those people."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how it is to—to pull that trigger, or to jump off a cliff with nothing but desperate hope that you can deploy the parachute before you hit the ground." She cocked her head to the side, looking at him with an arched eyebrow. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You aren't," he admitted, a little grudgingly. "And here you said you couldn't read people."

"I've known people like you. Strong, silent, reserved… with that something in your eye like you've seen too much." She shrugged and then winked. "Apparently, I have a type."

"Ah!" He smirked sardonically. "Do you, now? Good to know."

She rolled her eyes and took the last sip of her Martini, draining the glass. "I think it's time for me."

"Aw, so early? Come on, stay a little longer. You can drink soda now," he said persuasively, but she didn't buy it.

"Thanks, but I've gotta get to my hotel. I'm tired," she lied. She was tired, but it wasn't why she wanted to leave. She felt that if she stayed, she would've been tempted to drink more alcohol—and she was worried what she could do under the influence.

"Alright, that's fair," he admitted. "You did have a bit of a day."

She started taking out her wallet from the purse, but he put his hand over hers to stop her. "Come on, I bought you that drink."

"I need to pay for the first one," she protested, snatching her hand away from his, upset at how nice his touch had felt.

"It's on me," he insisted, pulling out his own wallet and throwing one purple bill on the counter.

"Thanks," she murmured and got up. "I should go."

"I'll walk you to your hotel," he said, and it didn't seem like a question or even a suggestion—just a statement of fact.

"It's just five minutes from here," she protested. "I think I'll be alright."

"I have no doubt about that." He shrugged. "Shall we go?"

Alice rolled her eyes, but decided not to throw a fit. They walked out together into the cold, November night. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"So what happens now?" She asked eventually. "With the investigation, I mean."

"It'll go on for a while. Depending on how the terrorists plead, we may or may not need you to come back to testify in court. If they plead not guilty, then the case will be heard in the Crown Court."

"Is there any incentive for them to plead anything but not guilty?" Alice shrugged. "You guys don't have the death penalty, do you?"

"No. Pleading guilty would usually lead to a reduced sentence compared to what you'd receive if you'd been convicted following a not guilty plea—but I doubt this will be true in this case. I don't see what kind of defense these guys can mount, but I'd be surprised if pleading guilty had any impact on the length of their sentence. They're going to prison for life—the only question is whether it'll be whole life or if they'll have a possibility of parole after a number of years."

Alice mulled it through for a moment. "Will they be tried separately or together?"

"Most likely together. Why? What are you thinking?"

"Well, two of them are murderers as well as hijackers," she noted. "But the third one didn't kill anyone."

"I doubt he'll get much leniency for that," he reassured her with a ruthless little smile. "When everyone learns who was the real target, there'll be a public outcry to give them the highest possible sentence, no matter what individual charges will be brought."

"But you're not sure of the target yet," she reminded him.

"No, but it's not gonna change. Fits too snugly." He shrugged, halting. They were at Alice's hotel.

"Well, thanks for the talk," Alice said, turning to face him. "See you, perhaps, at the trial."

"Wait, won't I even get a goodnight kiss for my chivalry? I did just walk you home through the dark and dangerous neighborhood," he gibed.

Alice rolled her eyes and pivoted around. "Goodbye, John!" She called and heard him laugh just before she got through the door.