60
“Thanks for not shoving me out midflight, Captain.”
“Our pleasure, ma’am.” The Air Force pilot was a patient man, but Holly knew she’d pushed his limits during the flight.
At a loss for where Elayne might have gone, she’d headed to rejoin Miranda on the fastest plane remaining at Diego Garcia—an ancient US Air Force KC-135 Stratotanker.
It had been developed from the same prototype—and at the same time—as the original Boeing 707. The newest one was fifty-five years old, this one was closer to sixty-five.
But it was still a jet, just thirteen miles an hour slower than the Falcon 7X would have gotten her there.
To the Air Force’s credit, it had only taken them twenty minutes to get the plane aloft from the end of Clarissa’s phone call, not that she’d ever admit her appreciation for
