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“Crossing aircraft. Heading two-three-five at Flight Level Two-eight-zero.”
At the pilot’s announcement, Taz looked up at the ceiling of the C-130, then felt foolish. First, there were no windows there. Second, they would already be gone by as the flight was heading southwest to their own east. Third, two-eight-zero was twenty-eight thousand feet. Their own plane was almost four miles lower at eight thousand feet.
It was the third crossing flight of the night. Not important.
Except that Jeremy was also looking at their plane’s ceiling with a puzzled look on his face.
“What?” She didn’t know why she was whispering.
Jeremy shook his head.
“What?”
He glanced up again. Then over at Mike.
Mike sat in the corner where the hull met the aft bulkhead of the weapons control space. On the
