It was unlike anything Mara had seen in commercial aviation. Sleek. Dark. No visible markings. No identification. It looked like the kind of plane built not to be seen and not to be tracked.
“That’s not a commercial aircraft,” Mara said quietly. “And it’s definitely not friendly.”
The radio burst to life through a wave of static.
Then a voice came through.
Cold. Distorted. Speaking English with an accent Mara could not place.
“Flight 417, you are off course. Adjust to the coordinates transmitted to your system.”
The captain looked at Mara in horror.
“They’re communicating directly with us.”
Mara picked up the radio microphone. Years of military procedure returned without effort.
“This is a civilian aircraft on a scheduled transatlantic route. Identify yourself and state your intentions.”
There was a pause.
Then the voice came back.
“Flight 417, comply or face consequences.”
The unknown aircraft banked closer and cut across their path in a maneuver so aggressive the entire plane shuddered. From behind the cockpit door came the sound of gasps and screams rising from the cabin.
“They’re trying to force us off course,” Mara said, keeping her voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through her.
“They want us to follow that flight path to the remote coordinates.”
“What do we do?” the first officer asked, his hands shaking on the controls.
Mara looked at the instruments, then at the radar, calculating speed, altitude, distance, and angle. In her mind, she was back in the cockpit of an F-16, facing hostile aircraft over foreign territory.
The training had never left her.
The instincts had never died.
“We do not comply,” she said.
“And we do not let them intimidate us.”
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