The screen of his terminal didn't display the stolen maintenance logs. Instead, a massive, flashing red warning icon appeared, accompanied by a line of text that began to scroll rapidly across the screen in a continuous loop:
*CRITICAL SECURITY BREACH. MALWARE INTRUSION DETECTED. SYSTEM ISOLATION IN PROGRESS.*
"What did you do?" Henderson roared, turning on me, his face turning a dark, dangerous purple. "This isn't the file! The drive is empty! It's nothing but a Trojan horse!"
I leaned back against the galley counter, crossing my arms over my chest, my pearls catching the dim red light. The exhaustion in my bones seemed to vanish, replaced by the cool, sharp clarity that had guided me through forty years of aviation.
"You're a corporate suit, Henderson," I said, my voice steady, calm, and utterly devoid of fear. "You think like a thief, so you expected me to carry the real files on a physical drive like a character in a bad movie."
I pointed to the small, blinking black beacon I had pulled from my trench coat, which now lay on the galley counter.
"I knew Chloe planted that tracker on me the moment she brushed past my coat," I continued, a cold smile playing on my lips. "And I knew she did it under Pendelton's orders. So, I prepared a little present for you."
"The drive I gave you didn't contain the maintenance logs. It contained an encrypted, self-replicating network worm designed specifically to target Apex Air's proprietary server protocols. The moment you plugged that drive into your terminal, which is connected to the aircraft's internal satellite network, you didn't steal my files—you gave my worm direct access to the corporate intranet."
Henderson’s eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. "No... no, that's impossible!"
"It's very possible," I said. "Right now, that worm is uploading the entire, unredacted maintenance database directly to the FAA, the Department of Justice, and every major news outlet in the country. And because it's routing through your personal corporate security credentials, it looks like *you* are the whistleblower who leaked it."
"You b-tch!" Henderson screamed, lunging toward me with his hands outstretched.
But before he could reach me, a heavy, gloved hand clamped down on his shoulder, twisting him backward with a force that made his bones pop.
Marcus Reed stood in the cockpit doorway, his face pale and blood-streaked, but his eyes burning with a fierce, protective fury. He had regained consciousness just in time to hear my explanation, and his heavy pilot's flashlight was gripped firmly in his right hand.
"That is enough, Henderson," Marcus growled, slamming the man against the galley bulkhead and pinning him there with his forearm.
Todd, the co-pilot, let out a terrified whimper, dropping the fire extinguisher to the floor. "Captain Reed... I... I didn't have a choice—"
"Shut up, Todd," Marcus snapped, not even looking at him. "You're done. Your license is gone, and you're going to federal prison. Get in the jumpseat and don't touch a single control, or I will personally throw you out of this aircraft."
Todd scrambled into the cockpit, his face buried in his hands, completely broken.
Marcus turned to me, a painful but genuine smile breaking through the blood on his face. "I should have known you had a backup plan, Evelyn."
"A good pilot never flies without an alternate airport, Marcus," I said, reaching up to gently touch the wound on his head. "Are you alright?"
"I've had worse landings," Marcus grunted, giving Henderson a sharp shove, forcing him to his knees on the galley floor. "Sarah! Get up here and bring the plastic restraints from the emergency kit."
Sarah, who had been watching the entire confrontation from her jumpseat in stunned silence, quickly unbuckled herself and ran forward, her hands shaking as she bound Henderson's wrists behind his back.