“Security wants everybody to go out the front so they can be counted and ID’d,” she said. “Did you leave the keys to your truck in the ignition?” The driver nodded. “If it’s the real deal, the fire department will move it.” She looked at her watch. “It was almost time for my cigarette break anyway.” The driver followed the clerk through narrow hallways that led to the main forum, which further branched out into the different departments. No one seemed to be in any great hurry or panic at all. The driver noticed uniformed court bailiffs leading some men out in handcuffs. “I’m going to meet up with my friend in the sheriff’s department,” the clerk said. She pointed toward a wall of glass doors. “Head right out those doors. Someone will tell you where to go next.”
The parking lot was filling with workers gathering together in small knots while at the center of the lot a security officer had formed a checkpoint and was yelling at folks to get in line to show ID. The driver retrieved his company ID card and clipped it to his uniform pocket. No one seemed to want to line up — they obviously expected the alert to expire soon — so the line moved quickly. After just a few minutes’ wait, he was next in line. “Making a delivery?” the security guard asked.
“Yep,” the driver said. The guard glanced at the ID card, then at the driver, and nodded. But something caught his eye, and he ran a finger along the edge of the photo on the badge. With just a tiny bit of effort, the photo started to peel away from the badge!
“Wait a minute — is this
The driver shook his head, smiled, and replied, “No, it isn’t”—and at the same moment he lifted a device in his left hand and pressed a button. There was an intense burst of light, followed by an earsplitting explosion that shook the ground. People screamed and scattered in all directions as what seemed like a mile-wide fireball erupted from the back of the administrative building, followed by a huge black cloud of smoke and debris.
Brad McLanahan’s face turned into a mask of sheer disbelief. “Wha-
“Time to solo, son,” his father, Patrick, said confidently. “You’re more than ready. Go for it. I’ll be on the portable radio in case you need me.” Patrick was expecting him to be more excited than this. Brad looked completely stunned. “You okay, big guy?”
“S-sure,” Brad said. “Three landings. Got it.” He stepped hesitantly back to the Centurion, looked around inside for a moment, then climbed in. Patrick listened for the entry door to be fully latched and looked for seat belts hanging out. He then waited for the strobes to come on and the starter to start winding up, but Brad just sat there. After a few long moments, Patrick went over to the passenger-side emergency-exit window. Brad reached over and opened it, still wearing that same blank expression. “What, Dad?” he asked in a low voice.
“You okay, Brad?”
“I… guess,” Brad said. “I mean… the cockpit looks so much bigger with no one else sitting here.”
“You can do it, Brad,” Patrick said. “You’re the pilot in command now. You do everything you just did and you’ll be fine. Remember what I said: when you step near the plane, you put your pilot-in-command brain on until you lock the door to the hangar after you button up the plane. Right?”
Brad nodded, then looked past his father at the others. “Are they all going to watch me?”
“You might as well get used to it: pilots watch other pilots all the time, and everyone’s a critic. Try not to think about it. Fly the plane like I know you can do. Put your pilot-in-command brain on. Have a good one.” Patrick closed the window, stood there to make sure Brad locked it from the inside, and then stepped back.
It took another few long moments, but at last Brad reached up and took the checklist in his hand, and finally his nervousness began to subside. Reading the checklist items and then touching the proper switch, lever, or readout helped to pull him back into the routine of flying, and soon he forgot that it was his first solo flight and he was alone…
… until he was ready to taxi. He was so accustomed to leaning forward to look around his father to see out the right window, and when he did so again he realized he didn’t have to do that, and he remembered he was alone. He had to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans.
“Centurion Two-Niner Bravo Mike, Battle Mountain Ground.”
Brad couldn’t find the mike button for a few moments, but he finally managed to key the button: “Niner Bravo Mike, go ahead.”
“Message from Sierra Alpha Seven: Taxi on out or park it.”
Brad looked out the window and saw his dad waving his cellular phone at him. The others with him had smiles on their faces but were looking a little concerned — all except Ralph, who gave Brad a big excited smile and two thumbs-up.
