The Man from the Rear Galley
Chapter 02 - The Man from the Rear Galley
The man introduced himself as Gavin Holt, the senior purser.
He did not apologize.
He glanced at the food on the floor, then at the phones in passengers’ hands, and finally at Eleanor’s credential.
His eyes stayed there a second too long.
“Dr. Whitmore,” he said. “Perhaps we can discuss this privately.”
Eleanor closed the credential wallet.
“I’m comfortable right here.”
Gavin’s smile tightened.
Claire stood beside him, suddenly looking less like an authority figure and more like someone waiting to be punished.
“That credential is federal?” Gavin asked.
“It is.”
“Are you traveling in an official capacity?”
Eleanor studied him.
“No.”
The relief on his face was small, but unmistakable.
He turned toward the passengers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and discontinue recording crew members.”
No one moved.
The little boy who had given Eleanor the napkin stared up at Gavin.
His mother whispered, “Lucas, look away.”
Eleanor noticed that.
People were not afraid of an elderly woman who had dropped her food.
They were afraid of the man telling them not to remember it.
Gavin crouched and picked up the largest container.
“Claire will bring you another meal.”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” Eleanor said.
“Then perhaps we can consider the matter resolved.”
Claire looked at her.
For one second, Eleanor saw something in the younger woman’s face that had not been there before.
Fear.
Not fear of Eleanor.
Fear of Gavin.
Eleanor had spent thirty-six years studying human behavior under pressure. She knew the difference.
“I’d like the names of both crew members involved,” she said.
Gavin straightened.
“My name is on my badge.”
“I’d like your employee identification numbers as well.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“It will for my notes.”
His smile disappeared.
The cabin seemed to shrink around them.
Claire’s eyes dropped to the carpet.
Then she said, barely above a whisper, “Mine is 6-1-8-4.”
Gavin turned his head sharply.
“Claire.”
She flinched.
Eleanor saw it.
So did the passenger filming from row twenty-three.
Gavin stepped closer to Claire.
“I’ll speak with you in the galley.”
Claire followed him.
As they walked away, Eleanor heard him say, “What did I tell you about escalating?”
The words were quiet.
The anger underneath them was not.
Eleanor sat down slowly.
Lucas leaned across the aisle.
“Are you a police lady?”
His mother closed her eyes in embarrassment.
Eleanor almost laughed.
“No, honey.”
“Then what’s the badge?”
Eleanor looked at the black wallet in her hand.
It had opened doors at government buildings, crash sites, safety hearings, and once the White House complex during a transportation review.
But tonight, it had done something more troubling.
It had made a cruel situation stop only after someone powerful was recognized.
“That,” she said, “is a very complicated question.”
The man with the phone leaned forward.
“My name is Marcus Lee. I recorded the whole thing.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“Please don’t post it yet.”
Marcus blinked.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what I just walked into.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
Five minutes later, Claire returned with a bottle of water.
Her hands were trembling.
She placed it beside Eleanor without speaking.
Then, as she turned to leave, a folded cocktail napkin fell from beneath the bottle.
Eleanor waited until Claire was gone before opening it.
Three words were written in blue ink.
PLEASE DON’T REPORT ME.
May you like
Underneath them was a second line.
ASK ABOUT FLIGHT 209.
