The red banner was visible even from his side.
FEDERAL AVIATION SECURITY CLEARANCE VERIFIED
PRIORITY ACCESS
DO NOT MODIFY RESERVATION
CONTACT AIRPORT COMMAND
Emily froze.
The color drained from her face.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
The businessman behind Isaiah whispered:
“Oh.”
Emily moved the mouse.
Clicked once.
The screen refused.
Another line appeared.
USER ACTION LOCKED
SECURITY OVERRIDE ACTIVE
Her breathing changed.
Isaiah looked at her.
“Now call your supervisor.”
This time she did.
But before her hand reached the phone, a man in a dark Atlantic Crown suit came running from the neighboring counter.
Late forties.
Silver at his temples.
Station-management badge clipped near his jacket pocket.
He looked at the screen.
Then at Isaiah.
Then at the torn boarding pass.
His entire face changed.
“Emily.”
She turned.
“I—”
“What did you do?”
“He had an irregular clearance.”
The supervisor moved closer to the monitor.
“Did you contact security compliance?”
“No.”
“Operations?”
“No.”
“Did you freeze the reservation?”
“I—”
He saw the torn pieces.
“What is that?”
Emily looked down.
The supervisor followed her gaze.
Then bent.
Picked up one section of the boarding pass.
His hand trembled.
“You tore it?”
“It was invalid.”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“The system says verified.”
“It didn’t before.”
“You do not tear passenger documents.”
“He was being aggressive.”
Isaiah looked toward the businessman’s phone.
Still recording.
The supervisor did too.
Emily saw it.
She moved toward the keyboard.
The supervisor caught her wrist.
“Don’t touch that computer.”
She stared.
He released her immediately but stood between her and the terminal.
Then he looked at Isaiah.
“Sir.”
Isaiah waited.
“May I see your identification?”
Emily opened her mouth.
Isaiah reached slowly inside his plaid jacket.
He removed a black leather credential wallet.
Opened it.
The gold federal seal caught the overhead light.
FEDERAL AVIATION SECURITY OVERSIGHT BUREAU.
The supervisor’s eyes widened.
Emily stopped breathing for a moment.
Isaiah held the credential still.
“Senior Inspector Isaiah Reed.”
The supervisor looked toward the screen again.
Then back at Isaiah.
“Sir…”
Isaiah closed the wallet.
“The audit began when I entered Terminal C ten minutes ago.”
Emily’s face went pale.
Isaiah glanced toward the ceiling camera.
“Your cameras are preserved.”
Then toward the check-in workstation.
“System interaction logs are preserved.”
Then the torn boarding pass.
“And now this is evidence.”
The supervisor whispered:
“Oh God.”
Isaiah’s voice remained calm.
“Please contact airport command.”
Nobody moved for half a second.
Then three people started moving at once.
The supervisor grabbed his phone.
Emily stepped backward.
The businessman lowered his own phone.
And from behind the premium counters, a secured access door opened.
Two airport operations officers walked out.
Behind them came a woman Isaiah knew.