Part 3: Beneath the Cabin Floor
Dalton was already moving. “Nobody leaves this aircraft,” he told the second officer, and hurried down the jet bridge toward the ramp stairs.
Diane followed, then stopped at the door and looked back at Lily.
“Stay with Rebecca. Don’t leave the galley.”
“I won’t.”
The door to the jet bridge swung half closed. Through the small galley window, Lily could see flashlights sweeping across the wet tarmac below.
Rebecca drew the galley curtain and handed her a bottle of water. “You did the right thing,” she said quietly. “Most adults would have just taken another seat.”
Lily barely heard her. She kept going over the evening in her head, the way her mother had taught her to rewind events after something went wrong.
The check-in desk. The security line. The jet bridge.
She stopped. On the jet bridge, a man in an orange vest had bumped hard into her shoulder while she waited behind a slow family. He had apologized, steadied her backpack with one hand, and walked off toward the service stairs. She hadn’t thought about it again.
Slowly, Lily slid the backpack off her shoulder, set it on the galley counter, and unzipped the small front pocket. Rebecca leaned in beside her, flashlight in hand.
Inside, tucked beneath her earbuds and a pack of gum, was a small velvet packet sealed with clear tape.
Lily’s breath caught.
Rebecca stared at it. “That’s not yours.”
“No,” Lily whispered. “He put it there on the jet bridge.”
Rebecca took out her radio with shaking fingers. “Ms. Harper, this is Lane. We’ve found one of the missing packets. It was planted in your daughter’s backpack.”
There was a long silence on the channel. When Diane answered, her voice was very controlled.
“Don’t touch it again. Keep her with you. We’re in the hold.”
Below the cabin, Officer Dalton found Trevor Doyle crouched between two baggage containers in the aft cargo hold, a flashlight between his teeth and a screwdriver in his hand. He had pried open the cover of an access panel near the forward bulkhead.
“Drop it,” Dalton ordered.
Doyle froze. The screwdriver clattered to the floor.
He was in his late thirties, unshaven, sweat running down his temple despite the cold. His orange high-visibility vest was streaked with grease.
When they searched him, they found no diamonds. Only his ramp badge, a burner phone, and a folded paper with three seat numbers written on it in pencil.
Diane took the paper. “3A. 12C. 27F.” She looked up. “What is this?”
“Backup spots,” Doyle muttered. “In case the pouch got found.”
“And my daughter’s backpack?”
Doyle wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Insurance. If anyone searched the plane, the kid of the security director would be holding a packet. You’d have to bury the whole thing to protect her. That was the idea.”
Diane’s face went completely still. Lily, listening on Rebecca’s radio upstairs, felt her stomach twist.
“Who gave you that idea?” Diane asked.
“I don’t plan things,” Doyle said. “I move bags. I open panels. I get paid.”
“So where are the last two packets?”
Doyle laughed bitterly. “Gone. Picked up an hour ago with the catering cart. They never stay on the plane.”
Dalton grabbed his arm. “You used your credentials to change the seat assignment this morning.”
“My credentials,” Doyle said. “Not my approval. Ramp supervisors can’t override a staff family booking on their own. Somebody higher up has to sign off.”
Diane went cold. “Who?”
Doyle looked at her for a long moment, almost pitying.
“You really think a guy like me is running this? Check who approved the override, Ms. Harper. Check your own chain of command.”
Diane opened her tablet again, there in the cargo hold, the screen glowing in the dim light. She found the approval log for the seat change.
Under Doyle’s name was a second authorization line.
Approved by: G. Pryce. Vice President, Airport Operations.
Gordon Pryce. Her direct supervisor. The man who had signed her last performance review, who had once told her she was the best security director the airline had ever hired.
Upstairs in the galley, Lily heard her mother breathing over the open radio channel.
“Mom?”
“I’m here, sweetheart.”
Then Diane’s phone started ringing. She looked at the screen and closed her eyes for a second before answering on speaker.
“Diane.” Gordon Pryce’s voice was warm and calm. “I’m hearing Flight 418 has been sitting at the gate for almost an hour. The passengers are getting restless, and Rome is going to miss its slot.”
“There’s an active investigation, Gordon.”
“I’m aware. Get your evidence off and release the aircraft.” His tone sharpened. “That’s an order.”
In the cargo hold, Dalton and Doyle both turned to look at her.
Upstairs, Lily held the radio tight, waiting to hear what her mother would say.
