The Eyes That Noticed
Three dozen rows ahead, another uniform had boarded earlier — a young lieutenant in fatigues, straps still stiff, eyes sharp.
David Brenner recognized his grandfather instantly.
“Grandpa?”
Frank looked up, tired smile touching his eyes. “Change of plans, kid.”
“What happened?”
“Policy,” Frank said. “Let it go.”
But David’s sense of order bristled. He stepped into the aisle, lifting his phone.
“Colonel Harrison? Lieutenant Brenner, Colorado Guard. We’ve got a situation on Flight 447.”
A pause. “Which carrier?”
“Atlantic Frontier.”
“Stand by.”
And the next call was already happening.
