"Get the FAA inspection team down here right now," Ethan ordered, his face rigid with cold rage. "And lock down the maintenance facility. Nobody leaves."
Ten minutes later, FAA Director Sarah Jenkins stood on the work platform, staring in disbelief at the bridged sensor and the severed locking wire. Beside her stood two airport police officers.
"This would have wiped out System A and B hydraulics over the lake," Jenkins whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Mr. Vance... if your team hadn't caught this..."
"My team caught it because we are tearing out the rot," Ethan said, turning to the Chief of Security who had just sprinted up the stairs. "Who authorized Hauer’s badge entry last night?"
"We pulled the security gates footage ten minutes ago," the Security Chief reported, handing Ethan a tablet. "It wasn't just Hauer. Former Operations Director Director Vice-President Greg Vance used a master administrative override to let Hauer into the maintenance bay at 1:45 AM. They spent twenty minutes under the port wing."
"Where are they now?" Ethan demanded.
"Greg Vance is in his terminal office trying to clear out his hard drives. Hauer is in the employee parking lot."
"Take the police," Ethan said, turning to the airport officers. "Execute a full arrest for federal sabotage, endangerment of an aircraft, and attempted mass murder."
By 6:00 AM, as the first rays of morning light filtered through the terminal windows, Greg Vance and Technician Hauer were led through the main concourse in handcuffs, surrounded by federal agents and airport police. Passengers gathered at the windows, watching in shock as the disgraced executives were loaded into police cruisers.
Ethan stayed on the tarmac for another two hours, personally supervising the replacement of the tampered lines, the re-wiring of the sensors, and a triple-redundant inspection of the entire aircraft.
At 8:30 AM, Flight 810 pushed back from Gate B12. As the giant Boeing 777 taxied out to the runway, Director Jenkins turned to Ethan inside the operations tower.
"That aircraft was safe because you were down in the freezing mud looking at the details, Ethan," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "The FAA is lifting the operational restriction order. Sovereign Airways is cleared to fly."
Chapter 9: Confrontation at the Hangar
By late Friday afternoon, a quiet calm had settled over the main maintenance complex at Gate 4. Hangar 7—a massive steel structure capable of housing three widebody aircraft—was filled with the smell of aviation fuel, hydraulic fluid, and fresh paint.
Ethan had spent the afternoon inspecting the newly implemented safety protocols with the line crews. He walked through the echoing expanse of the hangar alone, enjoying a rare moment of solitude as the shift change took place.
"Vance!"
The harsh, booming voice echoed off the steel girders overhead.
Ethan stopped and turned. Walking down the central concrete walkway was Captain Ronald Miller. He was out of uniform, wearing a wrinkled trench coat, his eyes bloodshot and unkempt. Behind him, parked just outside the half-open hangar doors, was his car—he had bypassed security using his lingering flight-deck access card before it could be fully deactivated in the system.
"Ronald," Ethan said calmly, keeping his posture relaxed. "You shouldn't be in this facility. Your access was revoked two hours ago."
"My access?" Miller laughed bitterly, stepping closer until he was barely five feet away. "I’ve spent thirty-four years in this company! I built the flight operations department from the ground up! And you—a glorified clipboard-holder—ruined my career in forty-eight hours!"
"You ruined your own career, Ronald," Ethan replied softly. "The moment you decided your ego was more important than the safety of your passengers."
"Don't give me your sanctimonious garbage!" Miller shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "I was flying DC-10s through blizzards before you were out of flight school! We took risks! We got the job done! That’s what made this airline profitable! Then your generation came along with your algorithms, your fatigue rules, and your union coddling! You've destroyed the prestige of being a captain!"
Ethan took a slow step forward, looking Miller dead in the eye. The silence of the giant hangar seemed to compress around them.
"Prestige?" Ethan asked, his voice sharp as a razor. "Is prestige what you call it when you berate a first officer for pointing out an fuel imbalance until he's too afraid to speak up? Is prestige hiding minor engine stalls from maintenance so you don't miss your arrival slot in Miami?"
Miller flexed his fists, his breathing heavy. "We were aviators..."