The flight across the North Atlantic was quiet.
Unusually, suffocatingly quiet.
Outside the oval windows of the long-range transport jet, the vast ocean lay hidden beneath thick, black storm clouds, illuminated only by the faint, eerie glow of the moonlight breaking through the upper atmosphere. Inside the pressurized executive lounge, the ambient blue night-lights cast long, quiet shadows across the plush carpet, while the steady, low hum of the twin engines vibrated rhythmically through the floorboards.
Jude sat in his assigned leather armchair across the central aisle, his long legs crossed, watching Arora silently from behind.
She hadn't uttered a single word to him for most of the three-hour journey. Her dark, unblinking eyes were completely absorbed in the tactical blueprints, topographic maps, and satellite reconnaissance dossiers spread across the dark mahogany table in front of her.
