“Want to bet your freedom on that?” Amara interrupted, her voice unwavering. “Assault on a federal agent carries a mandatory minimum of 5 years. Assault on a pregnant federal agent…” She let the question hang, thick with implication. “That’s a conversation you’ll be having with a judge.”
Jessica’s radio crackled to life.
“Flight 447, this is Captain Morrison. What’s the situation back there?”
The flight attendant’s hands trembled as she held the radio to her lips. “Captain, we have a medical emergency and a potential federal incident. Passenger in 3A is pregnant and bleeding after being assaulted by the passenger in 3B. The victim is identifying herself as FBI.”
Static filled the pause. Then, “Copy that. Keep them separated. I’m contacting ground control for medical and law enforcement response upon arrival. And Jessica, nobody leaves those seats until we land.”
Suddenly, Derek lunged forward, his hand shooting out toward Amara’s credentials. She moved instinctively, years of training overriding the pain as she caught his wrist and twisted it, forcing him back into his seat with controlled violence. Several passengers gasped.
“Don’t,” Amara said softly, her face inches from his. “Don’t give me a reason to add resisting arrest to your charges.”
“Get your hands off me!” Derek shouted, his voice shrill.
“This is assault. Everyone’s seeing this!” said an elderly white woman from across the aisle. She was small and birdlike, with sharp blue eyes that reminded Amara of her grandmother. “And then trying to destroy evidence?”
“I’m a witness too, Agent Jackson,” the woman added. “Retired Judge Helen Frost, 7th Circuit. Whatever you need from me, you’ve got it.”
