Janey rounded the corner into the galley with the bag of trash and once again wished she had enough seniority to be working the service in first class. The galley in the coach cabin on the 757 always reeked of the chemical toilets.
“Meg, did you see the guy in 23C?”
Meg finished counting out the change from the mixed drink and beer sales and made a note in the log. “The cute one, sandy blond hair?”
“I’d re-up my membership in The Club with him.”
Janey schooled her expression to remain neutral. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the trip listening to Meg’s tired stories about her mid-flight conquests from her European route days. “He set his briefcase on the seat next to him and I think I saw a gun when I asked him to stow it under the seat earlier.”
Meg waved a hand at her. “He’s the air marshal, shug’. It’s OK.”
“Meg, the air marshal checked in at the gate. He showed Bill his ID and papers. He’s in 14D right up front, just like always. I checked.”
Janey thought from the look on Meg’s face that her friend had reached the same conclusion she had: a gun on plane this size had the potential to kill them all, air marshal or no.
Meg stowed the cash in the lock box. “You go up front and see what it would take to detour us. Let Captain Wilson know we’re following policy 16 and he’ll know what the plan is.”
Janey stowed the bag in the compactor. “What are you going to do?”
Meg pulled the wrinkles out of her uniform vest. “Talk to the air marshal. Did you get counter hi-jacking training?”
Janey shook her head. “I’m scheduled next week.”
Meg’s pat on her shoulder did little to settle Janey’s jangled nerves. “Just follow my lead and we’ll be OK.”