EPILOGUE

Mr. Monk sat nervously in his plush leather chair fidgeting with his buttons as Natalie sat beside him holding his hand, attempting to divert his attention with small talk. They were seated with the crew of the Zenith and their spouses in the guest section of a C-32 aircraft, typically referred to as "Air Force Two," on a flight to Washington D.C. for a special ceremony with the President later that week. The first lady had greeted them at the airport and was flying back from an event in San Francisco held with the first ladies of Jordan and Israel in which she had used her office to help raise awareness of of the plight of the Christian Refugees of Mosul, Iraq who had all but been wiped out by ISIS militants.

"What I want to know" said Natalie, "is how did you know where I was? I mean, how did you know that I was upstairs in that office?"

Monk leaned towards her, trying to appear confident in the face of his nerves. "That was simple. It was the only office in the building that had shades on the windows that blocked anyone from seeing what was inside."

Natalie smiled. "Do you know how brilliant you are?" she cooed.

Monk looked around the plane, "D-do you know how much I hate this?" he said, switching subjects."I mean, I don't do 'flight'"

"Adrian, you just got back from the moon! I would think flying at 40,000 feet would be a whole lot easier now that you've traveled 200,000 miles."

Monk was unconvinced. "Yeah...you would think, because you're brave and magnificent and..."

Suddenly there was a scream coming from the front of the plane followed by the sound of Secret service running. Monk sat up straight and looked through the open doors of the plane to see if he could see what had happened. As he squinted his eyes, he could make out the figure of the first lady standing at the front of the plane. She was covered in blood and holding a knife.