Chapter 2: Taking Flight

*** Liberty's POV ***

The moment the sleek black SUV swallows me whole, a blanket of silence envelops us. Only the hum of the city outside penetrates the tinted windows. I sink into the leather seat, heart drumming a frenetic beat. My mind races—could this be because I forgot to pay a parking ticket, or maybe Uncle Sam finally caught up with me for skipping out on taxes? The thought almost wrenches a laugh from me, but the atmosphere's too thick for humor.

I glance at the men, their hard-set faces chiseled from stone, and attempt to pierce their veil of secrecy.

"So, are you guys with the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security?" I ask, studying their immaculate black suits, complete with dark ties and dress shoes.

Who the hell wears ties and suits nowadays? Oh, I know…

“Just wait… you’re Mormons, right?” I quip, hoping to catch a flicker of humanity. Nothing. Just the cryptic reply, "Who we are, Professor. Lockwood, and what we want with you, is classified. This is a matter of national security. You’ll know more soon." As if those words are supposed to mean anything to me, Liberty Lockwood, PhD, not spy.

The city blurs past us, buildings and people merging into a stream of life. Traffic snarls and horns blare, a symphony of urban chaos, but inside our bubble, we might as well be on another planet.

The atmosphere is so tense in here...

Eventually, the SUV slows down, and an airport hanger comes into view.

An airport hanger? What the hell?

My heart skips—no, actually, it somersaults. One of the agents opens up my car door and before I know it, they're herding me toward a helicopter, a big black shiny contraption that looks way bigger than in the movies.

"This way please, Ms. Lockwood," he says, his voice gruff, before he says something into his earpiece.

The helicopter's sharp metal blades are already whirring in anticipation. A butch middle-aged pilot with grey spiky hair and an army uniform greets us from the cockpit, her grin all sharp edges. As I approach the helicopter, the pilot's eyes meet mine, and she does something totally unexpected - she winks at me.

"Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen," she shouts over the noise of the helicopter's blades, her voice barely audible but tinged with a slight midwest accent. "Fasten your seatbelts, or don't. I could use the entertainment."

I can't help but crack a smile despite the butterflies that are gnawing at my stomach. Climbing into the helicopter, I secure myself into the seat, the pilot's eyes still on me.

"Is this your first time in a chopper?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

Nodding, I lean in closer to be heard. "Is it that obvious?"

She laughs, a hearty sound that somehow makes the helicopter's stark military interior a little less daunting. "Only to a trained eye. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you. I promise not to do any barrel rolls."

The men in suits don't seem to appreciate the humour, their expressions unchanging. I decide to play along, trying to lighten the mood for my own sake.

"At least you can tell me where we're headed?" I ask, half-hoping for a slip or a hint. "Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Her chuckle blends with the engine's roar. "Nope, sorry sweetheart, my lips are sealed. Classified, top-secret, hush-hush, and all that jazz. If I told you, I'd have to... well, you know the drill."

I let out a sigh, defeated but amused. "So, what, I should just enjoy the scenic route then?"

"Exactly!" she exclaims, her eyes twinkling. "Think of it as an all-expenses-paid tour. You get to see the beautiful landscapes, experience the thrill of flight, and all the while guessing where in the world you're Carmen Sandiego-ing to."

“I guess I should be grateful they didn’t blindfold me,” I say, sneaking a glance at the stony faced men in suits.

“That’s the spirit!” She says with a grin. “I’m Pearl, by the way. But you can just call me Madame Pilot.”

“I’m Lib-” I begin, before she finishes my sentence.

“Liberty Lockwood, yeah, I know,” Pearl says. “I’ve been briefed. Now, you just sit back and enjoy your flight on Mystery Airways, alright?”

“Sure thing,” I say, shifting in my seat.

Her light-hearted banter does its job, easing the knot of anxiety in my stomach. For a moment, I forget the bizarre and potentially alarming reason for this journey.

The reality of my situation sinks its teeth in. I've never been in a helicopter before. It's both exhilarating and petrifying. The two men sit across from me, their expressions unreadable. My fingers fiddle with the seatbelt, questioning its integrity, as the ground falls away. The world outside becomes a toy model, the noise a constant, deafening companion.

I lean closer to the men, raising my voice over the cacophony, "How long will this take? I have a cat at my apartment, and well, I live alone... Mr Mittens is going to be hungry. I can't get home too late."

"You'll be back before midnight, Cinderella," one of the men in black assures me without so much as a hint of humour.

Below us, New York shrinks, its iconic landmarks miniature and distant. We pass over New Jersey, the Statue of Liberty a mere speck on a distant map. The Lower Bay becomes a shimmering mirror reflecting the sky as we head southwest.

We fly in silence for maybe an hour, one of the longest hours of my life.

Questions are racing through my mind faster than I can answer them. These guys are obviously secret agents, or military, something official and secretive. We're flying South West from New York, in the direction of Washington DC. Which can mean only one thing - I'm being recruited for some top secret mission or project.

But that's crazy. What could the US government possibly want with me? I'm a professor, an academic, studying deviant criminals, murders, monsters. If they're trying to catch some sort of serial killer or terrorist, why not use one of the world class criminal profilers already working for the FBI or CIA? I have plenty of expertise in academia, but that’s all it is - ideas, theory, academic research. I have no real life, concrete experience out in the field… yet here I am, on a helicopter on my way to some important military base (I presume - maybe they're not taking me to Washington DC after all). Why the hell did they choose me?

The thoughts circle through my head, and gradually we fly into Washington DC. I guess my hunch was correct after all.

The city unfurls beneath us, a vast concrete tapestry of power, politics and history. Buildings, monuments, the neverending hustle of political life—all of it feels surreal from this vantage point. We descend, landing on a helipad outside a very familiar white building.

This can't really be happening, can it? Herded out by the two special agents, I exit the helicopter in a daze, unable to believe that I'm actually standing on the White House lawns, looking up at the most famous building in the entire United States... heck, one of the most famous buildings in the entire world.

Oh my god… am I meeting with the president? That’s insane though… surely not.

"Sayonara, sweetheart!" The helicopter pilot calls to me from the cockpit, blowing me a kiss. "Good luck in there with the bigwigs!"

"Thanks,” I murmur under my breath.

"Ready to go in?" One the agents asks.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I lie.