The Cessna sliced through the clouds above New Jersey and into a golden dawn. The right questions would net the information that the passengers aboard the Innsbruck-bound private jet were a young hedge fund manager and his wife on their honeymoon. Really, Charlie and Alice occupied the overstuffed leather recliners in the cabin, along with Drummond-the copilot, according to the manifest.
“An interesting piece of information,” Drummond said, “is Blackbird fighter jets fly so fast-twenty-five-hundred miles per hour-the pilots have to wear space suits.”
Charlie and Alice were enthralled, primarily because there was no evidence of such aircraft in the vicinity.
The remainder of the trip brought only clear skies.
As far as they knew.