Time waits for no one. Jack immediately returned to the hotel with the two NCIS agents to pack. By the time they arrived back at Honolulu Airport, a hastily requisitioned private jet was already prepped on the tarmac.
"We must stop him at all costs… Uh—okay. No one touches the body until CDC arrives. They'll handle follow-ups with all passengers and crew.
This case will be led by the NCIS OSP division, and their command center will serve as the operation hub.
The information is classified for now. Do not use terms like 'biological threat' or 'virus' in public communications. There's currently no evidence that the suspect intended a terrorist attack.
The virus, in theory, is not airborne. It requires prolonged close contact or exposure to bodily fluids. It's not that easy to catch.
Okay, plane's taking off. Stay safe, John. I'll be in touch."
Jack hung up and saw the others watching him. He shrugged helplessly. "My contact at LAPD and two OSP agents made it to LAX but didn't get there in time to control the entire aircraft.
They're securing the baggage claim area now. The deceased woman has been identified as Sharon Walker. Her background's still under investigation."
"This is a damn disaster," Hanna growled. "First time in my life I wished a flight had been delayed. Of course, this one had to be right on time."
The jet, a small Cessna business aircraft, began taxiing down the runway. The cabin wasn't exactly spacious or luxurious—the seats were arranged 3x3, all facing the center aisle—more practical than comfortable.
Unfortunately, none of them were in the mood to chat. The emotional whiplash had hit hard: they thought the virus case was over, sat down on a Hawaiian beach to relax—then everything flipped in a heartbeat. Now, they were scrambling again.
Less than an hour into the flight, Cheng Ho had already gone into the cockpit twice. The second time, he looked mildly embarrassed when he returned.
"The pilot said if I push that stick one more time, the rivets on the fuselage might pop off."
Danny groaned, "For God's sake, Cheng Ho, stop pestering the pilot. As a civilian, I'd really like to land safely, thank you."
Callen gave up on his laptop after a long battle with the shoddy satellite Wi-Fi. He turned to Danny. "So you've never jumped out of a plane?"
"Of course not! Look, out of the five of us here, only you two would even think of doing that on purpose."
"Don't count me out," Cheng Ho raised his hand. "I've got certified paragliding experience. I'm a licensed instructor."
"Trust me, Danny," Jack added with a grin, "if you ever jumped from 32,000 feet and didn't open your chute until 3,000, you'd fall in love with the feeling."
Danny stared at him. "Jack, you seriously need to tell me what the hell you've been through these past few years."
Though telling stories mid-flight might tempt fate, they had nothing better to do. Jack thought for a moment, then smirked mischievously.
"Weren't you curious about how I dared to go solo into that jungle? Want to hear how I ended up stranded on an island after a plane crash?"
Danny: (⊙_☉)
45 minutes earlier
Former rookie John Nolan—now a field training officer—was out on patrol with a new recruit, a young woman with clear Native American features. They sat inside their "office" (aka patrol car).
Noticing her groggy expression, Nolan leaned over like a friendly mentor. "You still need some time to adjust to the pace, huh?"
That comment triggered a big yawn from the rookie, who then straightened up awkwardly. "Sorry, John. My sleep cycle's been a mess. It was fine back at the academy."
"I went through the same thing. It's hard, but sleep's gotta be a priority. You won't last in the field otherwise."
Nolan adjusted the heater and slowly pulled the car to the curb.
"I don't even know what's wrong," she admitted. "The moment my head hits the pillow, I'm suddenly wide awake."
Apparently comfortable around Nolan now, she reached for her seatbelt. "Thanks. I think I really do need more coffee. I'll pay for your cup too."
She came back with two steaming cups. Nolan, meanwhile, was reminiscing.
"When my son Henry was little, we tried everything to get him to sleep. Lullabies, night drives—thank God gas was cheaper back then. Oh, and swaddling—I still remember how to do that."
The rookie struggled to hold back a laugh. "Yeah… I don't think those methods are gonna work for me."
Nolan was about to respond when he froze, staring straight ahead. After a beat, he glanced over.
"Selena… is that guy pushing a coffin?"
"Mm-hmm. Good to know I'm not hallucinating from sleep deprivation," she said dryly.
They flipped on the lights and stopped in front of a man rolling a coffin down the sidewalk.
Nolan got out, thoroughly confused. "I have so many questions I don't know where to start… so how about this: where exactly are you going?"
The man, a white male in his 30s, looked mournful. "Corner bar. Taking my brother out for one last drink."
"Sorry for your loss," Selena said sympathetically.
"Yeah, me too… but you can't just push around a… uh…" Nolan gestured at the coffin. "He is in there, right?"
"Of course, officer," the man replied sadly. "This is Kenny. Who knows if I'll ever get to see him again. Might be the last time, you know?"
Nolan frowned. "Wait—he's dead, right? I'm not following…"
"I mean, open the lid if you want," the man offered.
He did—and a guy sat up inside. Both Nolan and Selena jumped.
"We there yet?" the guy asked cheerfully.
"Your brother's not dead?!" Nolan nearly reached for his sidearm.
"Of course not, officer," the man replied with the same sad tone.
"Then why is he in a coffin?" Nolan's voice pitched up.
The coffin guy chimed in helpfully, "We found it across the street. Thought it'd be a cool way to travel."
"You said something about last drinks and maybe never seeing him again?" Selena asked, incredulous.
"Yeah, he's moving to San Fernando Valley tomorrow. Who knows what the future holds…"
Nolan pressed his fingers into his temple. "I swear, it's like someone jammed a red-hot knife into my brain."
Just then, their radio crackled.
"John, head to LAX immediately. Big situation. Mask up, glove up. Jack needs LAPD support," said the voice of newly appointed Sergeant Tim Bradford.
Nolan spun on his heel and headed back to the cruiser, tossing one last order at the idiots. "Put the damn coffin back where you found it!"
"What's going on?" Selena asked, alarmed as Nolan hit the sirens.
"No idea," he replied, eyes gleaming with purpose. "But if it's got him involved? It's a big one.
You want to stop being a rookie? Chug that coffee. You're gonna need it."
And with that, Nolan floored it.
______
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