The left main gear turned green.

The right main gear remained a flashing, angry amber.

“It’s not locking,” Malachi said, his voice dropping.

“Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong with it?”

“The hydraulic pressure in system three is zero,” Malachi said, pointing to a gauge on the lower screen. “The line is dry.”

He looked down at the open avionics hatch beneath our feet.

“The manual release lines run right through the bay,” Malachi said. “Someone cut them.”

I froze.

I slowly turned my head toward Dr. Thorne.

He was standing very still by the cockpit door, his back against the wall.

In the dim light of the cockpit, the breast pocket of his linen jacket began to glow.

His mobile phone was lighting up with an incoming text message.

I could see the words on the screen clearly through the thin white fabric.

The text on the screen was short.

It read: *Is it done?*

I looked up from his pocket to his eyes.

Dr. Thorne did not move a muscle.

His face was completely blank.

“Dr. Thorne,” I said.