The 737 was painted in a red-and-white color scheme. The air rippled in the wakes of its engines as it taxied down the tarmac just off the Las Vegas strip. It was a blazing hot night; the casinos were giving out fans with imprinted logos and that lasted all of five minutes.

JANET Air. “Just Another Non-Existent Terminal”, they all said. The airline for the people whose secrecy the government had a vested interest in.

John had been suddenly ordered to the terminal, told only that an old friend of his was returning. When the gangway door opened, he saw a face long gone but not forgotten. Its owner had acquired a short growth of beard; a weathered, longsuffering look about his eyes; and a Cuban cigar between his fingers.

“‘Twenty years gone, and I am back again,’ to quote one famous,” he responded as he was whisked away to be debriefed. “At ease…” He examined John’s uniform. “…Major! Well, how about that! Good work!” He took one last puff of the cigar. “Can’t wait to see my kid,” he reflected.