At eight thirty civilian time, the rush of adrenaline started to dissipate from Katrice's bloodstream, and the ringing in her ears subsided. She walked alongside Benjamin Thigpen up the marble staircase to the empty reception hall and squeezed his hand so he'd know she was speaking. “It looks like President Mahid’s party has vacated the building.”
He nodded and gave her his signature reserved smile. “We've got the place to ourselves.”
They sauntered to the deserted hull of Santiago Calatrava’s masterpiece and stood at the windows. A wintry Lake Michigan basked quietly in the silver-gold light of a now clear, starry night.
Overhead, the wings began to fold. Moonbeams shot through parallel steel bars and vertical support beams, creating a crosshatch pattern on the face of a most incredible man.
She lacked adequate words to express what was in her heart. Gratitude for men like Benjamin who cared enough to risk their lives for others. Katrice smiled and simply said, “The Burke Brise Soleil is not on schedule.”