The thump of the landing gear deploying vibrated up through the floor. The turbulence was terrific. Across the aisle, Geisel made anguished grunting noises, gripping his armrests like a child in a dentist chair getting his teeth drilled.But Grove hardly noticed the bumpy descent. He had withdrawn into a sort of shell—a zone of laser-focused concentration so intense it was practically an altered state—catalyzed by thoughts of his wife and child in mortal jeopardy. His breathing got slow and regular. He itched to get his gun out. It was packed away in a road case in the plane’s cargo hold under its belly.“Gentlemen”—the pilot’s voice crackled out of the ceiling speakers—“let’s buckle up, secure all loose items, as we start on our approach to Grissom Air Force Base.”Grove and Geisel fastened their safety belts.“Sit tight and we’ll be on the ground in about three minutes, give or take.”Grove looked at his watch. It was 1:23 A.M. His brain began working the numbers.
