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Lana glanced at the large windows and glass doors that made up the majority of the entrance into the museum. Like she hadn’t noticed the chaos breaking loose just on the other side.
“Lana!”
Her eyes snapped back to mine. “I don’t know, Mr. Rosen. They showed up this morning, waving signs and chanting for us to close our doors.”
“Why?” I asked, completely bewildered. How had they gotten the pictures of Talia? As far as I knew, her identity was still concealed until her family could be notified. Maybe they had already…God…that was an awful thought. I scrubbed a hand over my unshaved face. “Why do they want us to close? Has anyone gone out to talk to them?”
Lana bit her lip and her eyes went beady as she stared back at me. “They’re under the impression that we’re flying illegal planes here, that the planes are too old to be safe…and some of them…well…they think you don’t even have a pilot’s license.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded.
“Assholes.” I stomped off to the back of the museum where my office was located. I dug through my paperwork, collecting my inspection paperwork. Before I left, I grabbed my pilot’s license off the wall where I left it hanging next to my dad’s. I carried it all out to the front with a roll of clear tape and started taping the papers to the window, facing out to the group of protesters. They quieted as I worked, staring with interest as I attached each new piece of information.
“Call the media,” I barked over my shoulder to Lana. “I want this thing spun in our favor.”
Lana scurried away and I crossed back to the front desk. Kylee, one of our interns, was standing there, gaping at me. “Have we had any traffic today? What flights are scheduled? Have the FAA agents been back over here this morning?”
Kylee shook her head.
“No? To which part?”
“All of it?” She replied, her voice unsure and apologetic.
“Fuck.” I shook my head and pushed past her to take over the computer. I scanned the schedule and saw red cancellation stamps over every previous tour slot. “We haven’t had any walk-ins?”
“No.” Kylee tapped her fingers on the counter as I searched and the irritating sound only added to my foul mood. “Lana!” I pushed off the counter and started back toward the offices in the back, knowing I’d find Lana in mine. She was nothing, if not reliable.
“Lana,” I said, stopping in the doorway of my office. She was sitting at my desk, my phone raised to her ear. She motioned for me to wait a minute and I planted my feet wide, each booted foot touching one side of the doorway.
“Okay, that was Debbie, the field agent correspondent from channel six. She said she’ll send someone out to cover the protest. They’ll also do an interview if you want.”
“No. No interviews. I just want them to see the protesters standing there with the proof that everything they’re arguing against is wrong, there, taped inside the window. Kylee told me we haven’t had any customers all day. No flight tours either?”
Lana nodded. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rosen. I would have called…but I didn’t want you to worry. Jack told me to leave you alone and filter things through him first.”
“What?” I shook my head. “So, Jack knows about these protesters?”
Lana nodded again. “I called him this morning. He was at Carly’s getting breakfast with Holly.”
“Of course.” I rolled my eyes. “Why should my business getting flushed down the crapper interrupt his vacation?”
“I don’t think that’s fair—” Lana started but quickly stopped at the flash in my eyes. “What do you want me to do? How can I help?”
“Send everyone home. There’s no point in them all standing around here when there’s no work to do.”
As much as I hated to admit defeat, there was nothing I could do to fix the problem. At least not immediately. No point in fucking up everyone’s day.
“Okay. Should I stay?”
“No, that’s fine. Go ahead and go.”
“What about the news? Who do you want to talk to them if you don’t want to?”
I grinned. “Oh don’t worry, I have just the perfect person…Mr. Congeniality himself.”
20
“Why aren’t they leaving?” I asked, peeking between the horizontal blinds on my kitchen window.
“I don’t know, man. I told them everything you wanted me to,” Boomer replied.
“Your Captain America persona might be wearing thin…” I said, only half teasing. I’d sent Jack out to be my mediator between the media and the protesters, hoping that the combination of my licenses and passed inspections for all of the planes in my hangar and the word of America’s hero would be enough to get them to go away.
And yet…hours later…they were all still camped outside my museum.
“Sorry man.”
I shrugged and dropped the blinds. “Not your fault.”
“What are you going to do next?” Holly asked.
