Red-Eye Threat

The overhead light flickered as the plane rocked gently, somewhere over the Atlantic. Ryan shifted in his seat, stretching his legs under the tray table. It was a red-eye, the kind where most passengers tried to sleep through the monotonous hum of the engines.

But he couldn’t sleep. Not with 37B beside him.

She hadn’t spoken much since boarding in New York, just a quick nod when he let her slide into the window seat. She wore a gray sweater, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as she stared out into the night. Nothing unusual. Except for the fact that every few minutes, her hand trembled, only slightly, but enough for Ryan to notice.

At first, he ignored it. Long flights were nerve-wracking for some. But then he saw her glance over her shoulder, not once, not twice, but constantly, as though expecting someone to appear from behind. Her breathing was controlled, but her shoulders were stiff. Tense. Something was wrong.

Ryan shifted again, leaning slightly toward her. "You okay?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Just tired."

A lie. Ryan could feel it. But it wasn’t his business, and they had six more hours in the air. He turned back to his book, but after a few minutes, she spoke again. Low, barely a whisper.

"Do you believe in coincidences?"

Ryan glanced at her. "Depends."

She swallowed. "I think someone is following me."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

She shook her head slowly, her fingers gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles turned white. "I don’t know. But I keep seeing him."

Ryan’s gaze flickered over to the aisle. The cabin was dimly lit, only a few passengers awake. A flight attendant poured coffee near the galley. A businessman typed on his laptop a few rows ahead. The cabin seemed normal enough. But Elena’s voice had a tremor to it. A sense of panic buried beneath her calm exterior.

"Where did you see him?" Ryan asked.

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice even more. "When I checked in, there was a man behind me. At security, he was three people back. At the gate, he sat across from me. And now he’s in 39C."

Ryan turned slightly, trying not to make it obvious. Row 39 was two rows behind them, and the aisle seat was occupied by a man in his late forties. Balding, with glasses perched low on his nose. He was watching the in-flight screen, calm, indifferent. But there was something off about him. His posture was too stiff, his gaze shifting ever so slightly, scanning the cabin with quiet intent. His suit jacket, slightly wrinkled, seemed out of place—too formal for an overnight flight, too much effort for a red-eye. And then there was the way his hands stayed tucked close to his torso, as if shielding something.

"Could be a coincidence," Ryan said, trying to sound casual. "People are creatures of habit. Maybe he just keeps showing up in the same places."

Elena’s lips pressed into a tight line. "That’s what I told myself too," she whispered. "But then he tried to board behind me. And his ticket was for a different section. He switched seats."

Ryan’s stomach tightened. That was... odd.

"Did you tell the flight attendants?"

She shook her head, her eyes darting toward the galley. "And say what? That I have a bad feeling? He hasn’t done anything."

Ryan considered this. The man in 39C looked unremarkable, but something about Elena’s fear felt real. Maybe it was the way her voice wavered, or how her eyes kept scanning the cabin, alert to every movement. She wasn’t afraid of the flight—she was afraid of what would happen once the plane touched down.

"What’s your name?" Ryan asked.

"Elena."

"Ryan."

She gave a weak smile before glancing down at her lap. "I don’t know why I told you. I just... I had to tell someone."

Ryan nodded. He didn’t know what to say. He’d been on enough flights to see nervous passengers, but this was different. She wasn’t afraid of the flight itself—she was afraid of what would happen once it landed.

"If he does anything," Ryan said, "you wake me up."

Elena exhaled, nodding. "Okay."

They lapsed into silence. One by one, the overhead lights dimmed as passengers gave in to exhaustion. Ryan closed his eyes, but his mind remained alert. The plane moved steadily through the night. The hum of the engines was a lullaby, a comfort that should have helped him fall asleep. But instead, his mind raced, replaying Elena’s words, the nervous energy around her. The man in 39C.

At some point, he must have drifted off—until something jerked him awake.

A sudden movement beside him. Elena tensed, gripping his arm.

"Ryan. He’s gone."

Ryan blinked, shaking off the fog of sleep. "What?"

She pointed, her voice shaking. "39C. He’s gone."

His pulse quickened. He glanced toward the rear of the cabin. 39C was indeed empty, the seat now vacant. The bald man was nowhere in sight. Ryan scanned the cabin, his eyes darting from row to row. The lavatories near the galley were occupied, but there was no sign of the man. Then—

The cockpit door.

The bald man stood near it, speaking in a low voice to a flight attendant. His posture was casual, too casual. And then Ryan saw it—the slight bulge under his jacket. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

Instinct flared in Ryan’s chest. Without thinking, he unbuckled his belt. "Stay here."

Elena’s eyes widened. "Ryan, don’t—"

But he was already moving.

As he stepped into the aisle, the plane jolted from turbulence. The bald man turned slightly, locking eyes with him. A flicker of recognition, then something else—surprise. Annoyance. He reached into his coat.

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t thinking anymore—he was moving on pure instinct. The man had a weapon. That was clear now. Ryan lunged.

The struggle was brief, brutal. A scuffle, a shout, a tray crashing to the ground. Other passengers jerked awake as Ryan wrestled the man’s arm, twisting. A metallic object clattered onto the floor. A knife. Not just any knife—a tactical one, sleek and sharp, meant for quick, silent work.

The bald man tried to break free, but Ryan’s grip was iron-tight, and before he could react, two flight attendants rushed forward, helping Ryan subdue the attacker. In a few seconds, the man was restrained, his face pressed against the carpeted aisle.

Ryan panted, his hands shaking from adrenaline. The cabin fell into a stunned silence. Elena remained in her seat, frozen, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Who are you?" Ryan muttered, his chest heaving with exertion. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bald man, who remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.

The man didn’t answer. But Elena did.

"I work for Interpol," she whispered.

Ryan froze. Interpol. International crime, fugitives, undercover operations. His mind raced as he processed her words.

"I think you just saved my life," she added, her voice barely audible.

Ryan turned to her, fully processing what she had just said. Interpol. He looked back at the man on the floor, and the weight of the situation finally hit him, the implications settling like a stone in his stomach. Elena had been right. The man wasn’t just some random passenger. He was dangerous.

He looked back at the bald man, who now lay on the carpeted aisle, his face pressed down by the flight attendants' firm grip. The man was still trying to move, his stiff posture betraying an unsettling calm, but it was clear that he was no longer a threat. Ryan’s gaze narrowed as he studied the man more closely.

At first, the bald man had seemed unremarkable: an older man, maybe in his late forties, dressed in a wrinkled suit jacket that looked too formal for a red-eye flight. His glasses had hung low on his nose, giving him an almost absent look, like someone who wasn’t really paying attention. But now that Ryan was looking at him more carefully, his stomach churned. The small, telltale signs were there—details Ryan had missed earlier.

The bulge under his jacket, now clear, wasn’t just the result of his formal attire. It was the outline of something concealed, something much more dangerous. A weapon. A knife, most likely. Maybe more. Ryan’s pulse quickened as he realized the man hadn’t just been following Elena—he’d been prepared for something much darker.

The man’s wrinkled jacket was no longer an inconspicuous detail; it was a disguise. Something meant to make him blend in, to seem like an ordinary businessman on a late-night flight. His posture was too rigid, too unnatural, like a soldier waiting for orders. The slight tremor in his hands, now visible, confirmed what Ryan had feared—the man was no stranger to high-stakes situations. He had been too calculated, too careful in his movements.

Ryan’s eyes dropped to the man’s shoes, scuffed, but polished—a subtle detail that screamed meticulousness. The bag at his side, too, was too neat, almost too perfect. No crumpled papers, no empty water bottles, no signs of the usual fatigue that came with long flights. The man had a mission. A specific purpose.

And now, as he lay restrained, face-down on the floor, Ryan could see the unmistakable signs of someone who had trained for this, someone who had been in situations like this before. He wasn’t just any man. He was a professional. A seasoned operative.

Elena’s voice cut through Ryan’s thoughts. "He’s part of a larger network," she said, her tone quiet but urgent. "He’s here to take me out. He’s worked with the people I’ve been investigating."

Ryan's breath hitched as he turned to her. Her words sunk in, and the final pieces clicked into place. The man wasn’t some random threat; he was an operative, a highly trained individual sent to stop Elena—an agent of international crime and corruption. And he had been on this flight, following her every move, biding his time.

Ryan’s mind began to process everything he had witnessed over the past several hours: the subtle tension in Elena’s body,

her constant glances over her shoulder, the way her hands trembled, the overwhelming sense that she had known something was off long before Ryan had even realized it. She’d been under surveillance, and now, the danger was real. It wasn’t just a case of some random stalker—it was a coordinated mission.

Ryan’s gaze flicked back to the restrained man. The look of recognition in the bald man’s eyes when he had spotted Ryan just moments ago told Ryan everything he needed to know. This man had been sent to eliminate Elena. If Ryan hadn’t acted, if he hadn’t been alert enough to see through the man’s calm exterior, Elena would have been at the mercy of someone trained to end lives with precision and cold calculation.

The realization crashed down on Ryan like a wave. Elena’s life had been in jeopardy the entire time. The man on the floor wasn’t just dangerous; he was part of something bigger, a part of an organization that operated internationally. It wasn’t just about a stalker or an overzealous passenger. This was a hit. A mission to silence someone who had uncovered too much.

Ryan exhaled slowly, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of operation are we talking about here?" he muttered under his breath.

Elena met his gaze, her eyes intense, filled with the weight of everything she had been carrying. "A global one," she whispered. "Interpol’s been tracking them for months. I’ve been undercover for a while now, gathering intel. They’ve been trying to shut me down."

Ryan’s mind raced as he processed the enormity of her statement. He had no idea the kind of world he had just stepped into. A world of covert operations, shadowy organizations, and life-or-death stakes. It was a far cry from the quiet flight he had been hoping for when he boarded the plane in New York.

"Who are they?" Ryan asked, his voice low.

"I can’t say," Elena replied, shaking her head. "Not yet. But I’m one step away from blowing this whole thing wide open. I can’t afford to be taken down now."

Ryan stared at the bald man on the floor, his stomach sinking. This wasn’t just about a late-night flight. This was about survival. Elena’s survival. And now, his own. The game had changed. They weren’t just passengers anymore—they were part of something much bigger.

The silence stretched between them as the reality of the situation sank in. A few moments ago, Ryan had thought he was just helping a nervous passenger. Now, he was a player in a high-stakes game of international intrigue. And the danger wasn’t over yet.

"Stay close," Ryan muttered, glancing back toward the restrained man, making sure there were no other threats lurking in the shadows.

Elena nodded, her face pale but resolute. "I don’t plan on going anywhere."