“I can’t believe I trusted him with my son,” she mutters for the umpteenth time. She’s chased him across three countries and is now cramped in a deafening helicopter with armed bodyguards.
“Hold on.” The pilot shouts. They swing sharply. The ground winks past the open side door.
The metal hull shudders and black smoke stings their eyes. They grab anything in reach as they pendulum right, left, closer to the ground each time.
“You can’t land here.” She yells.
“Sorry ma’am, no choice.”
A megaphone blares at them, insulting her with the truth: “He’s my son, too.”