At thirty thousand feet above the clouds, suspended in the freezing stratosphere halfway between Salt Lake City and Norfolk, the world was supposed to be manageable. I was Colonel Samson Carroll, and I was meticulously signing off on a classified operational deployment using an encrypted military tablet. The low, steady thrum of the aircraft engines provided a comforting white noise that I had known for over two decades of service.
Then, my personal cell phone vibrated violently against the plastic tray table in front of me.
I glanced down, instantly annoyed by the sudden interruption during such critical work. The push notification illuminating the glass screen made absolutely no logical sense to my organized mind.
FAIRFIELD HOME SECURITY: Emergency motion detected. Zone: Driveway.
I almost swiped the notification away because it was a quiet Tuesday evening. I assumed it was just a stray neighborhood dog or perhaps a mail carrier dropping off a late package at our home in Fairfield, Connecticut.
Then, a second, bright red notification flashed across the screen and completely overrode the first one.