3.
  The wind blowing in from the ocean picked up as the immense blue of the Atlantic washed over the beach. Against the gray sky, a modern-day bird glided smoothly towards the earth in a remarkably controlled descent.
The Falcon nosed up just enough so that the rear wheels touched the runway first, kicking up a little cloud of dust that quickly disappeared. The Messier-Dowty landing gear, specially designed for the aircraft, set down on the runway with featherlike grace, as Messier-Bugatti's expertise took over. Electro-hydraulic equipment, braking control, carbon brakes, monitoring systems… an impressive array of technologies guaranteed that every detail of the landing was perfect, including real-time measurement and wireless transmission of tire pressure data via the TPMS NG system1 .
In a feat worthy of medieval alchemists, the Sepcarb® brakes transformed the kinetic energy generated by the speed of landing into heat. The carbon disks in each wheel rubbed against each other, reaching a heady peak temperature in just seconds – dissipated almost as quickly by this high-tech heat sink.
The nose of the plane settled down as it hurtled towards the end of the runway.
Beyond was a field with clumps of dirt and soft holes that could easily tip the plane over….
The countryside shot by the streamlined wings. The engines howled, with the thrust reversers at full power straining to bring the plane to a halt.
The Falcon pulled to a complete stop well before the end of the runway. There was a collective sigh of relief, and somebody even started applauding.
The van waiting at the side of the runway sped towards the plane. In it were the director of the facility, Franck Calmotte, his chief engineer Yann, and Martine, the systems analyst whose alert had triggered this chain of events. Calmotte leaped out before the van had even come to a stop.
No sign of life could be seen from outside. The engines were still running, singing a powerful jet symphony.
Yann walked around the wing and towards the rear of the Falcon, looking at one of the engines. His head suddenly angled to one side, as if he'd seen something he did not like.
Meanwhile, Calmotte managed to get the door open and carefully lowered it. After a moment's hesitation he went up the steps and leaned inside.
Suddenly his eyes widened.
"Good Lord!" he spurted out, hurrying into the cabin.
"What's the matter," said Martine, who was at the foot of the steps.
When he didn't answer she bounded up the stairs and into the cabin herself.
The interior was hardly what she expected to find. No plush seats, no corner lounge. Nothing but a row of screens and two berths equipped like hospital beds—with two men lying on them, perfectly immobile.
Calmotte was checking the pulse of one of them, who was dressed in a blue flight suit,
Martine covered her mouth, as if to stifle a scream.
"It's OK, he's not dead, just unconscious," Calmotte quickly reassured her.
Calmotte straightened up and went past Martine into the cockpit, where dozens of different colored lights were flashing.
"It almost looks like they're sleeping!"
Yann joined them. Once over his initial surprise he gave the interior of the aircraft a cursory inspection. There were computers bolted to the floor throughout the cabin, still churning out data.
"Well, it's definitely an experimental flight," he said.
"For what kind of experiment?" Martine asked.
"Who knows?! It seems like a normal aircraft, not a prototype. At least as far as I can tell."
The director poked his head out of the cockpit.
"Yann, could you cut the engines please?"
The engineer nodded and sat down in front of the controls. The noise faded in a few seconds.
As the aircraft fell silent, the mystery shrouding the flight seemed to deepen. Martine looked around, wondering what exactly had happened, and whether it was just minutes ago, or perhaps hours.
A chill wind blew in through door, wrapping her clothes around her frail body. She brushed a lock of hair off her face, and gestured towards the two unconscious men.
"Are they OK? What could have happened to them?"
Calmotte took a deep breath and began going through one of the "passenger's" flight suit.
"I've never seen an official ‘SAFRAN' flight suit," he said, somewhat surprised to find the group's logo on the pocket.
His face darkened when he reached inside the unconscious man's pocket and pulled out a little plastic vial containing some pills. He read the fine print on the label.
"I don't believe it…!"
"What's in it?" asked Martine.
Yann went into the cockpit to search the pilot, returning with an identical vial.
"These men…," said Calmotte, as if he could scarcely believe himself, "they're sleeping—and they put themselves to sleep on purpose!"
He handed the bottle to Martine.
"It's a powerful sleeping drug."
 Martine shot him a puzzled look. "You mean they wanted to fall asleep during the flight?"
"It sure looks like it."
With that, Franck Calmotte seemed to snap out of a dream. His feet were back on earth….
"Martine, were you able to contact Villaroche?"
"Yes, but the people I talked to had no idea what I was talking about. I asked Camille to keep making calls and try and get someone at the top."
Calmotte looked around the plane again.
"I need to know what's going on here Yann. Since these men seem to be employees of the Group, do you think you can identify them?"
"I didn't find any ID on them," Yann answered.
"No, I mean since they're SAFRAN employees there might be another way to find out who they are—like the badges we use to get in the building, or all those access control computers."
Yann nodded, considering the many possibilities before he answered.
"Right, there is one chance. I'm not certain but it just might work. And we won't even have to move these guys from the plane," he added.
He took the passenger's thumb and looked at it.
"SAFRAN also has quite a bit of expertise in advanced biometrics," he winked at his boss. "Let me give you a little demonstration."
1TPMS NG : Tire Pressure Monitoring System New Generation.
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