The whole point of this was to get someone onboard fast, and get the hell out of Dodge before a cartel got a good look at the Quinjet and decide that they hadn't gotten all they wanted for Christmas yet. It meant that the engines were still humming, and that Maria didn't bat an eye when someone came rolling up the landing ramp, almost as soon as it had dropped down. "Spin 'em up," she called to the pilot, in case they hadn't noticed the wave or decided they weren't taking orders from the asset.
The pilot didn't even bother give an acknowledgement, and Maria smiled a little to feel the engines kick under her feet, feel the Quinjet pulling away from the ground and pointing its nose to the sky, smooth as any major airline. That had gone better than expected, and now she had a panting man on the deck - who was humming something very catchy indeed.
"I will not speak to any head injuries you may have obtained, Mr Queen, but I certainly am not an 'Eddie,' and I'm slightly insulted that you think the CIA has the budget to pour fuel into one of these," she said dryly. "You're going to want to strap in," she added, looking over to eye what she could of the cockpit's instruments. "This is going to get a little bumpy."