"It's the lingering Cold War ear in their brains." Goddamn, give her a few more hours in close confines with him, and she'd want to throw him out of the plane. Or she supposed she could put on the headset and block his voice, but throwing him out of the plan was a much more aesthetic and satisfying idea. She savored it a moment, then reminded herself that she had to be professional.
"This?" she asked of the file. "Read it on the way. Rather boring after the first few pages." You could only protest the government so many times before it all started sounding the same. "It only covers up until you dropped off the face of the earth, and certainly not how you turned out to be working nominally with the CIA in Madripoor. Of course," she added thoughtfully, "if I was working with the CIA, I'd be too ashamed of it to mention." Probably for a different reason than he would be. "And I'd jump at the chance to get away from the morons in the Agency."
The Quinjet suddenly leveled out and stopped yawing, which told her they were probably out of Madripudlian airspace, leaving them five hours to go until New York - because this thing didn't need to stop in Hawaii, and she'd neglected to tell him just where they were going.