As he made the six-minute detour, Jonathan was struck with a thought that hadn’t occurred to him before: When they pulled off to drop the boat, they were going to leave tracks in the snow through the grass. How could they prevent that?
They couldn’t.
Shit. See? This was where planning and reality started to separate themselves.
On the second tour around the circle, conditions seemed perfect. Boxers slowed the truck to about fifteen miles per hour as he swung the turn, and then straightened it out to head for the water.
Thirty seconds later, they were at the water’s edge. Boxers made a wide U-turn to get the boat’s ass facing the shore, and then he carefully backed up to the edge.
“Be careful,” Jonathan warned, watching out his side view mirror. “With the ice and snow cover, I don’t know where land ends and thin ice begins.”
Boxers brought the truck to a halt and threw the transmission into park. He turned in his seat to face the back. “Which one of you two is the next driver?”
Yelena looked at David. “I haven’t driven anything in years,” she said.
David raised his hand. “I’m the next driver.”
“Okay,” Boxers said, “but first you’re a Sherpa for just one more time.”
David looked confused.
Jonathan translated. “We need to move the equipment to the boat.”
That took all of three minutes. Maybe less.
Jonathan and Boxers climbed aboard the boat. “Have you ever launched one of these things before?” Jonathan asked David.
“Only about a thousand times.”
“Okay, good. Is your radio earpiece in place?”
David and Yelena both touched the buds in their ears.
Jonathan switched his radio to channel three and pressed the transmit button. “Radio check,” he said.
David gave a thumbs-up.
“I need you to say it out loud,” Jonathan said. “There’s a button in the center of your vest. Press it and talk.”
Good God, what else don’t they know?
David went first. He pressed the button and announced, “I’m here.”
Jonathan replied, “No shouting. Conversational tones are fine. You can even whisper and we’ll hear you. Yelena?”
She touched her chest. “I hear you.”
“And Mother Hen?”
“Right here,” she said.
Jonathan cast a glance to Boxers, who gave a thumbs-up. “Big Guy is good too. Remember radio discipline, folks. Don’t talk on the air unless you have to. Channel one will be the tactical channel, and under no circumstances do I want to hear either of you on it. Channel three is yours. Mother Hen will be monitoring everything. If you need something from me, tell her, and she’ll tell us. I’ll be in your ear within a minute. Got that?”
They answered in unison, canceling out each other’s signals.
Jonathan pressed the transmit button. “David, get into the car and back us up to the water. I’ll tell you when we’re afloat. You, too, Yelena.”
As they walked back to the car and Jonathan cinched up his collar against the cold, Boxers mumbled, “I remember when we dealt with professionals.”
“Boring, wasn’t it?” Jonathan replied.
“Yeah,” Boxers said. “That was exactly the word I was hunting for.”
The boat was a twenty-two-foot Mako with twin Mercury outboards. Jonathan wasn’t a water guy, but this looked like a boat that could get out of its own way in a hurry. The motors were tilted up and out of the way as David backed them into place. They wouldn’t jam into the ground (or the ice) and ground the mission before it even started.
“I feel like we should be at the water,” David said into his ear.
“I’ll let you know.”
As the words left Jonathan’s mouth, the ice gave way with a crack that might have been a pistol shot, and just like that, they were afloat.
“Stop,” Jonathan commanded, and the truck jerked to a halt.
Only the driver’s door opened, and David walked out, nearly falling when he lost his footing on the first step.
“Be careful,” Jonathan said. “I don’t know where the land ends and the ice starts.”
He watched with night vision as David skillfully released the ratchet on the winch and let the boat unravel its own tether. When there was enough slack, David pulled the boat back in a few feet, and released the tether’s hook from the eye in the bow of the boat.
In the last few seconds before he floated away, Jonathan said, “Are we clear on the plan?”
“I am,” David said. “I’ll see you in Quebec.”
“Just leave the trailer,” Jonathan said. “It’ll be our gift to the people of Canada.” He tossed off a nonregulation salute, and then turned to Boxers. “You gonna let me drive, Big Guy?”
Boxers stopped messing with the equipment and moved forward toward the controls at the center console. “Did pigs start to fly?” This boat was designed purely for recreation. The cockpit stood amidships, covered by a flyaway canopy that no doubt provided comfort on a hot summer day, but was less than useless on a cold winter night. The canopy actually posed a hazard to Boxers as he instinctively stooped a little to fit underneath. Other than that canopy, the deck was wide open.
Jonathan moved to the aft end of the boat and rocked the enormous outboards into the icy water of the Ottawa River. According to Venice, he’d spent about forty thousand dollars for this boat — all of it billable to the government — and for that kind of coin, he expected performance.
“I’m ready back here,” he told Big Guy, and ten seconds later, the motors belched clouds of white smoke, and they growled to life.
They were maybe three yards away from shore when sudden movement from the darkness behind David made him duck, as both Jonathan and Boxers went for their sidearms.
Yelena Poltanov ran full-out toward shore and launched herself at the boat. In an astonishingly acrobatic move, she timed the leap perfectly, somehow pulling Michael Jordan airtime before landing awkwardly on the open bow of the boat. Her feet slipped out from under her on impact and she landed hard on her back.
“God damn it,” Boxers cursed, way too loudly as he broke his aim. “Are you out of your mind? I damn near shot you!”
He stole the words from Jonathan’s throat. “Stop the boat,” he commanded as he holstered his .45.
Boxers throttled down.
Jaw locked, and struggling to control his anger, Jonathan stepped from behind the cockpit, and strode to the bow, where the First Lady was struggling to stand. He grabbed her by her collar and lifted her to her feet. He spun her to face him, then changed his grip to the front of her vest, just beneath her chin.
“Get the hell off my boat,” he said.
Even in the darkness, he could see the heat in her eyes. “Only if you throw me overboard.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Boxers appeared behind him. “Be happy to,” he said.
“Stand down, Big Guy,” Jonathan said. This was about three seconds from spinning completely out of control. “Keep us close to shore. We’re drifting out.”
Boxers hovered.
Without looking at him, Jonathan said, “I’ve got this, Big Guy. Please.”
“I don’t give a shit who she is,” Boxers said. “She gets off this boat, or I will drown her myself.”
Jonathan kept his eyes on Yelena. “You heard him.”
“I heard big words from a big man,” she said, utterly unfazed. “But I remain the First Lady of the United States, and there are some laws that even you fear.”
Truer words had never been spoken. Jonathan changed tacks. “Mrs. Darmond, you can’t be here. I cannot allow you to be here. Christ, you’re the one I was supposed to save in the first place.”
“But I didn’t need saving,” she said. “My son and grandson do. I’m going to be there.”