“Groundhog Day?”
“It’s best if you don’t ask…”
“What did you tell Candace about this sudden excursion?”
“I told her it has something to do with an old mission and that it’s just housekeeping — which hopefully, isn’t far from the truth. She didn’t like it, but she’s okay. She knows the acronym we used to work for.”
They enjoyed a companionable silence for a few minutes.
“This is a nice ride,” Harv said, reclining his leather seat a little. “These things go horizontal for snoozing. I could get seriously spoiled flying this way.”
“I’m gonna grab a water, you want one?”
“I do. Thanks.”
Nathan unbuckled and raided the small refrigerator near the lavatory. He chose two sparkling waters.
“Do you think Cantrell’s going to meet us at Dulles?” Harv asked.
“Yeah, I do.”
“At zero two hundred?”
“She basically ordered us to drop everything and respond. It would be bad form to send a driver or make us take a cab somewhere.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m going to crash for a few. I know you have a hard time sleeping on planes, but try to get some shut-eye anyway.”
“Thanks, Harv, I will. I’ll wake you when we start our descent.”
Nathan knew there was no point in further speculation about the face-to-face meeting. He’d have his answer in a few hours. He closed his eyes and reclined his chair. If he fell asleep, he hoped he wouldn’t dream of Nicaragua.
A sudden jolt awoke Nathan. Feeling disoriented, he quickly sat up and looked around. The bump he’d felt was the landing.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I can’t believe I fell asleep. You?”
“A couple of hours, you know the adage…”
“Sleep when you can.”
The Challenger turned off the runway and began taxiing.
“It’s really tempting to time-share one of these jets,” Harv said, “but it would be hard to justify.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but as little as we fly, it wouldn’t make economic sense. It’s infinitely cheaper flying commercial everywhere.”
Nathan and Harv owned a highly profitable private-security company. They’d founded First Security Inc. a few years after they’d retired from the CIA. Their firm specialized in sophisticated alarm systems and countersurveillance measures for homes and businesses. They also taught personal-security awareness and tactical-combat classes to VIPs and corporate executives. So far, they’d done extremely well. Last year, Harv started an armored SUV line, and he’d already secured a five-vehicle contract with three more big clients ready to sign.
“Well, at least you didn’t have to go through a TSA checkpoint. I know how much you love doing that, Nate.”
“It’s not that bad — it just makes me want to break a few arms.”
Harv smiled. “You’ve come a long way. Twenty years ago, you would’ve wanted to break a few necks.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Nathan heard his phone chime with a text message.
How was your flight?
Very nice, thx… Are you meeting us?
Yes. I’m inside the Dulles Jet Center. See you in a few.
“Cantrell?” Harv asked.
“She’s waiting for us in the jet center.”
“Good call.”
“Well, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.”
When the Challenger stopped in the transient parking area, the first officer emerged from the cockpit and lowered the fuselage door, which also served as a ladder. They grabbed their overnight bags, complimented the crew on a pleasant flight, and stepped down to the tarmac. A jet center employee escorted them over to the automatic glass doors.
Director Cantrell was waiting inside with two men — presumably operations officers doubling as bodyguards. Both men wore business suits and had small ear speakers with lapel mikes. Cantrell was dressed in a dark pants suit. In her early fifties, her shoulder-length brown hair had a touch of gray. She stood at least a foot shorter than Nathan but possessed a commanding presence. Harv and he approached Cantrell and shook hands. Introductions were made. Nathan noticed that the woman behind the jet center’s counter seemed to recognize Cantrell. When the woman made eye contact with Nathan, he winked. She forced a smile and quickly averted her eyes.
“It’s good to see you guys,” Cantrell said. “Thank you for coming.”
“Glad to do it, Rebecca. You’re working late.”
“I’m on graveyard for a spell. We’ve got an operation going on the other side of the world. We’re about to collar a major bad guy.”
“Aren’t you in more of a political position?” Harv asked.
“I’ve been resisting it.” She smiled, then gave each of them a look, up and down. “You guys look sharp.”
“Five Eleven Tactical line,” Nathan said.
“It looks good on you.”
“Thank you.” Nathan wanted to ask what was going on but knew it had to wait until they were clear of any potential eavesdropping equipment.
“We’re parked out front,” she said. They began walking toward the street-side entrance. At the door, Rebecca stopped and let the two operations officers leave the building. Nathan watched them through the glass as they visually searched the immediate area. One of them spoke into his lapel mike. Tight security, he thought. The director of the CIA was undoubtedly in the crosshairs of countless assassins, with al-Qaeda fanatics topping the list. Although he gave it low odds, a sniper could be out there. He suspected Cantrell was being guarded by at least six officers at any given time — some of them they’d never see.
Rebecca acknowledged nods from her men, and they stepped through the doors.
Two charcoal-gray SUVs waited at the curb. Nathan noticed the ballistic glass right away. No doubt they were fully armored with environmental protection from gas or biological attacks.
“Does it wear you out? The twenty-four-seven security?” Nathan asked.
“You kind of get used to it, but to answer your question, at times, yes.”
An officer slid out of the driver’s seat, surveyed the immediate area, and opened the rear door of the second SUV. Rebecca thanked her, and they got in. Behind the soundproof glass separating them from the driver’s compartment, two sets of opposing seats greeted them. One of the officers they’d met inside the jet center got into the back with them; the other climbed into the passenger seat of the lead SUV, and they were on their way.
“Why are we here, Rebecca?” Nathan asked. “And why you? Whatever the situation is, it’s got to be below your pay grade.”
“This requires my personal involvement.”
Nathan waited.
“As you’ve surmised, we have a development in Nicaragua. Video cameras at the US embassy in Managua recorded a man throwing a paper airplane over the fence. The marines guarding the post didn’t approach it. They were concerned it might’ve been laced with something. I’ve seen the surveillance video, and it’s obvious the man had purposely disguised himself. He appeared to be Latino with dark hair, probably a wig, oversized dark sunglasses, ball cap — you get the picture. His size and build are consistent with ninety percent of men on the planet. Here’s where it gets cryptic, and it’s the reason I asked you guys to come out here. The note had only ten words.”
She pulled a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket and handed it to Nathan.
ECHO FOUR: YOUR HELP IS NEEDED. RAVEN IS ACTIVE AGAIN.
Nathan looked at Harv but didn’t say anything.
“Echo four was Harvey’s designation,” Cantrell said. “You were Echo five. I’m hoping you guys can give me something on the raven reference.”