As the big helicopter touched down I saw a squad of armed guards waiting for us-and two people who stood slightly apart. Rudy Sanchez and Grace Courtland. My heart did a little happy dance in my chest when I saw Grace. In the interests of professional decorum I kept it off my face.
She was the first bright spot in this whole mess, and she came to meet me as I exited the chopper. She strolled toward me without hurry, a mild smile on her lips, but I knew her well enough to know that the devilish light in her eyes meant that she was just as happy to see me as I was to see her. I wanted to drag her out of sight behind the row of parked Black Hawks and kiss her breathless. And I knew from experience that she could leave me just as breathless. Rudy hung back, tactful as ever.
“Home is the sailor home from sea, and the hunter home from the hill,” she said with a grin.
“Wrong branch of the service. I was a Ranger.”
“I don’t know any poems about Rangers.”
We shook hands because everyone was looking, but as she released mine her fingers gently stroked my palm. It sent heat lightning flashing through my veins.
We headed toward the door and Rudy fell into step beside us.
“How goes the war?” he asked, picking up the thread of our earlier conversation.
“Bullets are still flying, Rude. How are things around here?”
He grunted. “Welcome to the land of paranoia. It’s amazing what persecution by the entire National Security Agency can do to the overall peace of mind of a group of government employees. I suggested to Church that he make some kind of statement to the troops here and via webcam to the other facilities. They all look to him for more than orders. His calm-you could almost say emotionless-manner-”
“ ‘Almost’?” Grace murmured.
“-has a soothing effect on the DMS staff. He’s so clearly in command that no matter how wildly the feathers are flying, as long as Church is in control-”
“-and munching his frigging vanilla wafers,” I said.
“-the staff will stay steady,” Rudy concluded.
I nodded. It was true enough. Church was a master manipulator, and Rudy had marveled at the scope and subtlety of Church’s tactics. It was there in everything from the choice of paint color on the walls to comfortable private bedrooms. And it was in Church’s attitude. Most of us had seen him in the thick of it, blood on the floor, gunsmoke in the air, screams all around us, and he looked cool in his tailored suits, tinted sunglasses, and total lack of emotionality. Church made Mr. Spock look like a hysterical teenager with a pimple on prom night.
“Look, Joe,” Rudy said. “I wanted to say goodbye before I headed out. Church wants me out in Denver. We haven’t heard anything for sure about Jigsaw Team, but Church isn’t optimistic. He said that he wants me there in case some bad news comes in.”
“Damn. I hope he’s wrong,” I said, but it sounded lame. “Church thinks a lot of you if he’s sending you all the way out there.”
He shrugged. “I’m a tool.”
I said nothing. Grace laughed.
“Okay,” Rudy said, “I heard it. What I mean is that Church regards me as a useful instrument.”
“ ‘Tool,’ ” said Grace.
“God, are you two in kindergarten?”
We shook hands and he trudged off to the helo that was waiting to take him to the airport.
“Is Church here?” I asked Grace as we pushed through the security door to the Warehouse.
“Yes,” Church said. I nearly walked into him. He was standing just inside, looking like he just walked out of a board meeting. He offered his hand and we shook. “Glad to have you back safe and sound, Captain.”
“Glad to be safe and sound. What’s the latest on Big Bob?”
“Stable.”
“Look, about that… I met Brick and I know he lost his leg in the line of duty. If Big Bob pulls through this I know he won’t ever work the field again, but I don’t want to hear about him getting kicked to the curb. That shit happens with Delta Force and-”
“Let me head you off at the pass, Captain,” said Church. “This is the DMS. I’m not in the habit of abandoning my people.”
“Fair enough. On the flight I had a chance to think this through, and I have about a million questions.”
“Glad to hear it, but first things first. I want to take a look at the material you recovered in Denver, Captain. Dr. Hu is preparing a point-by-point presentation of everything we have. We’ll meet for a briefing in one hour. Until then I suggest you spruce up and then get some rest.”
Without another word he headed out to the landing area.
I glanced at Grace, who was frowning. She saw my look and shook her head. “That’s about all he’s said to me, too. I’ve tried a dozen ways to open him up, but he’s been playing things pretty close to the vest.”
“This meeting should be pretty interesting. It’s going to be real interesting to compare notes… but first I have to find a shower and some fresh clothes.”
There were a lot of people around, so she gave me a curt nod and we went our separate ways.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Residence of the Vice President, Washington, D.C.
Sunday, August 29, 4:11 A.M.
Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 79 hours, 49 minutes
Vice President Bill Collins sat alone in his study looking out at the trees in the garden. His fist was wrapped tightly around his fifth neat scotch. His wife was upstairs asleep, as if nothing was wrong in their world.
After leaving the Walter Reed, he kept expecting a knock at the door. Secret Service agents. Or, if the universe was in a perverse mood, the NSA.
Maybe he had dodged the bullet. Maybe the President had swallowed the whole can of lies. There was no way to tell, especially with this President. All the talk in the press about how calm and unflappable he was did not begin to scratch the surface of the man’s calm control and his cold ruthlessness when he held the moral high ground in a conflict.
Unless this thing blew over Collins without leaving so much as a whiff of illegality, Collins knew that the President would quietly, neatly, and ruthlessly tear him to pieces.
He gulped more of the scotch, wishing that it could burn away everything to do with Sunderland, the Jakobys, or any of their biotech get-rich-quick schemes. Everything that had seemed so smart and well-planned before now felt like pratfalls and slapstick.
The bottle of McCallum had been full when he’d come home, now it was half gone. But Vice President Collins felt totally empty. He poured himself another drink.
He sat in his chair and waited for the knock on the door.
Chapter Fifty-Five
The Warehouse, Baltimore, Maryland
Sunday, August 29, 4:14 A.M.
Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 79 hours, 46 minutes
My quarters were an office that had been remodeled into an efficiency apartment. There was a bed, stand-up closet-I didn’t have enough personal effects to call it an armoire-and a work desk with a secure laptop. A small bathroom with a tiny shower was built into what had once been a storage closet. Cobbler met me at the door and entwined himself sinuously around my ankles as I entered. He’s a great cat with a purr that sounds like an industrial buzz saw.
I squatted down and scratched his fur for a few minutes while I took stock of my life. Two months ago I was a police detective with aspirations of going to the FBI academy. Sure I’d worked on the Homeland task force, but I never thought that I’d be playing secret agent. It still felt unreal and vaguely absurd. After all, who was I? Just another working schlub from Baltimore with a few jujutsu tricks and a steady gun hand. Big deal. How did that qualify me to do this sort of thing?