Could she mean a tax break? No, probably not.
Nicholas was watching her, an eyebrow raised. Mike slipped her cell into the back pocket of her jeans. “Well, that was the vice president.”
“Yes, I gathered. Why are you grinning like a loon?”
“I was just thinking about my taxes. Hey, you want to go to a party?”
76
BISHOP TO B3 CHECK
Catoctin Mountains
Over the past twenty-four hours, Zahir learned that Secret Service agents gossiped like hens. They spoke freely of myriad operational movements, schedules, and the people involved. Unwittingly they gave him an excellent understanding of everything going on in Washington. And he heard talk about himself. These guys evidently weren’t afraid of him, but it seemed everybody else was. He smiled. Just wait, boys, just you wait.
He learned that Matthew Spenser had been shot to death trying to kill Vanessa Graves. Andy Tate was dead, probably killed by Matthew, Ian McGuire was dead, and Vanessa was still alive. He had to admire her surviving not only a gunshot to the chest, but falling off that building. Except she was a CIA undercover agent and that rather pissed him off. Maybe as soon as he was done here, he’d head south to the hospital and get rid of her.
And the president’s plane hadn’t gone down in the Atlantic when Matthew had pressed the trigger. They wouldn’t shut up about a Brit FBI agent who’d managed computer magic, and saved the plane.
A failure, but when it came down to it, Zahir wasn’t all that disappointed.
Sorry, Matthew, you did try.
He had Plan B ready to put in motion. The only question he’d had, the only worry, was answered only minutes before. Both of them would be here. Both of them.
He had to move up the schedule based on the flurry of activity he’d heard, but he couldn’t be more pleased.
Zahir locked the bathroom door, an unnecessary security measure, but he hadn’t reached this ripe old age being stupid, and reached into the bag.
After nearly an hour of painstaking detail and concentration, he was done. He smiled at the face in the mirror. He looked again at the photograph, and nodded. Perfection.
He was ready.
He sat on the couch in the small cabin, and waited for the party to begin.
77
KING TO C1
Andrews Air Force Base
Outside Washington, D.C.
The Sea King, only known as Marine One or Marine Two if the president or vice president was aboard, was a luxury liner compared to the Little Bird that had flown them down to Washington, D.C. Once strapped in, Mike ran her hand over the soft leather, pulled back the blue drapers to look outside. “I could get used to this.”
“You enjoy being treated like the queen—whisked around from car to chopper, do you?”
“Better a chopper than a Gulfstream. I’ll never fly easy in one of those again.”
Nicholas remembered all too well the gut-wrenching fear. “I’m with you.”
The chopper’s liftoff was smooth, and a moment later they were heading northwest toward Camp David.
Mike watched Nicholas pull an orange file out of his laptop case. “What is that? And who was that man who gave it to you?”
“That was George Hempton from the British embassy. I’m very glad he caught us before we left the Hoover Building. My father sent it to me, said it was urgent. Let’s see what it has to say.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers and read aloud:
Nicholas,
Be very careful hunting Zahir Damari. He’s extremely intelligent, skilled with guns and knives, primarily, and has the disguise skills of a master Hollywood makeup technician, which you probably already know. But he’s better than you think, so be alert. Attached are a series of potential photographs. You’ll at least get a sense for his build, his movements.
This is a copy, burn this when you’re through.
Come home soon. We miss you.
It was signed simply, HD.