Angus Lee punched the coordinates in his computer. “Yes, sir. What do I tell air traffic control?”
“Tell them you are flying to Baltimore. That will get you close enough to where we’re going. After that tell them there was a gun to your head. That will get you out of trouble.”
“I’ll do what you ask. Please don’t hold your gun to my head.”
“It’s a figure of speech, dude. Do what I say and we’ll all stay friends. Cool?”
“Yes, sir.”
The helo took off and headed north. Court had his own GPS unit on his wrist, and he used it to make sure the pilot complied with his instructions.
While they flew he also consulted a small tablet computer in his hand and looked over the schematics of the building he was about to hit, working over each detail of his operation again and again, trying to think of everything and anything that might come up.
Court’s big backpack was next to him on the bench seat, not on his back, because his parachute was using that real estate at present. The pack was bungied to Court’s waist, and it would hang from him as he parachuted down. If Court didn’t make contact with the enemy during the landing phase of his jump he would pull a knife from his chest rig and cut the pack free right before he touched down. Otherwise he would simply land with a forty-pound weight hanging between his legs, which wouldn’t be optimal, but it was nothing Court had not dealt with before, both in training and in operations.
He was well versed in dealing with Murphy’s Law.
He put the tablet computer away, then he grabbed another bag from his pack. One by one he pulled out five mobile phones and placed them on the seat next to him. Once he had them lined up, he opened the Uber car service app on each phone and fiddled with the map on each screen for a few seconds. It took longer than he would have liked, but after less than five minutes, he had accomplished what he’d set out to do.
He then opened the door of the helo and leaned out. Looking down, he realized they were flying over Huntley Meadows Park, a large forested green space that would be closed for the evening. Court took all five phones and tossed them over the side of the helo, then closed the door again.
The pilot flew to six thousand feet, checked his GPS, and told Gentry they were two minutes from the target. Court checked one more time to make sure all his kit was secure on his body.
He saw the videographer moving his camera into position. Court turned away, his back to the lens. He spoke into the mic. “No lights.”
“I understand,” said the videographer.
Court took off his headset, opened the rear door, kicked his legs out over the side, and looked out.
He saw nothing but clouds. His pounding heart skipped a beat.
From the front the pilot shouted now, “Ten seconds!”
Court checked his own GPS and confirmed this, then hefted his backpack in his lap and pushed to the edge of his seat. The cold night pressed against his face as he looked out the side of the helo.
Then, “Three, two, one. Go!”
Court went over the side, dropping his forty-pound bag from his hands as he did so. It pulled at his waist for a moment but as both he and his equipment bundle reached maximum velocity, he knew he wouldn’t think about it again.
Not until he pulled the rip cord. He did this at four thousand feet, he felt the canopy catch above him, and instantly the bag yanked hard below him. He checked his chute; it was almost impossible to see in the cloudy night above, but he saw his lines were taut and he realized he had a good, full canopy.
Checking the GPS on his wrist, he began steering to the left, then he looked down, trying to pick out the large clock tower of Alexandria Eight. It took him some time, but on his right he saw the lights of a jet on final approach to nearby Reagan National, and he used this as a reference point. His eyes tracked south from the airport, along the Potomac River, then he looked along the lights of King Street, which led from the river all the way to the massive George Washington Masonic National Memorial, the highest building in the city. From here his eyes tracked to the left, to the west, and within a few seconds he centered on Alexandria Eight.
Once he had the clock tower of the safe house in his sights, he looked at little else, because the tower was his landing zone.
He thought the darkness would improve his chances of parachuting all the way to the tower without being seen by the guard force on the property, but he had wanted to do something to improve his chances even more.