“It’s not going to fix anything,” Bear said. “But you should help her anyway. She’s your people.”
Bear had a point. Jenn was his people. If only Calista had come for him before he’d taken Ogden. He laughed at the thought. Wishing that Calista Dauplaise had saved him from himself—it was pathetic. Look forward, not back. Help Jenn. Figure out Ogden. One thing at a time.
First up, he owed Jenn an apology.
Mind made up, he followed the smell of fresh-brewed coffee to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup and found Jenn working in the dining room. She didn’t look up but carried on typing. Gibson sat down and drank his coffee. She came to the end of her thought and sat back.
“Morning,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Gibson replied, not making eye contact, “about what I said yesterday about Calista. Just a lot to wrap my mind around.”
“I’d want to know too.”
Gibson had expected a longer discussion, but that seemed to settle the matter in her mind.
“So you want to tell me what you need me to do?” he asked.
The corners of Jenn’s mouth inched downward.
“What?” he asked.
She turned to face him. “I think maybe you should sit this one out.”
“What? No, I’m here to help.”
“Gibson. Eskridge doesn’t own kid gloves. If this goes bad, and it could, rotting in a cell would be a best-case scenario. Even if this goes good, we’re going to be on the run afterward.”
“Why?” Gibson asked.
“Because chances are airport security is going to know we were there. And shortly thereafter, so will the FBI and Homeland. There are simply too many cameras. Too many sets of eyes. We may not get caught in the act, but they are going to figure out what we did. And when they do, there will be serious consequences.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Take George out of the country. Lie low. Let the dust settle and see what we see.”
“That’s it?” Gibson was expecting something a little more elaborate.
“I’ve got seven days. That’s it. There isn’t time to plan this right. That’s why I’m saying you don’t have to do this. George doesn’t mean to you what he means to me. I get that. You need time, Gibson. Eighteen months in solitary . . . It would cook anybody. From what you described to me, you’ve got serious PTSD.”
“Oh, is that all?” Gibson tried to make a joke out of it. As if having a sense of humor about being crazy meant he had it under control.
“For starters.”
“Look, maybe I got left in the microwave a little too long, but I’m all right. It’s getting better.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Please. Let me help you.”
“Listen to me, Gibson,” she began. “I’ve been looking for George for over two years. In all that time, I’ve been close three, maybe four, times. Otherwise, I’ve been running from Cold Harbor. And they’ve gotten close seven or eight times. Damn close,” Jenn said, and Gibson could see hard memories clouding her eyes. “I’m tired, Gibson. Real tired. I’ve been out here alone a long time. I have seven days left before my best, maybe my last, shot at getting George away from that son of a bitch. I don’t have time for ‘getting better.’”
“I get it, but I’m telling you: I know I can do this.”
“How? At some point, we may have to be outside. How do you know you won’t freak out? Or start arguing with your dead father?”
Because I kidnapped a CIA officer from his home and took him clean, Gibson thought to himself. Or almost clean. Instead, he said, “If I’m busy, I’m good. You just have to keep me busy.”
She shook her head. “I’m trying to be a friend. Last night. The way you screamed? I thought you were dying. You’re not up to this.”
“Can I ask a practical question?” He went on after she grudgingly agreed. “You need a hacker, right? Who is your backup? Do you have time to replace me with someone you trust?”
Jenn frowned, clearly unhappy with the box he’d put her in. “No,” she admitted.
“So let me do that much. Think of it as an audition. If I do good, you keep me on board. If not, sayonara, Gibson.”
Jenn ran her tongue across her teeth, mulling it over. She didn’t have a choice, and they both knew it.
He said, “Come on, quit making me beg, already. Let’s get the band back together.”
Jenn cracked her neck. “First off, we’re not getting the band back together.”
“Jenn!” Gibson said. “What do you need me to do? Give.”
She sighed. “I need you to hack MWAA.”
“Which would be what?”
“Metropolitan Washington Airports Authority. It leases Reagan and Dulles from the Department of Transportation. I need you to insert bogus credentials.”
“For what reason?”
“To get an access badge to airport facilities at Dulles. Can you do it?”
“Sure.”
Jenn smirked. “‘Sure’? Just like that? You don’t want to maybe do a little research first? Is that how you boys did things in the Activity?”
Gibson rolled his eyes. “I’ll need a laptop. Unless interagency trash-talking is all you brought to the party.”
Jenn went out to the garage and brought back a factory-sealed laptop. Nice one too. Very shiny. She cleared him a workspace on the dining room table, and then they spent the day working together side by side. Gibson thought it felt pretty good.
He started by browsing the front-facing MWAA website. It had always amazed him how helpful organizations were in contributing to their own security breaches. MWAA didn’t disappoint him. He found a treasure trove of useful documents including one titled “Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport Badge Requirements” that listed credentialing requirements and procedures at both Reagan National and Dulles. He also gleaned that badges were handled by the Dulles Pass & ID Office and not airport police as he would have expected. He jotted notes on a legal pad and then settled in to work.
It had been dark for several hours when Gibson finally shut his laptop. He knew exactly how he would hack MWAA. Saw it in his mind’s eye. Once again, work had cleared his head; he’d used the clarity to think through his situation generally and reached some stark decisions. He knew what had to be done about Ogden. It would hurt, but it was his only way forward. Like Deja had said, moving forward was all that mattered. He’d also decided what he needed to tell Nicole. That would be the hardest letter he’d ever written. Bear wasn’t going to like it, but it needed to be done.
He nudged one of Jenn’s pens out of place and went to find her.
“Well?” she asked.
“We’re totally getting the band back together.”
“Can you do it?”
“No problem, boss. I’ll just need two things.”
“Name them,” Jenn said.
“A fingerprint scanner.” He handed her a printout of the one he had spec’d out. “Found one on Amazon for seventy bucks.”
“And second?”
“For you to admit we’re getting the band back together.”
“Gibson . . .”
“Fine. But I do need a round-trip ticket to Seattle.”
Jenn blanched. “Why do you have to go to Seattle?”
“Who said anything about going to Seattle? I just need the ticket. Oh, and a suitcase, I guess.”
The look of confusion on Jenn’s face made Gibson inordinately happy.