Andrew Britton - The American

He hesitated, knowing that she was right. When she started to walk away again, he caught her arm. “Listen, I’m sorry about what I said in there. I should have kept my mouth shut. It’s just that Landrieu’s such an asshole…”

“That’s all right. I think so, too.”

There was a brief moment of silence as they looked at each other. Impulsively, Ryan leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Be careful, Naomi.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said. “After all, you won’t be there to shoot me this time.” She turned away before he could think of a clever response and resumed her rapid pace to the stairwell. When she stepped out into the icy wind and walked toward the waiting helicopter a few minutes later, she was wearing a wide smile, and despite the cold, she felt warm all over.

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, HANOVER COUNTY

As soon as the Bell 206 LongRanger touched down at VSP Administrative Headquarters, its three passengers disembarked and moved gratefully toward the stairwell and the warmth of the building. It was bitterly cold outside, and made worse by the frigid gusts of wind that whipped over the roof and penetrated their clothing. From a conversation she had overheard earlier in the day, Naomi knew the worsening weather to be the first gentle touches of a winter storm that had started off the coast of Florida three days earlier and had been working its way north ever since.

As she followed the two senior officials through the spotless halls, she reflected that they would all be saved a lot of trouble if the storm picked up enough to force a cancellation of the president’s trip on the Sequoia. At the same time, she knew that they would never get off the hook that easily. President Brenneman seemed just as intent on fulfilling the demands of his schedule as Vanderveen was on cutting them short.

Deputy Director Susskind enjoyed the warmth of the building only for as long as it took her to ride the elevator down to the bottom floor. She had used the time in the helicopter to scream through several conversations over a static-filled line, and arrangements had been made for a car to take her directly to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit, where Judge Lucy Klein was already pouring her second cup of coffee and wondering what she could possibly have done to deserve such mistreatment at the hands of the government she had faithfully served for more than eighteen years.

While Susskind pleaded her case before the judge, Naomi would accompany Superintendent Plesse out to the staging area, where they were set to meet up with the SAC for the Bureau’s Richmond Office. She followed Plesse through the big glass doors of the Administrative Center less than ten minutes after Susskind’s departure, walking quickly toward the Lincoln Town Car that waited alongside the curb. Soon they were heading east on the Midlothian Turnpike, crossing darkened streets and following the gentle curves of the James River less than a mile to the north.

At 3:40 in the morning, the roads were virtually empty, and so it wasn’t long before they reached I-95. The driver eased down on the accelerator when they took the entrance ramp, and soon they were pushing toward Hanover County as fast as the car could carry them.

They were in blackout condition at the staging area, which meant there were only a few light sticks, also known as chemical, or ‘chem’ lights, scattered around the perimeter. The staging area wasn’t much more than a cluster of Bureau vehicles arranged in a vague circle, like a wagon train defending itself against marauding Indians. The side road was marked by a rusty gate that someone had thought to pull back and chain to a tree, thereby making it easier for vehicles to get in and out of the clearing in a hurry.

Naomi was hit by an icy gust of wind as soon as she stepped out of the Town Car. She blindly chased after Plesse in the dark, passing small groups of huddled agents as he hurried up to an idling Suburban and rapped on the window. When it came down he asked for the SAC, and was rewarded with a vague wave toward the largest vehicle in the clearing, a black Chevy conversion van. Ten seconds later he was pounding on the back door with a gloved fist.

There were two people already sitting in the overheated interior, which was lit up with communications gear. Naomi could clearly make out the two monitors displaying feeds from the infrared cameras on the perimeter.

Brett Harrison, the SAC, was a fair-haired, All-American type with big shoulders and clear blue eyes. Naomi was wary of him right off the bat, especially when she noticed that one of his front teeth was chipped. Football injury, she thought, and frowned. For some reason that she had never been able to figure out, she harbored a mild animosity toward jocks, especially middle-aged jocks who had never gotten over the fact that they weren’t in college anymore.

Harrison grinned and stuck out his hand, which Naomi reluctantly shook, as did Superintendent Plesse. “Brett Harrison, good to meet you.” He stuck his thumb over his shoulder. “This is Al Maginnes, the HRT commander.”

“Maginnes?” Kharmai asked.

The commander smiled. “Ma, like mother, then Guinness, like the beer. Funny thing is, I can’t stand the stuff.”

Naomi smiled back at him. She didn’t like the heavy Irish brew, either. Maginnes was a lightly muscled man in his early forties, she guessed, with a bald spot on top, a thick brown mustache going to gray, and careful brown eyes. He was wearing camouflage GORE-TEX pants and a black T-shirt. She saw that he had a heavy pistol riding in a leg holster, and there was an M4 carbine propped up next to him. He looked competent enough, and she briefly wondered if Susskind had worked him in to keep an eye on the younger SAC.

“Where are we at?” Plesse asked, shifting his weight impatiently on the uncomfortable little seat.

Harrison pulled his headset down around his neck. “Your boys have both ends of the road sealed off, so we’re good there. There’s still no movement inside the house, and we’ve been up and running since… what, Al? A little after one this morning?” The other man nodded. “So that’s just over three hours without any movement. But there is something that I think you should see…”

Harrison placed the headset on top of his radio and swiveled to the center console. They all crowded around the low table, shoulders touching in the cramped space of the van. “These are the house plans. We got lucky and scooped them up from the owner, who built the place himself in ’88 before he decided to rent it out. This is key, right here…”

The area he was pointing at showed two levels on what should have been a one-story ranch. “A basement?” Naomi asked. “In Virginia?”

“Not only that,” Harrison said. “But the owner says it’s a finished basement, complete with furnishings. Vanderveen is aware of our technology, which is something we need to keep in mind. He knows that the infrared can catch him through the windows, so he’s safer underground. In other words, he might very well be down there, and-”

“The thermals wouldn’t have picked it up,” Naomi finished.

Another grin from Harrison. “That’s right. So we’re still up in arms over how to make the approach. We’ll hold off on making a decision and see what trickles in from Norfolk. Until then, we’re waiting on the deputy director and a search warrant.”

Plesse asked, “Can you access the basement without going through the house?”

Harrison shook his head and the grin faded. “No, there’s only one door leading down from the interior. No basement-level windows either.”

“I couldn’t see the house from the trees,” Naomi pointed out. “I’d like to take a closer look.”