"Running out of time," Sean said. "But I'm making progress. Would be nice if the terrorists would give us another day."
"Yeah, not gonna happen."
"I figured. I'm en route back to Frankfurt. I need a ride to Argentina."
She listened to his request. "Argentina, huh? You going to look for old Nazis down there?"
"Something like that."
"I sure hope you're not chasing a wild goose on this one. If you fly down there, and it turns out to be nothing…"
He cut her off, "I know. Dr. Ott will be dead. It's the only lead we've got. And it's the only one that makes sense. Besides, we're down to the last quarter here. Have to gamble and throw a hail Mary."
"A football and a poker reference in the same sentence? Impressive."
He blew off the snide comment. "Just have the plane ready to roll when I get there."
"Which will be?"
"In a few hours. I just got into Germany a few minutes ago."
She sighed. "All right. I'll have a private plane ready and waiting when you get there."
"You coming with me?"
"No," she laughed. "I have business to attend to here in Europe. But I'll be monitoring your whereabouts."
"Comforting." It was his turn to be snarky.
"It should be," she returned.
"I'll be in touch when I'm on Argentinean time."
He hit end and set the phone back down on the leather passenger seat.
Ahead, the sky was crystal clear, and the sun shone brightly down on the rolling north German foothills. Other less-seasoned veterans of the trade would probably take the good weather as a positive sign. Sean wasn't naive, though. He knew that the journey was far from over, and before it ended, there would be heavy storms again.
12
"We're going to need to make a move, sir. We can't wait any longer."
Admiral McClain pondered the comment. He held his phone against his ear as he walked through the hallway leading into his bedroom. The lavish master bedroom featured high recessed ceilings, bronze-colored curtains, and a few abstract paintings his decorator had picked out.
A chestnut-brown suitcase was laid out on his bed, the edge of it flush with the walnut footboard. He'd finished packing before his man had called. It was just a matter of getting a few more essentials before he was ready to leave. He tossed a toothbrush enclosed in a Ziploc bag into the suitcase and closed it shut.
"I agree. Time is running out on this whole thing." He walked over to a bedroom door that led onto a small balcony. Beyond the doorway windows was a small white bistro table with two matching wooden chairs. He stared out at the early morning sunrise coming up over the city. "I heard some people were killed in Poland."
A few silent seconds passed before the man on the other end of the line responded. "I heard the same."
"The Axis asset made it out alive, though." It was almost a question.
"He did."
McClain had already heard about the incident at the cemetery. Concern washed over him. "That particular asset could be trouble. He tends to make a mess of things wherever he goes. The last thing we need is him getting in the way."
"I'll handle it, sir."
"See to it that you do. This is not a game we're playing. I knew that Emily Starks interfering with operations would be a problem. Proceed as necessary. I'm getting on a plane in two hours. I sent you the rendezvous point a few minutes ago. Make sure you and your team are on a jet and en route within the hour."
"Yes, sir."
McClain ended the call. He slid the device into his pocket and ran both hands through his hair. Managing operations like this one had been something he'd done for the last few decades. Usually, he was more hands off than right now. But there were things that had to be overseen that could not be trusted to underlings. Sometimes, the people who did the ground work, the foot soldiers, had to be micromanaged. In some ways, they actually wanted that. If they were left to their own thoughts or devices, things could get out of hand quickly.
The stakes were way too high to allow that to happen.
The admiral grabbed a windbreaker and set it next to his suitcase. It was warm in D.C., but he always got a chill when traveling on a plane, even on the private government planes like the one he'd be boarding soon. He grabbed the zipper on the suitcase and pulled it around the edge, carefully stuffing a loose piece of fabric from a heavy coat back into the case.
He grabbed the bag and his laptop case and headed down the stairs to the carriage park where he kept his car. Three minutes later, he was out on the road and heading west, away from the city. Since his flight was in the early morning hours, driving into town to Reagan would have been a huge mistake. Arlington County would be bogged down, and the beltway would be a parking lot for hours. Even though it was more than twenty miles outside of town, getting to Dulles would be faster since he'd be going against the traffic.
As he expected, the drive took barely over half an hour. McClain went through one of the private airline security checkpoints, happily showing off the badge that told the man at the booth just who he was dealing with. The young man gave a short salute, which the admiral returned before accelerating through the open gate.
He drove around to one of the outlying hangars and parked outside one that was unmarked. An American flag flapped vigorously in the wind next to it. A white G6 jet's nose poked out through the massive doorway. There were no couriers to help him with his bags. To be honest, he didn't want to be waited on like that. Not yet anyway. There would be a time for that soon enough when he retired. For now, he was still just another relic from a forgotten time.
The admiral walked around the corner of the hangar and found a few workers milling around. A pretty young woman stood at the top of the steps leading into the airplane's cabin. The engines hadn't been revved up yet, and wouldn't be until the plane had been pulled out of its parking space. McClain handed off the suitcase to one of the men in an orange vest and made his way over to the steps.
At the top, the blonde with the low-cut button-up short-sleeved shirt smiled, showing teeth as bright as snow. "Welcome aboard, Admiral. I hope your drive wasn't too bad with the morning traffic."
She obviously didn't think about the direction he'd come. "Not too bad at all, Miss…?"
"Elkins," she answered.
"Not too bad, Miss Elkins."
"Excellent, sir. If you'll make your way back to the main cabin, we will begin preparations for takeoff. Once we're in the air, breakfast will be served."
"Terrific," he said, brandishing a fake smile. Breakfast did sound good, but eating was the last thing on his mind.
He headed where the young woman had motioned with her hand and found his way into a luxuriously appointed area. Beige leather seemed to be everywhere. It bound the chairs and molding along the edges just above the windows. Cherry wood accents contrasted the pale tones of the leather.
McClain found his way over to one of the empty seats and sank down into it. He laid his laptop case on the floor next to his feet, and leaned the chair back. Other than the flight attendant and the pilots, he was the only one on board. It was a surreal feeling after all those years of flying coach, occasionally getting to step up to first class. This is the way people were meant to fly, he thought.
Miss Elkins entered through the open doorway, still smiling as broadly as she had before. "Could I get you a cup of coffee while we're waiting to take off?"
"That would be lovely," the admiral answered, giving his best grin. "Thank you."
She acknowledged his comment with an elongated nod, and then went to the back to fetch the coffee pot. At this point, McClain didn't even care if the coffee was good or not. It could have been brewed yesterday. This was the life.