When Nick looked up again, his wife’s expression had not softened. He slumped down into an oversized chair, defeated. “Our presence at the attack wasn’t happenstance,” he said, watching her hardened glare collapse into shock.
“You mean the bomber was trying to kill you?” asked Kurt.
“Maybe, or at least get my attention.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would a suicide bomber target you? You’re just an adviser.”
Just. Nick hated it when his dad used that word. You’re just a kid. You’re just an outfielder. You’re just a lieutenant. Just meant you didn’t matter. He bit back what he wanted to say and offered his dad a very uncomfortable truth. “I don’t know why.”
“Then how can you be sure?” asked Katy.
“The FBI has evidence.”
The older Baron stepped deeper into the room, a stern expression — his colonel face — bearing down on Nick. “What evidence?”
“Classified evidence, Dad.” Nick sat forward in his chair and sighed. “The how and the why don’t matter now. The fact remains that I’ve come up on some terrorist group’s radar, and if they were able to find us on the Mall, then they probably know where we live. I have to leave the country tonight, and I’m not comfortable leaving Katy here alone.” He matched his father’s stare. “I told Katy to go to her mother’s place. I’m trying to keep my family safe, and I would appreciate your support.”
“You don’t have it. You’re not making sense.”
Nick almost came out of the chair swinging at his father’s defiance, but he caught himself when Luke stopped playing and looked up at him again. He took a deep breath and settled back down into his seat. He settled his voice as well. “Dad, I’ve already explained that the FBI is sure about this.”
The elder Baron made a T with his hands, signaling détente. “That’s not what I meant. Listen, if they can figure out where you live, it won’t be long before they can figure out where Katy’s folks live. You can’t protect her by sending her to West Virginia.”
Nick leaned back against the cushion and looked up at his father. “You have a better idea?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Kurt bent down and scooped up his grandson, to the delight of the child. “Katy and Luke can come with me to Israel.”
“What?” Katy abruptly turned to face her former ally.
“I’m serious. My invitation to speak included travel and accommodations for two. That’s standard practice. Guest speakers usually bring a spouse or an assistant.” He sat down in the chair across from Nick and started bouncing Luke on his knee. The toddler laughed and squealed. “Two days in Frankfurt to speak at the campus there, two in Jerusalem, another day in Frankfurt on the way home. No terrorist would anticipate Katy and Luke hopping back and forth between Europe and the Holy Land. If you want to protect your family, keep them on the move.” He smiled down at his grandson and lightened his voice. “It will be fun! There’s going to be a total eclipse visible from Jerusalem. Not everybody gets to see one of those.”
As much as he wanted to find a flaw in his dad’s idea, Nick couldn’t argue with the logic. When crossing borders, vacationers only had to manage their suitcases and their children. Terrorists, on the other hand, had to manage identities and weapons, and those things took time. Katy’s surprise travel would keep her one step ahead.
Katy’s hands were on her hips. “Excuse me. Does the little woman get a say?”
“Of course, my dear. How thoughtless of us.” Kurt offered her a chivalrous bow, playing the white knight opposite Nick’s tyrant king.
Katy responded to the knight with a sweet nod of thanks and then knelt next to the tyrant’s throne, placing a hand on his arm. “I’ve always wanted to see Israel. And I think your son and I would be a lot safer traveling with your father than driving ourselves to Lewisburg.” Her light grip on his forearm became a heavy squeeze, with a couple of fingernails added for emphasis. “Don’t you?”
Without waiting for a response, Nick’s dad set Luke down and stood up, clapping his hands together. “It’s settled then. I’ll call the travel company right now and make all the arrangements.”
Had that been the end of it, Nick would have considered the status quo maintained — Dad wins and everyone else plays along. But that wasn’t the end of it. Shortly before he left for the base, Nick informed Katy that he had to take away her phone to keep her from being tracked. He had delayed the conversation because he knew it would turn into a fight, and it did. Katy cried, which set Luke off, and then of course his dad had to butt in. This time Nick did not back down, and he ordered his dad to minimize communications too. He was certainly not to call or text Nick. The elder Baron fought back. He could call his own son whenever he wanted to. “Fine,” said Nick, “but don’t expect me to answer.”
Nick made up with Katy, kissed her good-bye, kissed his little boy, but those were the last words he said to his father.
CHAPTER 10
Like the repurposed presidential bunker below, Romeo Seven’s hangar facility was a relic of days gone by, a testament to the excess of the Cold War. The two massive adjoining structures had been erected in 1958 to house Ike’s new Boeing 707 presidential fleet. There were only two aircraft, but like every Strategic Air Command endeavor, the grandeur of the new facility far exceeded its purpose. One hangar alone could have sheltered three 707s and included offices and shop space for an army of maintenance personnel.
As with the bunker, Walker had renovated the out-of-use hangars with black funds. On the outside, they looked the same as any of the unused hangars found on Air Force bases across the country. On the inside, they housed a state-of-the-art facility with propulsion, hydraulic, and avionics shops; a subterranean engineering lab; and a small fleet of aircraft, of which the flagship was a jumbo-jet-sized stealth striker called the M-2 Wraith.
As Nick entered the hangar an hour before the mission launch, two CIA pilots were preflighting the latest addition to Walker’s air force — a sleek, gray and black Gulfstream C-37B. Normally Nick and Drake piloted the Triple Seven’s aircraft, but the colonel had worked out a deal to have Agency pilots fly this militarized version of a G550 luxury business jet. Walker wanted his operators to use the Gulfstream as a mobile command center, and they couldn’t do that if they spent all their time playing around in the cockpit.
A blonde in greasy blue coveralls hopped down off one of the Wraith’s massive landing-gear assemblies and flagged Nick down with a dirty oil rag. “Aren’t you taking my baby with you?”
Amanda Navistrova led the aircraft maintenance team. She was also one of the Wraith’s principal designers, with multiple degrees from MIT. The coveralls, the unkempt ponytail, and the safety goggles strapped to her forehead did little to detract from her gorgeous features. In fact, Nick decided, few women could pull off that ensemble better.
“If you mean the Wraith,” he said, closing the distance between them, “I’ve got to leave her in the barn. We’re looking for subtle, and landing the world’s largest stealth aircraft at Budapest International doesn’t fit the bill. If you mean your other baby—”
“I don’t.” Amanda cut him off, casting an evil glare toward the entrance behind him.
Nick glanced over his shoulder and saw Drake stepping into the facility. When he turned back, Amanda was walking away beneath the broad belly of the striker. She slapped the rag down on a worktable and disappeared into the maintenance section.
“What did you do this time?” asked Nick, meeting Drake at a table covered with black duffels and hard equipment cases next to the Gulfstream’s cargo bay.