his gear in under the seat and sat down on the edge, his feet dangling out of the helicopter. Corbin pulled the stick back and the Blackhawk lifted off of the ground and turned as it flew back over the tree line. Grace looked around to make sure everyone was on board and saw the injured Marine pilot unconscious and tied up to a seat. Corbin had loaded him up to get him back for medical attention and interrogation. The other pilot was back with his helicopter to fly the Secret Service out.
Grace turned his radio back to the secure frequency.
“Foster, this is Grace.”
“This is Foster.”
“There’s a field four clicks due west of the house. In that field is a Blackhawk with a Marine pilot tied to it,” Grace said. “That’s your ride. If you decide to drive back, would you at least go untie him?”
“You said the helicopter was coming to get us,” Foster said.
“It’s not,” Grace said.
CHAPTER 8
Corbin had the Blackhawk at 10,000 feet and cruising 160 miles per hour on the way back towards Northern Virginia. Grace turned to look at Richard Graham.
“You don’t look so good,” Grace said.
“I don’t like helicopters,” Graham said.
“Better get used to them. If things don’t go well you’ll be riding in Marine One before long,” Grace said.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Graham said. “Rebekah Abrams is still president.”
Grace checked his watch. 11:32pm.
“Get some rest. You have a long night ahead of you,” Grace said.
He wanted to sleep but couldn’t. Getting back to Herndon was only the beginning of what he had ahead of him. After watching the darkness outside slowly fade into the glow of streetlights and shopping centers with empty parking lots he looked up to Corbin.
“How far?” Grace said.
“Two minutes out,” Corbin’s voice came through the headset.
Grace lifted his head and looked out the window and saw Dulles airport a few miles away, then dialed his cellphone.
“Big Daddy this is Hot Dog,” Grace said.
“I told you we aren’t doing that,” Arrington’s said. “Where are you?”
“Wheels down in less than two and should be back home within ten of that,” Grace said. “Any change in the situation?”
“We’ll update you when you’re back with the package,” Arrington said.
The chopper swung to the right and began to drop quickly as they approached the museum once again. The helicopter lowered to the ground at the end of the runway near the building. As the engines slowed down Grace opened the door on his side and jumped out then helped Graham down.
“What do we do now?” Graham said.
A black Mercedes Sprinter passenger van came speeding from around the corner of the building and pulled up to them. A moment later the side door slid open and the driver jumped out.
“Netty, good to see you,” Grace said.
“Screw you,” she said. “You’re flying around in Blackhawks and I’m driving a fucking van.”
“Someone needed to be here to pick us up,” Grace said.
“I’m not a soccer mom,” Netty said.
“You have the minivan,” Grace said. “Where’d it come from, anyway?”
“Stole it,” Netty said.
“Everyone needs a hobby,” Grace said.
Everybody climbed into the van and they carried the unconscious Marine pilot over then Netty turned around on the tarmac, rear tires squealing, and sped away from the building. As they passed through the employee exit onto Route 50, Grace saw the metal gate lying on the ground to the side of the drive. He looked up to Netty and saw her looking at him in the rearview mirror and he nodded.
It took her six minutes to drive them to the Homeland Security building. When they pulled up to the security gate, Grace handed Netty his credentials and she slid them across the sensor and the gate opened in front of them. Arrington was standing in front of the building as they pulled up.
“Didn’t know they had curbside service here,” Grace stepped out of the van.
“Where the hell are the