“No, sir. I don’t know anything about RVs, just airplanes.”

“All right, now listen to me: I’m going to put a man with a radio in here with you. If anybody arrives, you tell them the airport is closed for an hour or two, and they’ll have to wait to go to their aircraft. Then, when we start the operation, I want you and anyone else who arrives to lie on the floor behind your desk. I don’t want anybody to catch a stray bullet.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said.

“Do you have a large plan of the airport?”

The man pointed to a wall, where a framed map about four-by-six feet hung.

Kinney went through the main entrance of the building into the parking lot, where two black vans sat idling. He tapped on the window of one of them, and it slid down.

“I’m Kinney, this is Smith,” he said. “Get your men out of there and all of you come inside. Kerry, get the people from the second van.”

A MOMENT LATER, they were inside the FBO, gathered around the map.

Kinney borrowed a weapon from an agent and used its laser sight as a pointer. “This is our objective,” he said, pointing to the large hangar. “We’re looking for one man, Theodore Fay, inside, probably in an RV, certainly heavily armed and a fine shot. We have to do this with the greatest care. I want two men to take some listening equipment and go over there on foot. I want you to attach the equipment to the two side walls, the ones with no doors, and radio back what you hear. You are not, repeat, not, to try to detain this man if you see him. If he sees you and runs, you are authorized to fire at him, but aim low. We want him alive, if possible. Any questions?”

Nobody said anything.

Kinney pointed to the SWAT team leader. “Pick two men and get them on their way,” He borrowed a two-way radio. “What channel do we use?”

“Three,” the team leader said.

“Right”

Kinney paced around the large lounge while he waited for the report.

“Base, this is recce,” a voice said.

“This is base,” Kinney replied. “Report.”

“The building is dark, and there are no sounds from inside. If he has an RV, he could be asleep.”

“Hold your positions and wait for backup,” Kinney said. He turned to the team leader. “Let’s go. Everybody on foot. You can have two men drive your vehicles around to the other side of the airport, but keep your lights off, and stay well back from the hangar. I don’t want our man to hear any vehicles coming. When everybody is in place, wait for my command to go in.”

“Yes, sir.” The team leader barked instructions, and everybody started to carry out his orders. Kinney and Smith followed a few paces behind the main group as they trotted across the runway toward the T-hangars.

“I wish we had body armor,” Smith said.

“So do I,” Kinney replied.

As they went around the T-hangars, the group began to move with more stealth. Then they were in place.

Smith caught up to the SWAT team leader. “We can’t open the big hangar doors from outside, so that”-he pointed to a door in one wall of the hangar-“is going to be the only way in. I want the door opened very quietly, and your men in there with night-vision goggles. Nobody turns on the interior lights until I say so.

“If there’s an RV inside, I want it taken without incident, so be very careful how you open the door. I want men on only one side of it-the door side-so that if you shoot through it nobody on the other side will catch a round. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go.”

Using hand signals, the leader ordered his men to don their night-vision goggles and to go in.

Kinney and Smith stood around the corner of the hangar from the door, waiting for it to be opened. It was done in less than thirty seconds, and the men filed through it silently, weapons at the ready. Kinney peeked around the corner through the door, but he could see nothing but dark. A minute passed, then suddenly, all the lights came on in the hangar, and the bifold door began to rise.

“What the hell?” Kinney said. He stepped into the hangar, weapon raised, and looked around. It was empty.

“Everybody hold your place!” Kinney shouted.

The men all froze.

“One man, open the door of the office, over there.”

One man did so. “Clear!” he shouted.

Kinney trotted over to the office and went inside. There was some furniture and a big TV set, and there was an empty workbench in one corner. “Put some gloves on,” he said, donning a pair himself. “Now, call headquarters and get a criminalist team out here. I want prints, if there are any.”

Smith produced a cell phone and made the call.

Kinney walked around the office, looking for any obvious evidence of the man who had been there. He could see nothing.

TEN MINUTES BEFORE Kinney’s first men had arrived, Ted had driven out the back gate of the airport in the RV, towing the Mercedes. He was headed toward Washington and a rendezvous with the speaker of the House.

52

TED TURNED INTO a parking garage that he had selected long ago, because he could drive in and park while towing the Mercedes. He stopped the RV, got out, unfastened the tow bar and stowed it under the rear bumper, where a bracket had been welded, then he donned a pair of latex gloves, got into the Mercedes, and drove to Georgetown.

THE SPEAKER of the House was wakened by his wife at 6:30 a.m., and not gently.

“Eft,” she said, “you’d better get your ass out of that bed right now, or you’re going to miss the meeting of the leadership.”

“Mmmmf,” Efton replied, turning over and staring at the ceiling. “I think I have a hangover.”

“And you’re surprised? You drank at least half a bottle of Scotch last night. We’re going to have to get you into a program.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, girl, leave me alone. It’s not as though I drink that much every night. It was a party!” He rolled out of bed and staggered toward the bathroom. “Make me some bacon and eggs, will you?”

“You don’t need all that grease in your stomach. What you need is bran cereal, and that’s what you’ll get.”

The shower muted the sounds of Efton’s swearing.

TED PARKED nearly two blocks down the Georgetown street from the speaker’s house and watched. He could see the front door clearly, but nobody was taking any note of him. He could see the exhaust fumes of the two Suburbans idling outside the house. What he needed most to know was in which car Efton would be riding.

EFTON FINISHED his bran cereal and resisted the urge to puke it up on the breakfast table. He was shaved, showered, and dressed, and only someone who could look closely into his eyes would have seen the hangover lurking there. He quickly scanned the front pages of the Post and both the New York and Washington Times for mention of his name, and when he didn’t find it, became quickly bored.

“Eft, please get going!” his wife begged. She didn’t want to be blamed later if he was late to his meeting.

Efton gathered up the newspapers for reading in the car, got his coat and briefcase from the hall closet, and left the house.

Ted watched as Efton emerged, looked up and down the street, then ran down his front steps and got into the second Suburban. No way to tell how many agents there were in each car, but probably two, one driving and one riding shotgun, while Efton had the rear seat to himself. As the two Suburbans left the curb, he pulled out and followed them, staying two blocks behind. They made a right turn, and from that, Ted guessed that they would be taking route number one, the most direct. Efton was probably running late.