Heading to CA. Back by thirteen-thirty, fourteen-hundred, latest
To his surprise, Dakota replied.
We’ll start when you get here. Safe travels
“Don’t they sleep?” Greystone asked Teddy.
“Probably not. The Day of Destruction is like nothing they’ve had to deal with before.”
“No pressure there,” Greystone muttered.
“You got this.”
“You think so?”
“I read your file. You’re a total badass. I’ve never been so proud to know anyone in my life.”
“Appreciate that.”
“Seriously, and I thought I had a cool career.”
“Tell me about it.”
Teddy pulled into Reagan Airport, drove to the parking lot for charter flights. “We’ve got five hours. Maybe it’s time we got caught up on the past sixteen years.”
Teddy was right. He’d been flying solo for so long, it felt strange to be able to connect with someone he’d once been close to.
After parking, Teddy pulled out two duffle bags from the back, handed one to Greystone.
“What’s this?”
“Protection,” Teddy replied. “I don’t trust anyone associated with the Haqazzii terror cell, no matter what they say.”
Greystone slapped him on the back. “Neither do I, brother.”
They boarded the private jet and, within minutes, the pilots were taxiing to the runway. Moments later, they were airborne, westbound for California.
The flight flew by because Teddy wanted to share his life, and Greystone was happy to listen. From Teddy’s struggles with reading and the teacher who claimed he’d never learn, to the family members who worked to ensure he excelled at it.
The more Teddy talked, the more Greystone learned about the family he’d deserted. When finished, Teddy asked about him. And in true form, Greystone said, “I’ll save that for the flight home.”
He opened the bag, pulled out the Kevlar vest. After removing his suit jacket, he pulled on the armor, then went digging for weapons. There were three.
“Not takin’ any chances?”
“Hell, no,” Teddy replied as he pulled on the double holster harness. “We’re meeting her at a safe house. The IO said the team’s expecting us.”
The plane touched down in San Diego. The men deplaned and picked up the rental car. It was oh-six-hundred hours back home, but the three-hour time difference put them at oh-three-hundred.
“Do you want to sync with local time?” Teddy asked.
“No.”
Twenty-minutes later, Greystone drove down a quiet street filled with older, single-level homes. The safe house was located at the end of a dead-end street, but instead of parking out front, he drove up the street, parked at the curb near the intersection, and cut the engine.
In silence, the men got out, walked down the street.
There was one car in the driveway, another in the carport. The porch light was off, but a light shone in the front room, though the blinds were closed.
